Some readers have written me asking what I mean by "high mileage laps." I think it best to use a recent event to illustrate what a real lap dance entails. The following story is true, but please do not ask me the dancer's name or the club -- if you know me, then you know where I was.

I have a Friday evening to kill, so I decide to check out the dancers on the night shift at my favorite club. I usually go during the day, so this is going to be a relatively new experience for me. The club is filling up as I arrive at 8pm, with the typical mix of white-collar types, Asians sitting at the tip rail not tipping, and other assorted customers. The evening shift is doing their first go-around on stage, and I settle in to check out the talent. Some nice stuff, some less so; it looks like I might be a little bored for awhile. An occasional dancer strolls by asking for a lap, and I wave them all off, waiting for "my" girl.

At this point, I'd been in the club about an hour. Then, in my peripheral vision, I notice a girl coming up on my right. As she eases up to me, I see she could be a dead ringer for a very young Vanessa Williams. Dusky-skinned, with blonde hair that's not out of place, an incredible smile, tiny waisted with a round, firm ass, but just B-cup sized breasts. Not generally big enough for what I choose, but my "spidey-senses" are going off the scale. I quickly agreed to a lap.

As soon as the first song starts, "Vanessa" straddles my lap, starts grinding away, and then thrusts her breasts into my mouth. As I am licking her, one of my hands wanders down to her ass while the other squeezes the boob not occupied by my mouth. As we switch boobs, she takes the opportunity to lick her nipple along with me, running her tongue along mine and unbuttoning my shirt. This continues for the rest of the song. As the second song starts up, her boob and my mouth seem to be attached, while both my hands have now moved south to conduct some additional exploratory surgery. Vanessa adjusts her panties to give me better access, and I find she is soaking wet! Hmm. First one finger, then two go up, and Vanessa responds by grinding harder on my hand and moaning heavily. I finally disengage from her breast and start a furious tongue war with her, eventually moving on to her ears and neck.

By this time, my hand is drenched in her juices, but she is showing no signs of slowing down or wanting me to. Okay, so I reach around with my other hand and start flicking at her anus. This is not something I usually do, but with this gal it just seems right. Vanessa goes crazy, grabbing me and forcing her titties back in my mouth, as she seems to climax again and again. After six songs, we're both exhausted -- Vanessa is soaked with sweat and I am completely disheveled. My shirt is practically on backwards, I can't find my glasses and I am certainly in no condition to walk. She is just looking at me in wonder, saying, "I've been dancing for 2 years and no one has done that to me before."

I've heard a lot of dancer bullshit before, and I assume this is just another line. However, the rest of the night, no matter who Vanessa sits with in the club, she always looks over to my table and smiles at me. When she's not busy, she keeps coming back to me and giving me a massage, or playing with hair, and looking at me in awe. Finally, when I tell her I'm about to leave, she runs into the back room, and returns with her phone number written on a piece of paper, pleading with me to call her. Not too shabby an ending to this story (and yes, that is where the story ends).

Does that answer your question?