I’ve been in the enviable position of attending a strip joint at the urging of a hot bodacious mama, and in her company. Good times were had by all.
By and large, the more respectful you are to the dancers, the better time you have.
Toward that end, I’ve seen bouncers rescue and evacuate a rude patron getting his shit righteously kicked by an angry limber woman in spiked heels. Dumbass.
Fat guys? Sadly, often much faster than one might think, while as strong as you might reasonably expect. I try not to piss anyone off unnecessarily.
Jamaika – in my experience, the macho quotient at strip joints is actually somewhat lower than regular bars with comparable clientele. Fois Gras – you sound like a class act. Let’s grab some cold ones and swap colorful lies sometime.
Maybe “be ourselves” is a loaded phrase. Am I not myself when I am with my girlfriend? Am I not myself when I am with my friends? Am I only myself inside a strip club? The whole concept of self comes down to the old metaphor of the masks we wear.
So yeah, I wasn’t dating the kind of girl with whom I could be walking down the street and point to another woman’s ass and tell her that it was cute. But there were aspects of me that would manifest with my girlfriend and not with my friends, and vice versa. Not a lot of aspects, mind you. I didn’t become an entirely new person whenever I switched crowds. It was simply that my gf wasn’t interested in hearing my thoughts on other women’s asses, so I didn’t talk about them with her. My friends weren’t interested in the topic of Japanese tea ceremony customs, so I didn’t discuss those with them.
In neither case did I feel like I was “not being myself.” Nor does it mean that my personality underwent a radical change, becoming macho and only discussing women with my friends, or completely meek (or whatever you want to call the other end of the spectrum) when with my gf.
I am not really that interested in strip clubs myself, at least not at this part of my life, and I think that Happy Scrappy’s description of them, while not untrue, had more overtones of “good ol’ boys’ clubs” than perhaps he had intended. This (at least in my reading) might have been because of phrases like “where men can be men.” He’s not wrong, but “men can be men” in lots of different places and in different ways. It looks to me like Jamaika a jamaikaiaké and others are arguing two sides of the same coin.
Well, the best thing to do is be gay, live in San Francisco and bring your straight brother to the strip club and you’re all “hey girl, what’s up?” and your brother is all “you know these women?” and you’re all “Yeah.”
I don’t know for sure, but I’d say not. There’re no bouncers in the private rooms nor in the semi-private room where regular lap dances are done. I think Rolli and Polli just wanted to put themselves where they could cop feels off every single dancer as she went on or off stage.
Contrary to what some might assume, I don’t spend any great amount of time in strip clubs. Typically, my brother and I go out once or twice a year, not counting bachelor parties. We go to this place more often than not and last night was the first time having the view polluted with fat-asses was an issue, not just at this club, but ever.
Seems to me the private and semi-private rooms would be where the dancer has met the patron and has agreed to the <ahem> proposition. I still think the greatest danger is from some shithead as she’s coming off the stage. Indygrrl?
I still don’t think so, Frank. At this club, the girls who aren’t on stage or giving lap dances are mingling with the customers. We had two very hot strippers at our table with us, on and off, during the evening. Admittedly, while they were sitting with us the Adipose Twins faded from our perception. My point, though, is that there are girls all over the club, not just the one up on stage. They were poorly positioned for their job.
In approximately 50% of the five or six times I’ve been to strip clubs, the biggest downer on the whole experience (other than the general vibe of sadness and desperation, and the overwhelming stench of stale Miller Lite), was Meth Mouth.
Oh, to be born fifteen years earlier, when most of the strippers were just strung out, and not tweaking.
In the remaining visits, it was a tie between fetal alcohol syndrome and getting raided by the cops.
If I’m going to pay $7.00 a beer, I’d rather see the Reds get their asses kicked and eat a goetta dog than watch a too-tan, Marlboro-light-snorking single mother heave bacon and cottage cheese across a stage, accompanied by Whitesnake and/or Siqo.
Maybe that’s what I get for hitting strip clubs in Newport, KY, a trailer in rural Indiana, and San Juan.
I’ve visited a lot of strip clubs over the years and I have to say that the appearance of the bouncers ranks down there with the wallpaper on my checklist.
Is this club in a town? If so, there must be a line out the door, as it sounds like the best strip club ever, from the perspective of a customer’s bottom line. I would think there would be beer drinkers of both genders coming to the place, with or without strippers on offer.
I’ve been to strip clubs where you pay a $10 cover and get to bring in your own beer, but “free” beer beats that deal all to hell. And the club I’m talking about was a ways out of town in a corn field.
Do the girls hustle you for drinks and juke box money and run other little gimmicks?
Actually, no. He’s a great, big black man who sounds like Barry White when he talks. I don’t recall what it was I said or did, but he once grabbed me by the upper arms, picked me up, and shook me like an au pair shakes a baby. He did it in a friendly way, not out of anger, but it was still a rather remarkable sensation to feel my feet come off the ground so suddenly.
Yes, it’s in the town of McKee’s Rocks. The girls don’t hustle you for drink money, because there are no drinks to buy. They try to entice you into lap dances, of course, and suggest the private room (which is $150) and they want you to “fall in love” with them so you’ll be cramming singles into their garters during their numbers on stage.
The free beer thing isn’t that uncommon here in PA due to a peculiarity in our laws. You need a license from the state, which is expensive and not at all easy to get, to sell beer. No license required to give it away. I’ve been in other strip clubs that did the same thing, though they charged a much stiffer cover. Oh, and if you have the license to sell beer, the dancers can’t be completely naked. These girls were gloriously, wonderfully unencumbered with clothing.
They manage to stay in business. If you go out the the strip club, you go saying “I have $X to spend.” If you don’t spend it on beer, you spend it on the strippers. They get it out of you one way or another. It’snot particularly good beer either. It’s watered down, I’m sure, but it’s still drinkable. It just takes a while to get drunk. The liquor is free too, btw.
Hey, just 'cause your thin doesn’t mean you can’t find it offensive, you know?
I’m still trying to figure out where the hell this imaginary bitching, nagging ‘cunt wife’ came from. With classy, thinly-veiled misogyny like that, one hopes those bouncers are stronger than they appear.
