Kylie, the Light of Dale’s Life: Part 1

I wouldn’t have gone into work at all on Friday were it not for Dale. I’d bumped into him Thursday night after my falling out with Rob, and it was as if the goddess above had sent him as a gift in the wake of the madness I’d just endured. I saw his simple white face and smiled because I knew my night was secure. In a previous story, I’m sure I gave Dale a different pseudonym, but I can’t for the life of me find that story. To recap, I met Dale many months ago after I’d watched him from afar with his favorite dancer, Kylie. I had no impression of Kylie, other than that she seemed a bit standoffish and primarily worked day shifts. I usually saw Dale and Kylie sitting together, sharing fries in a VIP booth while they watched the stage in between half-hour rooms. I thought Dale was one of those corporate ballers with no care for the amount of money he was blowing, because every visit, I noted that he spent at least $1,000, not counting tips. One day, I spied him sitting alone and decided to shoot my shot and see if he might pour some of that sugar on me.

It turned out that Dale was a former luggage handler living on disability and a settlement check after suffering from a debilitating workplace injury. It was tragic, and yet here we were, and he was spending more than he should have to dance with me. I didn’t want to leech from this man; however he kept showing up, night after night. If he wasn’t dancing with me, he was dancing with another girl, so eventually I came to the conclusion that, much in the way I’m not looking for Captain Save-a-Hoe, Dale wasn’t looking for Captain Save-a-John. Besides, there didn’t seem to be much else going on in Dale’s life. He spent his days caring for his aging mother, and his cats. We were his outlet, and he was a valuable customer.

Cut to Friday, the first night of my period. I was sore all over and grumpy. I didn’t want any of these man-children latching onto my breast like a suckling infant, yet that’s the job, at least in part. I’d popped in my menstrual cup, and diligently wiped by vulva, aiming for desert level dryness. Dale arrived exactly on time, and I walked out to greet him before the other dancers had the chance to sink their claws into him. Dale is a passive man, too polite to say, “no” in most situations. Thursday he’d told me about his Swiss watch. It was a navy blue tinted, stainless steel luxury watch he’d purchased for over $1,000. He told me the name of the company that produced it probably five times, but it was still not enough for me to retain that tidbit of useless information.

Him: It’s Swiss. I don’t know why I bought it. I think it was because the pressure got to me. The salesperson was talking to me for so long I felt like I couldn’t back out. You know? But it’s a good watch. It’s Swiss made, so it’ll retain its value. Can you see the blue? Here, let me use my cellphone light.

There’s nothing less interesting to me than men and their watches. I feigned an appropriate level of excitement.

Friday Dale returned, specifically to dance with me, and he informed me he’d showered.

Him: I shaved everything. I shaved my balls and my shaft. It’s all clean down there.

Me: Wow. Did you have to stretch it out to shave properly?

Him: Yeah! It’s a lot of work. You have to be really careful or else you’ll cut yourself!

We were sitting behind a group of older white men, perhaps ten or twenty years Dale’s senior. They had meager stacks of singles there were handing out tightly, as if the gift of $2 was enough to elicit anything more than ire from the women dancing on stage.

Him: They look like they came from work together, just a bunch of corporate bigwigs. They look rich. I wonder what they told their wives. Probably, “Just stopped by for a drink with the boys,” something like that.

Me: “I’m working late at the office, honey.”

It was funny to me that Dale considered himself to be part of the working class when he spent money like he had plenty to burn.

I took him for our first half hour. We’d briefly chatted Thursday to negotiate how many dances he would buy this round, and settled on three half-hours.

Him: This time I brought $1,400 in cash, so I wouldn’t get into trouble. Those service fees are so expensive! Jeez! That’s why I’m just using cash now. It really saves a lot.

Me: Cash is a lot better.

Dale likes to strip down during his dances. The first time I was a little alarmed.

Him: Kylie always lets me do it, but she makes me wait until the door is closed, otherwise she gets mad. She got really mad at me one time because I started before the door closed, and she wouldn’t talk to me, so now I wait.

If Dale was any less Dale, I would have a problem with this arrangement; however, Dale is almost childlike in his sexuality. He’s still a man who enjoys strippers grinding on him, but he’s never forceful, and prefers to sit back and let me to take the lead. He stripped down to a pair of little black Calvin Klein briefs, and I sat on him. Dale is inexperienced. He was married once to a woman who refused to have sex with him.

Him: I could count how many times we had sex in all those years on one hand! She didn’t like sex. She said it hurt too much. But then, she had an affair with this ugly old guy! You think you know a person, and then they do something like that.

Some dances are completely silent, but when I’m on Dale, it’s like talking to an eight-year-old: he has a million and one questions about everything under the sun. I enjoy answering him, and he enjoys my use of proper medical terms when referring to my anatomy.

Him: Can I touch the outsides?

Me: You mean my labia majora?

Him: The labilla majora?

Me: Labia majora are the outer lips, the labia minora are the inner lips, then there’s the clitoral hood, clitoris, and vaginal opening. The outer part overall is actually the vulva. The vagina is the inside.

Him: Wow. I didn’t know that.

Me: You can touch my labia majora, but that’s it.

He placed his fingers gently on either side.

Him: Wow, it’s so soft. It’s like the same kind of skin as my balls!

Me: Yeah, it is very soft.