logo by Wednesday, January 12, 2005
I don't think there were any strip clubs in the town where I went to college, and my friends and I never really ventured out of town very much back then, so it wasn't until my first year of grad school (by which time I had moved to the city where I currently live) that I actually went to my first strip club. It was a cheesy little shack on the side of a highway called the Starlight Lounge. I had passed it every day on my way to school, and one day curiosity got the best of me so I decided to venture inside. It was just a topless joint, but there was no cover, and the food and drink prices were very reasonable--the kind of place where you could basically just walk in and grab a quick drink whenever you had an urge to see some tits. But after about a half-hour the excitement wore off and I left, never to return again.
The next year a friend and I were downtown after an evening of scoping the singles bars when he suggested that we check out one of the "gentleman's clubs." The place was called Camelot, and it was a step up from the Starlight Lounge in that it was slightly more classy and the girls got totally naked. I guess looking at pussy is more interesting that looking at tits, because we stayed a little bit longer than I had stayed at the other place. But again, I eventually got bored and we left, never to go back.
Since some anachronistic city law prohibits anything more than a naked girl dancing around a pole, I doubt if I would have ever gone back to another strip club. But then a year or two later, upon starting my first job, my boss took me on a business trip to Ft. Lauderdale and decided to introduce me to what he called a real strip club.
And boy was it real.
Upon stepping into the place I felt like Dorothy landing in Oz. Not only were there lots of nude girls running around, but instead of sitting at tables and ordering food and drinks, each customer got his own love seat to share with one of the girls. And share they did. All around us, incredibly beautiful, young, naked girls were straddling customer's laps, grinding against them and jiggling their boobs in their faces. And on stage, the girls weren't just swinging around the pole, they were fucking the damn pole, masturbating, and lifting their legs up to their ears so you could see every detail of their pretty young pussies. And no sooner had we walked into the place when a gorgeous, naked, young thing walked up to me and asked if I would like her to take me into the back room so she could explain the club's "policies" to me while another naked little goddess was pulling my boss off in another direction.
For a young, married man like myself who was practically still on his honeymoon, the place was way more than I had bargained for and, to my credit, I was somehow able to squirm away from my "assigned" girl, grab my boss, and insist that we get the hell out of there. And once out in the car, even my boss who has been around the block many a time, admitted that this place was a little too fast for him.
He and I still laugh about that place from time to time, and I still wonder what exactly would have happened to me if I had gone into that back room.
But the difference between me then and now is that now I want to go back and find out. And this time I wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.
The next year a friend and I were downtown after an evening of scoping the singles bars when he suggested that we check out one of the "gentleman's clubs." The place was called Camelot, and it was a step up from the Starlight Lounge in that it was slightly more classy and the girls got totally naked. I guess looking at pussy is more interesting that looking at tits, because we stayed a little bit longer than I had stayed at the other place. But again, I eventually got bored and we left, never to go back.
Since some anachronistic city law prohibits anything more than a naked girl dancing around a pole, I doubt if I would have ever gone back to another strip club. But then a year or two later, upon starting my first job, my boss took me on a business trip to Ft. Lauderdale and decided to introduce me to what he called a real strip club.
And boy was it real.
Upon stepping into the place I felt like Dorothy landing in Oz. Not only were there lots of nude girls running around, but instead of sitting at tables and ordering food and drinks, each customer got his own love seat to share with one of the girls. And share they did. All around us, incredibly beautiful, young, naked girls were straddling customer's laps, grinding against them and jiggling their boobs in their faces. And on stage, the girls weren't just swinging around the pole, they were fucking the damn pole, masturbating, and lifting their legs up to their ears so you could see every detail of their pretty young pussies. And no sooner had we walked into the place when a gorgeous, naked, young thing walked up to me and asked if I would like her to take me into the back room so she could explain the club's "policies" to me while another naked little goddess was pulling my boss off in another direction.
For a young, married man like myself who was practically still on his honeymoon, the place was way more than I had bargained for and, to my credit, I was somehow able to squirm away from my "assigned" girl, grab my boss, and insist that we get the hell out of there. And once out in the car, even my boss who has been around the block many a time, admitted that this place was a little too fast for him.
He and I still laugh about that place from time to time, and I still wonder what exactly would have happened to me if I had gone into that back room.
But the difference between me then and now is that now I want to go back and find out. And this time I wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.
