I Violate One of My Principles: I Go To A Strip Club

As I've said in the past, I've had quite an ethical quandary over going to a strip-joint. I was very confused about this area of the human experience. A nudie-bar always seemed somewhat like a very seedy place, yet it had an aura of mystery around it that was a little titillating. Half of me was disgusted by it, yet the other half was left oddly intrigued. I badly wanted to be a guy who didn't leer at or objectify women in a crass way... I wanted to be the type of guy who could say he'd never been to a strip-club and whose girlfriend could trust me to not do that kind of thing. But, you know what? Fuck it.

Fuck it. That's right. I said 'Fuck it'.

I'll no longer even keep-up the pretense of saying that I won't pay a chick to strip for me. Hell, I might as well give it a shot. Sure, I might feel like a jerk, but why the hell should I stick to an idea which clearly hasn't meant very much in the first place?

What good are my lofty principles? Really, I mean, what the flaming hell good are they? I'm officially abandoning my strip-club non-patronization rule, because it has heretofore not made me one iota more attractive as a boyfriend! I hereby renounce my policy and vow to never look back, ya hear me?!

Out With My Cousin

Yeah, he's a bad influence. We were playing pool a few nights ago. He was talking about a strip-club he'd recently been to in North Carolina.

"Man, those chicks will do wicked things... You know, you can just bring-in your own beer, too. Seriously, they don't let you do that around here." He lines-up an easy shot on the pool-table... and misses.

"I- don't laugh, okay? I've never been to a strip-club." I lean on my pool-cue and shrug. I had a feeling I knew what was coming next.

"Never? Oh, dude! We're going!"

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Oh yeah, we're going tonight. Got any cash?"

I look in my wallet.

"About $100. That enough?"

"Oh, dude! We're going!"

Well, it wasn't that hard to persuade me.

And So... We're Off.

We're talking in the car along the way. Strangely enough, we were talking about various phobias.

"So, agoraphobia is fear of being outside, right? There's like a phobia for just about everything, isn't there? Heights, small spaces, flying..." He says.

"That's right. Ever heard of thanataphobia?"

"Nope."

"That's the fear of death. There are fears of certain colors. Fears of certain shapes... There are country-specific fears, too. Japanophobia. Russophobia. Anglophobia. Howabout lusophobia?"

"What's that one?"

"Oddly enough, It's the fear of the Portuguese."

"You're shittin' me!" He laughs. "Who the hell would be afraid of the Portuguese?"

"Well, I dunno... but it is what it is. Anglophone means English-speaking, and fear of the English is anglophobia. Lusophone means Portugese-speaking, therefore, lusophobia has got to be the fear of the Portuguese." We arrive at the back of the strip-joint.

"Wierd. Okay, we'll go through the back of the place." We get-out of the car and walk towards the '24 Karat'. The color-scheme on the outside of the building was beige with pink neon rims flashing around the roof. That sort of thing just screams good taste, dunnit? We go-in the back way. Good lord, this is making me a little nervous. Maybe it's too late to back-out? I hold my breath and enter...

Into the Breach

The music is throbbing, but not painfully so. We get our id's checked, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the stage. There is a comely, platinum-blond girl hanging upside-down from a chrome pole, almost dangling from the ceiling. Cousin and I get seats right on the lip of the stage, next to the pole. She is twisting herself around the pole in a number of lewd ways. I get a kick out of her costume though, she's got a furry bikini, a fox-tail and a pair of fox-ears on her head. Very amusing. I can't say that she's pretty, though.

My cousin takes a tightly-rolled dollar bill in his teeth, and lays-out on his back. Foxy dismounts the pole and straddles him, grinding her hips into his midsection. She leans-forward and snatches the bill from his mouth with her mouth. She glides her hands down his chest and resumes climbing the pole...

He sits-down next to me. "That's how you do it."

I chuckle nervously. "Well, the next dancer that comes-out, I'll give it a shot." The waitress comes-by and takes our drink orders... she's fully clothed, however. I feel oddly ashamed in front of her, however. I avert my eyes as I order. I don't know what it is, I don't mind making eye contact with the stripped, but I do mind making eye contact with the clothed waitress.

Anyways, over the next few minutes, Foxy removes herself from her outfit and winds-up fully buck naked on the stage. She's very thin and has a pair of small, well-shaped breasts. She's also shaved her pubes.

The deejay's voice comes-over the sound system: "Okay, let's give it up for Foxy Erica!" Some applause comes from the six or so other patrons who are there. I snicker inwardly at the extreme campiness of this whole set-up that I've wandered into. Foxy takes a bow, gathers-up her furry costume and hops-up the spiral staircase at the far-end of the stage. "Next-up in two minutes, we've got Yasmine!" Booms the speakers system.

Our drinks arrive as the next dancer comes-out. Facially, Yasmine looks sort of looks like Sandra Bullock. Yasmine's wearing a pair of black leggings and a stretchy, day-glo orange top with some sort of semi-reflective material embedded in it... it sorta looks like a piece of swimwear. But, and this is the point, she's got a pair of incredible breasts packed into her top. A pair of double-D twangers that jutted right out and made the perfect amount of cleavage. I'm the kind of guy who goes weak in the knees when he sees a bit of generous bosom. Yeah, I admit it, I like it a lot. I probably like it more than I should. Maybe I should see a doctor about it.

I let her do the first dance, and wait until she's stripped-down to only her black thong.

Oh God, I've got to get a dance from her... I lie-down on my back, and grasp the dollar in my teeth. Sure enough, she shimmies-over to me, and climbs onto me... She straddles me, and squirms all over my chest... she plucks the bill from my mouth and snaps it into her thong.

Wow, she's incredible. I do that a few more times as she dances. Before long, she's down to her skivvies. Her dance routine ends, and she bounds-off the stage. I absolutely craved the feeling of having her legs straddle me again... I turn to my cousin.

"God, I'd love to do that again."

My Very First Lap-Dance

Before long, Yasmine emerges from a door off to the side of the stage and goes sit on a stool at the bar. She's wearing the same black-legging/orange top combo that I first saw her wear. Yup, her boobs still look perfect in that top.

"Hey, why not get a private dance from her? Just go-up and ask her!" Cousin nudges me.

"Are you sure? I just go and ask?" I shrug.

"Yeah. Oh, and only get one dance. Really, no matter how much you want another dance, only get one!" He warns. "You can blow a whole wad of cash with private dances."

I walk-up to Yasmine, who is sitting at the bar and has her back turned to me. She's talking to another stripper... the second girl spots me and nudges Yasmine's arm. Yasmine turns and looks at me.

"Hey there." She says coyly.

"Hi... Can I get a private dance from you?" I ask.

"Of course. It's twenty bucks. Come on." She leads me by my sleeve to an alcove off in the rear. There are rather secluded couches and she chooses a place for me to sit. She pats the couch with her hand. "This okay?"

"Sure..." I sit-down and dig a 20 out of my wallet. She settles-down in my lap and plucks it from me.

"So tell me about you." She runs her hands through my hair.

"I... well, I'm going to Japan in a few months. Howabout you?"

"That sounds exciting... I'm from Canada. I travel-around the U.S. a lot... you know, the U.S. dollar is worth more than I can get back home..." The music changes, and she stands-up. I look-up at her.

She slowly starts to sway her body in front of me, and turns to face away... she puts both hands through her hair and starts rubbing them down her sides...

"How long are you here?"

"Until Wednesday. Then I'm going to Florida."

"Oh? Why there?"

"Because it's warm, silly." She juts-out her rear and slowly sways it in front of me. I can see the outline of her thong clearly through the fabric. "So... what's your name?" She asks.

"NiceGuy..." I'm running short of breath. "I think you're astounding."

"Thanks... " She turns-around and starts slipping her leggings-off. As she bends-forward, I see a generous amount of cleavage... She has a really cute smile, and her voice is just dripping with sultry suggestiveness.

By now, my blood is roiling with testosterone. My breathing starts getting shallow. My hard-on is aching. She juts-out her chest as she kicks her leggings-off... she's got good balance in those platform heels. But I notice, her breasts didn't quite flop like normal breasts should. Were they fake? It's too early to tell...

She sensuously whips-off her top and drops it in my lap. Wow. I can't help gawk in awe. Hmm, I don't see any scars...

"Shoof... " I pant. "Oh... God... you're incredible... Phwah..."

"Are you shy?" She asks.

"Yes... I'm kind of shy. This is sort of my first lap-dance. Ffff... Ever."

"Ooh, well, I'll make it a good one..." she coos. Yasmine wriggles her butt into my lap, grinding into my crotch. She leans her back against my chest. I put my arms around her front.

"Is this okay?" I ask.

"Sure..." She rubs her back into my chest and lets her hair fall into my face.

I gently reach around front to smooth my hand over her right breast... it's a little taut for a breast. Hmm, odd. It doesn't feel quite... I softly squeeze it... Yup, there was something beneath the skin. It felt like... literally, like a plastic bag of gel about an eighth of an inch down.

But, even if they're fake, they look great on her. I'm losing control of my breath.

Grinning widely, she stands-up and puts one foot on my shoulder. She unsnaps her thong and lets it fall to the floor. I can see everything now. Oooh, God, I want her...

"God, I wish I could take you home... Phsheeyu." I absent-mindedly say as I admire her body. She giggles. Yeah, really smart of me. I bet she hears that, what, about a million times a week?

"Mind if I... phshyuu... ask you a... question? Pphhhh..." I stammer.

"Sure thing... go ahead." She tousles her hair coquettishly.

"Are they real?" Well, I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear her say it. She giggled and continued to dance with one leg on my shoulder. Wow, she's got good balance.

"Well, they're on me. Isn't that good enough?" She jiggles her boobs for emphasis and brings them very close to my face. She slid forward another inch and pressed them right against me. Holy crap, I'm going to have a heart-attack here. That's it, I'm going to die of cardiac arrest and they'll have to wheel my corpse-out of a building with an "All-Nude Dancers" sign flashing on the front. God, that'd be an awful obituary. What'll aunt Florrie think of her dead favorite nephew, then?

"Oh, phew... yes... that's... hoo, boy... they're... ulp, very nice. *Nervous laugh*. Really, phew, absolutely gorgeous. I love the they- those- the way those- they looked in your... top. Phwoo... You know what I mean." (Heh, now that I look back, I can see that I turn-in to an awkward moron when I see a naked gal dancing suggestively a hairsbreadth in front of me, mashing her mammaries into my eyes. After all, that doesn't happen to me every day, you know. Maybe if it did happen to me every day, I'd be used to it by now.)

"Thanks, baby." Yasmine coos. The music stops and she suddenly stands-up. "Like another dance?"

"God, yes!" I hand her another $20 bill. I can feel myself getting addicted to this.

She leans-back into my face... I'm in heaven...

Two more lap-dances later...

I emerge, grinning with a huge, goofy smile. She is standing next to me, with her arm around my waist.

"Want to get me a drink?" She asks.

"Sure..." I've got money, why the hell not?

I look-over and see that Cousin is laying-back on the stage, again... letting another dancer have her way with him.

I get Yasmine a glass of wine, and go-back to sit-next to my cousin.

"That. Was. Awesome." I smile.

"You were in there for a while, dude. Heh, this chick is hot." He pointed-at the girl on stage. She was a lithe, svelte blond, wearing an extremely abbreviated version of schoolgirl's uniform. Ultra-short plaid skirt and a white, button-up blouse with only one button clasped. She was 'Ariana'.

Over the next few minutes, she undoes her clothes and lets them fall to the floor. She's belly-crawling on the stage... I clutch a dollar between my teeth and lie on the stage again... she rolls on top of me, and uses her cleavage to collect her fee. She pulls the ribbon out of her hair and her blond mane falls-out onto her shoulders. She sweeps her hair back and forth over my crimson face.

After about a half-minute, she rolls-off my front. I dismount the stage and sit down, smiling like a cat with a mouthful of mice.

I'm very tempted to get a dance from her, too. Cousin and I get another pair of drinks: and I still can't bear to look in the eyes of the clothed waitresses, for some reason. I dunno, I just feel really ashamed.

Ariana Finishes her Dance

I'm at the bar, and Ariana walks-up. I say hi.

"Hey there."

"Hi... mind if I get a private dance from you?" I ask.

Of course, she doesn't refuse. We go-off to the self-same alcove where Yasmine had danced for me, and I sit-down. Ariana starts slowly pulling-off her schoolgirl uniform before me...

Does the Stripper Think I'm a Jerk?

We go-back into the bar at the end of her dance. Ariana is in the process of straightening-out her uniform as we walk.

"Can I get you a drink?" I ask.

"Sure. I could use some water..." We walk-up to the bar and sit. I order a water for her.

Yasmine is sitting with this other guy down the bar, and it looks as if she's going to give him a private dance. The guy hands her a $20 bill and they go-off to the couch-alcove.

A few minutes pass, and the ethical quandary I'd mentioned at the beginning of this piece crept back into my mind. "I've got a question..." I ask.

"What is it?" She sips her water.

"Well, I guess... I'd always sort of thought that I'd be sort of a jerk if I came to a place like this. You know, I was brought up to not regard women as sex objects, and I..."

She laughs. "You were worried that you'd be a jerk by coming here?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"Hey, don't worry about it. No one forced me to dance. You're just supposed to come-in, have a few drinks, enjoy a few dances and that's it. I mean, you're helping us girls out. Seriously, if you didn't come here, how would we earn a living?"

True.

"Well, I guess it's okay, then." I say.

"You bet it's okay."

By now, Yasmine has returned from her lap-dance-giving. She has a look on her face of distaste, as if she'd overturned a rock to see a bunch of albino spiders cloying to the bottom of it.

"Ick, that was bad!" Yasmine is visibly grossed-out. She shivers her shoulders in mock disgust.

"What happened?" Ariana asks.

"Oh that guy... I just walked-out on him. He was being disgusting. He tried to take his pants-off and I just said 'No, I'm outta here.'" She sits-down and picks-up her wineglass.

"Ew." I wince. Hmm, but I wonder whether or not I behaved in such a way that she'd have been taken-aback? "Did I behave okay? I wasn't sure how to act..." I ask Ariana.

"Yeah, you did great." She reaches past me and nudges Yasmine. "Did this guy behave himself with you?" She points at me.

Yasmine is sipping her wine. She looks at me. "He sure did. He was a real gentleman."

My cousin walks-past and indicates he needs to head-out soon. About then, I got an idea. I've got this website, why not try to go on a date with one of these women and write about the experience? Hmm, it might be kind of interesting. I mean, it's worth a try, right?

"Hey could I get to know the real you?" I ask Ariana.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... what's your favorite restaurant?"

She smiles wistfully. "Olive Garden. Why?"

"Well, how'd you like me to take you there? I'd love to get to know the real you..."

She laughs. "I don't know..."

"Well, it's your choice. I won't pressure you."

"Well, I do have to do Christmas shopping this weekend. And you look safe. I'll tell you what? I can meet you for lunch, and maybe you can help me decide what to get for Christmas?"

"Sure thing. Meet you on Sunday at noon?" She nods. "Awesome. Ariana, it's been a pure pleasure, but I should go.

I turn to Yasmine, her twin surgically-enhanced mounds proudly jutting-out in her straining top. God, I'm totally addicted to them now. No matter how hard I try, I can't stop trying to peek. I pull-out a dollar bill. She notices me looking and grins.

"Here ya go." She stands-up and gently mashes her cleavage in my face once again. I slip the dollar into her top. It nestles-in nicely. Oooh, man, they look so niiiiice.

"Bye." I give both of them a hug, and they wave as I leave.

I Grin All the Way Home

The next two days, I have a huuuge, enigmatic smile plastered on my face. I really liked that experience. That was great. Why the hell had I stayed-away from strippers for so long? Hell, if I had an abundance of cash at the moment, I might go every week. Heh, but if I went every week, I also might get bored of it after a while... Oh, I have my date coming-up this weekend. But that's another story... Going on a Date With a Stripper.

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"Traditional women were and are deeply suspicious of the package we call the sexual revolution. They know that in the past women were valued for sex and reproduction, and they believe that wives should hang on to their monopoly on legitimate sex for the very simple reason that it enhances their value." -- Sylvia Ann Hewlett, A Lesser Life.

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