The Strip Club

Some friends have discovered that if they bring me to a strip club that they get lots of extra free attention from the girls. Naturally, they invite me and offer to pay my way. Every so often I oblige them. Such it was in November.

To set the stage, it is myself, a middle-aged chubby guy with a salt and pepper beard, and a range of guys, all masons and laborers, who look like average young people. They were all much more handsome, and much less chubby.

We show up at the club and as we walk to the door, there is a stripper outside smoking and shivering. She says it is so cold she can’t get her nipples under control. I immediately stop. All my friends walk by me and open the door. I look her in the eye and with a deadpan expression I say, “Prove it.” She puts the cigarette in her mouth, unbuttoned her coat, flashed me, and before she could rebutton her coat, I gave her a bear hug. I am a veritable blast furnace, so she was pleased. I whispered, “A few seconds more and you will be warm.” She giggled and replied, “Yes, and wet, too.” That was my queue to let go and walk inside, without looking back. My friends all looked at me and asked, “How do you do it, man?”

We went to the little alcove to pay the cover charge. Since I would never pay for entrance to such a place, someone has to treat me. There was no shortage of volunteers. They determined that whoever pays gets to sit next to me. It will become apparent why later.

Upon entering, they chose a cozy spot next to the secondary stage facing the primary stage. The music was very loud. Almost immediately, a buxom waitress appeared and asked everyone if they wanted a drink. I ignored her. After getting everyone else’s drink order, she came to me and asked what I wanted. I told her I do not drink, but would be happy to tell her a joke. So, she leaned forward and I made her laugh heartily. I asked if she wanted another joke, and she sat in my lap while I told her a few more. My friends were astounded that I had been there less than three minutes and already had a woman in my lap. She was crying by the time she left to go get the drinks. Yes, it was from laughing.

I entertained my friends with hilarious observations about the dancers as they came and went. Then one came out that was different. I could not say what was different about her. She did not seem jaded and lost to the world like the others. My friends noticed I had no funny comments about her but studied her breathing and her moves carefully, looking for clues as to what was different.

What I had noticed is that most strippers look like there is a break between the neck and the rest of the body, like the head belongs to them and the body is not them, but something they control. The expressions of the head do not match the expressions of the rest of the body. They have become disassociated. This one seemed alive head to toe. My friends tried to get a comment out of me. All I could say was that this one was different, and that I liked her. As she came to the secondary stage, my friends took a collection and handed me some bills, insisting I go give this girl money.

Being early in the evening, the place was sparsely filled. I was the only one at the secondary stage, and she danced for me alone. I could not care less. All I wanted was to know what was different about her. I looked her in the eye. I did not break eye contact the entire time. She came very close to my face to tell me how to give her the money, as I was not following the queues. I did not know them. She told me her name. I wasn’t listening. I was intently looking for something in her eyes. A few seconds later, I had to laugh, as now she would not stop returning my stare. I was wondering to myself, does she feel the least bit silly grinding her pelvis inches from my face and I am not the least bit interested? Apparently she did, for she came over and lay on her back in front of me, putting her face inches from mine, upside down. I continued to look in her eyes.

“Do you remember my name?” she asked. I shook my head no. I had not been listening. She said, “I’m only going to tell you once more. It’s Chelsea.” A minute later, the song ended and she started to climb down the stairs. The DJ asked for noise, and I gave a Tarzan yell at the top of my lungs. Three girls came over to our table to see who made that noise. They thanked me for cheering for the girl that danced for me. Apparently they feel under appreciated. My friends were astounded at how much attention I was getting. I had not really noticed. They tried to get me to go and sit through another dance with another dancer, but I refused. I gave the money back.

Periodically, re-clothed dancers would appear and try to sell personal lap dances in the other room. There is no way on Earth I am paying $20 for that! My friends would laugh heartily at the creative ways I would rebuff their sales pitches. What was even more entertaining was the reaction the girls would give to my excuses. I told one I was gay. I kept an absolutely straight face. She said, “really”? Then when all of my friends laughed hysterically, she hit me. I, of course, fell out of my chair and rolled about five feet. The poor girl put her hands over her face. I writhed in pain until she came over to say she was sorry, then I stood up smiling and she knew she had been had. She says, “You’re not gay!” I assured her I was. She took off her top and started shaking her breasts at me. I kept an absolute straight face and looked her in the eye. Then I shook my head and said, “Sorry.” She leaned over and said in my ear, “Very funny!” Then she kissed me on the cheek, shook them one final time, put her top back on, and waved at me smiling as she walked away. My friends were laughing so hard they were spitting beer.

One girl, I do not remember her name, was very insistent. She seemed to take it as a personal challenge to get me to go with her for a personal dance. Eventually, I told her I did not have $20 so the point was moot. She immediately, without hesitation, asked the table who would buy me a personal lap dance. Three guys pulled out $20 and threw it at me. I now had enough for three lap dances. She grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s go.”

“Hold on a second there, sweetheart!” I replied. I am also a control freak, so we will only go when I say so. I said this with such conviction that even I believed it. You go about your business and when I am ready I will wave you down.” I showed her a ridiculous wave to let her know how I would summon her. She left reluctantly. The guys howled. They think I am nuts. They cannot understand why I wouldn’t go get a private dance. I just truly had no interest.

Shortly after that, Chelsea was on stage two again. She beckoned me to come over. I shook my head no. She beckoned with more insistence. I said I had no money. She demanded I come over. The guys were all laughing at me. Sheepishly, I went over to see what she wanted. When I arrived at the stage she handed me a fistful of money and said, “Sit there.” So I did. She danced for a few moments for a couple sitting on the other side of the stage, and then she came and lay on her back again in front of me. “Do you remember my name?” I pretended to be thinking hard. “Chelsea!” I acted proud I had remembered. She nodded her head, all the while not breaking eye contact with me. Then she danced for me. This dance was similar to the first, however, this time she smiled throughout and then sat in front of me and closed her eyes. Then she ran her hands all over herself like she was, well, really enjoying it. I had not considered what I would do if she closed her eyes, but I simply watched her face. The expressions were so childlike. I would never believe this was a stripper if I saw her on the street. I could not read this one. I sat in shock.

Then she wanted me to put a bill between her breasts. I did. She leaned forward to make sure the breasts rubbed my hand as she took the bill. My friends all howled with laughter. Apparently, I was not prepared for that and my jaw dropped a bit when she had done it. OK. She won that round. I smiled at her and nodded to let her know she had gotten me. She mouthed her name to me. When the song ended I did my Tarzan yell again, and I was going to go speak to her, but someone was waiting to take her for a personal dance, and I did not see her the rest of the night.

Next up was a young blonde girl who was, how shall I say? Blessed. She was dancing and I was not paying much attention. Then she turned upside down and did some very strenuous activities. She was making some funny faces, which only I noticed. At one point she looked at me and I made the same face back at her. She immediately started laughing uncontrollably. She looked away. A few seconds later she looked back, and I was making the face again. This time she stopped dancing and laughed for a few seconds. Then she laughed and danced, refusing to look over at me.

When the song ended, she immediately ran over, without stopping to re-attire herself, and stood about ten feet away with her hands on her hips, giving me the best evil eye she could muster. It wasn’t very good, as she laughed every few seconds. I sat straight-faced and gave her no reaction. She began to play with her nipples and gave a coy expression. I immediately began unbuttoning my shirt and gave a coy expression. She sprinted around behind me and began playing with my nipples through my shirt and rubbing her breasts on the back of my head. My friends rolled on the floor.

Then she put her chin on my shoulder and rubbed her breasts on my side. I was giving no reaction whatever. She said her name was Kelsey. I laughed. She didn’t understand why, and I didn’t bother to explain. Then she said that Saturday was her birthday, and she was about to invite me to her birthday party when I interrupted her to ask how old she would be. She said, “Nineteen.” I immediately changed the subject and told her that that was my daughter’s birthday as well, which it was, and that she was turning eleven, but I hoped someday she would be a stripper, too. My friends, who all know my daughter, laughed so hard that I started laughing, too. At this point, she realized I was pulling her leg, and stood up with her hands on her hips, kissed her hand, placed it on my cheek, and went to another table and scored a personal dance in seconds.

At this point, I had had quite enough. We had been there for an hour, so I was getting bored. I gave them back the $60 dollars they had contributed to my personal dance that never happened. As I stood up, the insistent girl showed up to take me to do the personal dance. I told her she was too late, and that Kelsey had already grabbed me by the hand with a vice-like grip and dragged me to the back room. I could not do anything about it and my money was all gone. She gave me a very sad look, and walked away. I almost felt bad for her. But, she had made more money already that day than I would all week. I figured she would get over it… someday.

The following day, I heard all about how the girls kept coming over to see who that guy was who did the Tarzan yell. My friends had all manner of fun making up stories about me. They told the girls I was a millionaire who was very eccentric. They made up wild stories about my antics and my life. All in all, they had a wonderful time. I’ll probably do it again sometime, maybe next year…