Lap Dance or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Finally Went to a Strip Club
"Are their wolves at the door?
That you're not supposed to let in
You can't make me feel
What I'm not feeling"
*** The following contains some graphic text. An example is that when I say the word 'cooter,' I'm not talking about that rapscallion from The Dukes of Hazzard.
Lap Dance or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Finally Went to a Strip Club
For years I have avoided strip clubs like the plague. The only experience I had in one was at the age of 17. I went in looking for directions to Target, and was offered a job as a bouncer. When the guy found out I was only 17, he kicked me out. I know a few girls that were strippers at one point. Some of them nice, some completely freakin' scary. A strip club is just something that I was never interested in. If I wanted to see a woman naked, I went out and tried to 'get some.' Screw going to some dilapidated building to look at some naked mother-of-five's sagging milk sacks. At least if get lucky at a bar I can actually touch the girl.
But I'm getting older. A lot of the times I just say "fuck it." Whether it is speed dating, going to a bar on a work night, or going to a strip club. Screw it, I'm not getting any younger. I might as well have fun before I get really old. I'm talking like Wooller old. Whenever I reach that period it'll already be too late. I'll be on the backside of the mountain, sliding head first into the valley.
So without an ounce of trepidation, I ventured out Saturday night. My buddy Miggity is getting married in a few weeks, and his brother thought it would be a good idea to have the bachelor party at a strip club. Well, it was just seven of us, so it wasn't that big of a party. More like a bunch of guys saying, "let's go see some titties!" Not that I would ever say that aloud.
We arrived palace of bouncing dirty pillows, some of us more drunk than others. I was the designated driver, and had to resort to drinking a very low amount of beer. It was a shock that not only did it cost ten bucks a head to get into the club, but it was also two bucks per beer you brought in. That's right kiddies, you have to brown bag it. They do not sell alcohol within the building. It's OK to have some skanky chick bouncing her coochie within an inch of my face, but heaven forbid I try to buy a beer.
Upon entering I was taken a little bit aback seeing about ten girls up on the stage, and a couple of girls spread eagle on the tables. It didn't completely shock me, but it did feel strange. At first I wasn't really comfortable just staring at some chick bouncing her ass up on the stage. It took a little adjusting, and no I'm not talking about in my pants you damn perverts.
After a few minutes, the little bit of beer in me was starting to do it's magic. I loosened up about the time my buddy Hellraiser told me to follow him to the stage to deposit a dollar in a garter belt. Though it looked more like a giant rubber band. After he was finished getting his show, it was my turn. I stood in front of the chick, not really knowing what the hell to do. My brain was rapidly churning. "What the hell do I do? Do I stare openingly at her gash? Her boobs? How long is this going to last?" Then I started wondering if it was proper to comment to the girl. "Miss, that's a nice beaver you got there. You keep it good and trimmed. Doesn't really look like your boyfriend plowed it before your shift tonight." I nixed that idea quick-like, figuring I would end up coming across like a third rate Eddie Haskell.
I headed back to my seat, trying not to laugh. For some reason the situation struck me as funny. The last time a girl was in that position in front of me, she was ready to "rock and roll." I can only guess that it was a strange feeling since I wasn't used to strip clubs. Didn't know the protocol. Didn't really want to have that blank, longing stare that some of the other guys there had. I am not talking about anyone in my group, but there were some guys that looked like straight up child molesters.
The night was young, and were having a helluva time. It was more fun hanging around with the guys than seeing a bunch of naked chicks. Don't get me wrong, seeing naked chicks is almost always a good thing. Then again, some of those ladies did not need to be there. At least not stripping. There were really only two women that looked the way I would expect a stripper to look. Most of them came from the high plains region, having only an ass to shake. Some didn't even have that.
Time wore on, and we all chipped in so that the groom-to-be could get a table dance. The looks-like-a-twelve-year-old stripper had been chatting up my buddy for the better part of a half hour. Trying like hell to get us to buy him a trip to the VIP room. We're but poor, working class guys. The most we could afford was dollar dances, and that one table dance. So she danced on the table, making sure we all got a good look all the way up to her tonsils. Upon completion, she went away only to return an hour later trying again to get us to pay for a trip to the VIP room.
The whole night my buddies told every woman that it was my first trip to a strip club. The table dancer patted my arm saying that it was only her second night in a strip club. The way she moved, she must have meant it was only her second night in THAT strip club. She danced like a seasoned pro, even though she only looked 12.
Dollar dances is a time when the gals walk around, and will dance in front of an individual for a solid minute for the low, low price of $1. The first go 'round I paid for about 11 dollar dances. I felt kind of bad because that's how those women earn their money. So if they wanted to shake the punany in front of my face for a minute, that was alright with me. We rarely had any strippers approach us after that first round of dollar dances. Most of the guys in my group didn't bring a whole lot of money with them, so I guess we weren't good customers.
Time passed, and another girl sat down next to Miggity. Trying with all her might to get us to buy him a trip to the VIP room with her. Hellraiser asked "how much." When she said $40, he decided to give Miggity a lap dance for free. He started gyrating his rump in Miggity's face. The whole time the chick was laughing, and smacking Hellraiser on the ass. Right then a bouncer appeared out of nowhere, telling him that he needed to stop. "This ain't a dance club," real damn aggressive. Hellraiser somewhat shook it off, but the more he sat there the more he stewed. One of the strippers came off the stage, and stuffed a dollar in Hellraiser's shirt. Telling him he was a good dancer. Hellraiser laughed, and told her next dollar dance he was giving her back her bill. Right after that, a different stripper asked him why we weren't being as boisterous as when we first arrived. He told her that we were close to getting kicked out, and figured we'd best just sit there.
Towards the end of the night, all of us sat around somewhat pissed. The girls weren't coming to our side anymore, since we refused to go to the VIP. Then the final straw came. One of the girls was walking away, and dropped a dollar. My buddy Shorty reached down, picked it up, and tapped her on the side with it. He tapped her about halfway between her jubblies and her ass, making sure not to touch "the goods." When he turned around the bouncer from before was already hot on his heels. He told Shorty that if he did it again, he'd kick him out. Shorty asked what the hell was he supposed to do, to which the bouncer replied to tap her on the shoulder next time. The entire time, the bouncer was speaking to us like he was going to try and kick each and every one of our asses. Well, that was it, we had had enough. We left shortly thereafter.
What the hell is it with bouncers? Is it a prerequisite that you have to be a dickhead in order to get the job? Constantly trying to show who's really boss. All the guys in our group could have taken any of their bouncers. If that particular one would have pushed us much further, all of the bouncers would have been knocked cold. That's not bragging, that's they guys I rolled in with. Guys that you don't mess with, especially that tight-knit group of fellas. If the bouncer had been respectful towards us, considering we weren't trying to molest the girls, it would have been different. From the beginning that particular guy had an attitude problem. Damn near every place in this town has shitty bouncers. I get it, you're wearing a shirt two sizes too small to show off how buff you are. Trust me, you'll still be buff when I get down with you. You'll just be missing both of your miniature testicles.
The best part of the night was when we were leaving. I had noticed a politician sitting on the other side of the club. I watched as he was lead in the VIP room. This is a guy that has pictures of he and his wife on his election postcards. Well, when we left he was walking past me, trying to turn his head the other way so that I wouldn't notice him. I stopped him, said "hey man, how's it going?," and shook his hand. Hellraiser and Miggity were laughing their asses off when we exited the building. They had been egging me on all night to go over and talk to the politician. They didn't think I'd have the guts to say anything to him. I sure as hell proved them wrong.
The night was filled with falsity. The only real moment all night was when a dancer behind me apologized for grabbing my shoulder whilst table dancing. She didn't say it in a flirting, sultry way. She said it like a regular damn person. It's like when you go to Hooters. The waitress flirt and hit on you all night, trying to get a bigger tip. What's sad is the guys that go in either Hooters or strip clubs thinking they can actually go home with one of the chicks. The sheen seems to be lost on me. When I go into Hooters, I only tip big for great service. I could really give two shits and a fuck whether some chick with her sweater puppies pushed to the breaking point hits on me. She doesn't really like me, it's all an act. A crock of shit. Same goes with the strip club. I don't mind giving them money, because they are doing a job. But I am not in there crossing my fingers, hoping against hope that I will hook up.
I don't feel ashamed, or like I am any less of a good guy because I went to a strip club. Fuck it. I'm a relatively young guy, and am not married. What the hell's wrong with me giong to a strip club? I'm just following what every other guy wants; a beer and to see something naked. As the poet Ron White once said, "'Cause -- back me up on this, fellas -- once you've seen one woman naked, you... pretty much wanna see the rest of 'em naked."
Until next time:
"First, it was not a strip bar, it was an erotic club. And second, what can I say? I'm a night owl. " - Marion Berry
That you're not supposed to let in
You can't make me feel
What I'm not feeling"
*** The following contains some graphic text. An example is that when I say the word 'cooter,' I'm not talking about that rapscallion from The Dukes of Hazzard.
Lap Dance or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Finally Went to a Strip Club
For years I have avoided strip clubs like the plague. The only experience I had in one was at the age of 17. I went in looking for directions to Target, and was offered a job as a bouncer. When the guy found out I was only 17, he kicked me out. I know a few girls that were strippers at one point. Some of them nice, some completely freakin' scary. A strip club is just something that I was never interested in. If I wanted to see a woman naked, I went out and tried to 'get some.' Screw going to some dilapidated building to look at some naked mother-of-five's sagging milk sacks. At least if get lucky at a bar I can actually touch the girl.
But I'm getting older. A lot of the times I just say "fuck it." Whether it is speed dating, going to a bar on a work night, or going to a strip club. Screw it, I'm not getting any younger. I might as well have fun before I get really old. I'm talking like Wooller old. Whenever I reach that period it'll already be too late. I'll be on the backside of the mountain, sliding head first into the valley.
So without an ounce of trepidation, I ventured out Saturday night. My buddy Miggity is getting married in a few weeks, and his brother thought it would be a good idea to have the bachelor party at a strip club. Well, it was just seven of us, so it wasn't that big of a party. More like a bunch of guys saying, "let's go see some titties!" Not that I would ever say that aloud.
We arrived palace of bouncing dirty pillows, some of us more drunk than others. I was the designated driver, and had to resort to drinking a very low amount of beer. It was a shock that not only did it cost ten bucks a head to get into the club, but it was also two bucks per beer you brought in. That's right kiddies, you have to brown bag it. They do not sell alcohol within the building. It's OK to have some skanky chick bouncing her coochie within an inch of my face, but heaven forbid I try to buy a beer.
Upon entering I was taken a little bit aback seeing about ten girls up on the stage, and a couple of girls spread eagle on the tables. It didn't completely shock me, but it did feel strange. At first I wasn't really comfortable just staring at some chick bouncing her ass up on the stage. It took a little adjusting, and no I'm not talking about in my pants you damn perverts.
After a few minutes, the little bit of beer in me was starting to do it's magic. I loosened up about the time my buddy Hellraiser told me to follow him to the stage to deposit a dollar in a garter belt. Though it looked more like a giant rubber band. After he was finished getting his show, it was my turn. I stood in front of the chick, not really knowing what the hell to do. My brain was rapidly churning. "What the hell do I do? Do I stare openingly at her gash? Her boobs? How long is this going to last?" Then I started wondering if it was proper to comment to the girl. "Miss, that's a nice beaver you got there. You keep it good and trimmed. Doesn't really look like your boyfriend plowed it before your shift tonight." I nixed that idea quick-like, figuring I would end up coming across like a third rate Eddie Haskell.
I headed back to my seat, trying not to laugh. For some reason the situation struck me as funny. The last time a girl was in that position in front of me, she was ready to "rock and roll." I can only guess that it was a strange feeling since I wasn't used to strip clubs. Didn't know the protocol. Didn't really want to have that blank, longing stare that some of the other guys there had. I am not talking about anyone in my group, but there were some guys that looked like straight up child molesters.
The night was young, and were having a helluva time. It was more fun hanging around with the guys than seeing a bunch of naked chicks. Don't get me wrong, seeing naked chicks is almost always a good thing. Then again, some of those ladies did not need to be there. At least not stripping. There were really only two women that looked the way I would expect a stripper to look. Most of them came from the high plains region, having only an ass to shake. Some didn't even have that.
Time wore on, and we all chipped in so that the groom-to-be could get a table dance. The looks-like-a-twelve-year-old stripper had been chatting up my buddy for the better part of a half hour. Trying like hell to get us to buy him a trip to the VIP room. We're but poor, working class guys. The most we could afford was dollar dances, and that one table dance. So she danced on the table, making sure we all got a good look all the way up to her tonsils. Upon completion, she went away only to return an hour later trying again to get us to pay for a trip to the VIP room.
The whole night my buddies told every woman that it was my first trip to a strip club. The table dancer patted my arm saying that it was only her second night in a strip club. The way she moved, she must have meant it was only her second night in THAT strip club. She danced like a seasoned pro, even though she only looked 12.
Dollar dances is a time when the gals walk around, and will dance in front of an individual for a solid minute for the low, low price of $1. The first go 'round I paid for about 11 dollar dances. I felt kind of bad because that's how those women earn their money. So if they wanted to shake the punany in front of my face for a minute, that was alright with me. We rarely had any strippers approach us after that first round of dollar dances. Most of the guys in my group didn't bring a whole lot of money with them, so I guess we weren't good customers.
Time passed, and another girl sat down next to Miggity. Trying with all her might to get us to buy him a trip to the VIP room with her. Hellraiser asked "how much." When she said $40, he decided to give Miggity a lap dance for free. He started gyrating his rump in Miggity's face. The whole time the chick was laughing, and smacking Hellraiser on the ass. Right then a bouncer appeared out of nowhere, telling him that he needed to stop. "This ain't a dance club," real damn aggressive. Hellraiser somewhat shook it off, but the more he sat there the more he stewed. One of the strippers came off the stage, and stuffed a dollar in Hellraiser's shirt. Telling him he was a good dancer. Hellraiser laughed, and told her next dollar dance he was giving her back her bill. Right after that, a different stripper asked him why we weren't being as boisterous as when we first arrived. He told her that we were close to getting kicked out, and figured we'd best just sit there.
Towards the end of the night, all of us sat around somewhat pissed. The girls weren't coming to our side anymore, since we refused to go to the VIP. Then the final straw came. One of the girls was walking away, and dropped a dollar. My buddy Shorty reached down, picked it up, and tapped her on the side with it. He tapped her about halfway between her jubblies and her ass, making sure not to touch "the goods." When he turned around the bouncer from before was already hot on his heels. He told Shorty that if he did it again, he'd kick him out. Shorty asked what the hell was he supposed to do, to which the bouncer replied to tap her on the shoulder next time. The entire time, the bouncer was speaking to us like he was going to try and kick each and every one of our asses. Well, that was it, we had had enough. We left shortly thereafter.
What the hell is it with bouncers? Is it a prerequisite that you have to be a dickhead in order to get the job? Constantly trying to show who's really boss. All the guys in our group could have taken any of their bouncers. If that particular one would have pushed us much further, all of the bouncers would have been knocked cold. That's not bragging, that's they guys I rolled in with. Guys that you don't mess with, especially that tight-knit group of fellas. If the bouncer had been respectful towards us, considering we weren't trying to molest the girls, it would have been different. From the beginning that particular guy had an attitude problem. Damn near every place in this town has shitty bouncers. I get it, you're wearing a shirt two sizes too small to show off how buff you are. Trust me, you'll still be buff when I get down with you. You'll just be missing both of your miniature testicles.
The best part of the night was when we were leaving. I had noticed a politician sitting on the other side of the club. I watched as he was lead in the VIP room. This is a guy that has pictures of he and his wife on his election postcards. Well, when we left he was walking past me, trying to turn his head the other way so that I wouldn't notice him. I stopped him, said "hey man, how's it going?," and shook his hand. Hellraiser and Miggity were laughing their asses off when we exited the building. They had been egging me on all night to go over and talk to the politician. They didn't think I'd have the guts to say anything to him. I sure as hell proved them wrong.
The night was filled with falsity. The only real moment all night was when a dancer behind me apologized for grabbing my shoulder whilst table dancing. She didn't say it in a flirting, sultry way. She said it like a regular damn person. It's like when you go to Hooters. The waitress flirt and hit on you all night, trying to get a bigger tip. What's sad is the guys that go in either Hooters or strip clubs thinking they can actually go home with one of the chicks. The sheen seems to be lost on me. When I go into Hooters, I only tip big for great service. I could really give two shits and a fuck whether some chick with her sweater puppies pushed to the breaking point hits on me. She doesn't really like me, it's all an act. A crock of shit. Same goes with the strip club. I don't mind giving them money, because they are doing a job. But I am not in there crossing my fingers, hoping against hope that I will hook up.
I don't feel ashamed, or like I am any less of a good guy because I went to a strip club. Fuck it. I'm a relatively young guy, and am not married. What the hell's wrong with me giong to a strip club? I'm just following what every other guy wants; a beer and to see something naked. As the poet Ron White once said, "'Cause -- back me up on this, fellas -- once you've seen one woman naked, you... pretty much wanna see the rest of 'em naked."
Until next time:
"First, it was not a strip bar, it was an erotic club. And second, what can I say? I'm a night owl. " - Marion Berry
posted by The Big Man | 8/15/2006 11:10:00 AM
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