Strip Club Odyssey

The other night, Charlotte calls me up and suggests that we go out somewhere. I had not made any particular plans, and Charlotte being one of my favorite playmates, I got myself prepared for some sort of evening. I had no idea what she had in mind; she is not one for going out and being among the rabble. However, there was a certain eagerness in her voice that I could not afford to pass up.

When she arrived to the place, she parked her automotive counterpart and name-sharer in one of my garages and suggested that we cruise out in the hearse. She likes the keep the top down on her nineteen seventy-six Eldorado down, and she did not want any asses messing with her ride:

Me: You parked in the garage?

Charlotte: Yes. I think it would be better if we went in one of your cars, the hearse preferably. I don’t want any hooligans fucking with my shit. You know how they are out there.

Me: Out where?

Charlotte: The strip club. I thought it would be a good idea to go and see some boobs tonight.

Me: Sounds good, let me go in and set the alarms.

We drove out to the club and were greeted by the gaudy look of the place. Now, do not get me wrong, this club is not a seedy hole in the wall. It is a large, two-floored building. It is gaudy because it has a bunch of irregularly flashing neon lights lining the roof and they are simply atrocious. They flash like a traffic signal on a bad acid trip. We parked. We walked inside.

There is an entry fee to this place. An astronomical fee. This place is a piece of work. They charge up the ass to go in and see the ass that you have to pay more for if you want to see the ass dancing close to you. The gatekeeper informed us that if we paid for VIP cards, we could gain entry for free at this club and their other facilities. Since paying for the cards was a much better deal than simply paying for entry, we opted for the cards. Now, we are a bit obliged to go and look at boobs more often.

When we walked into the darkened place, we noticed the menagerie seated about the stage at the tip rail. We noticed that there seemed to be a lot of people there, but not too many strippers. We walked upstairs and took a seat in a balcony overlooking the main floor so that we could avoid having to deal with the frat boys, old perverts, and false-swinging couples with female members that want to give the appearance of kinkiness, bisexuality, and the mindset that they are so cool that they go look at naked ass with their men.

A waitress came and I got a soda while we watched the performer on the stage. For the amount of people and the volume of the place, it would seem that the place should have been noisy. Paradoxically, this was not the case, and Charlotte and I were able to hold a decent conversation while we watched the entertainment.

Charlotte: It is not as noisy in here as it seems that it should be. Oh my God! That old bastard keeps grabbing chicks’ boobs and asses. Dirty bastard!

Me: Naked boob absorbs soundwaves, the ambient noise level is lower because of the amounts of tit around. Where is this dirty bastard?

She pointed out an older fellow who was indeed grabbing onto whatever came near him that was not male, or near a large male that would beat the shit out of him. After awhile, some of the performers stopped coming near him and he sat there like a lonely bench sitting pervert in his tan-khaki shorts and pink shirt. However, he did not leave; he sat at the edge of the stage (the “Tip Rail”) and tipped the dancer on the stage a dollar (doing this attracts the girl to you where she rubs her boobs in your face; give her more and she will pick a dollar up from your face with her stuff while rubbing her face in your crotch). Since he had this girls attention, he could now get his grope on periodically. I am still wondering why a bouncer/security goon did not give him a beat down and then the bum’s rush.

Charlotte: Your explanation sounds like made up pseudoscience. Hey, are you going to get a lapdance?

Me: Oh! Goddess no! There is a germ issue there.

Charlotte: Germ issue? That’s wrong.

Me: I do not think that the girls themselves have germs (although they most certainly do have them, we all do). Rather my concern is the germs of the other people that may have gotten dances from these girls. You know half of the fuckers here did not wash their hands after going into that bathroom; who knows how many of them went into a stall to set free a few knuckle children after being titillated by these sexy minxes roaming about?

Charlotte: You’re so strange. Look at the floor, all of the strippers are coming out. It looks like some kind of invasion!

And she was more than correct. While we were talking, the club emcee came out onto the stage and introduced a special rate on lap dances: two for one, or half off a dance. After he made the announcement, this bouncy, techno music started and all of the dancers began to come out from backstage. And it looked like a fucking invasion.

The floor came alive with the movement of dozens of skantily clad pre-medical students and future attorneys, roaming about from table to table offering dances to everyone down on the floor. It looked like a swarm. The effect of the women coursing through the place like that was eerie in a half-naked ladies invading a place kind of way. After the parade of half-price lapdance offers ended, we went downstairs to sit at the tip rail.

While there, we tossed a few dollars out and the stage dancers did come to boobs in our faces. I had expected them to smell a bit gamey or sweaty from all of dancing and what have you, but they had sweet smells, probably some sort of perfume I surmised. One of these girls even took a peek at Charlotte’s goodies and gave her a little kiss. Definitely erotic.

To end the evening, we walked over into the club’s sex apparatus shop. The chick in attendance was nice enough, and was not hard on the eyes. However, I guess she had not been getting many customers because she ran over into the shop when we entered and made great effort to make us feel welcome to her wares. Unfortunately, we decided that in some form or other, we had some representation of most of the goods present and left without making any purchases. Hopefully, the shopkeep is not paid commission.

And that was the end of our strip club experience. Having come to appreciate that neither of us minded that place too much, we have made plans to use our VIP cards more often, perhaps. Maybe not. Either way, it was a wonderful evening, with wonderful company, and with wonderful background scenery.



  1. I’m glad you had a good time! This fascinates me, but I don’t want to appear like one of those lame false whatever females you described above, because that is definitely not the case, but nonetheless that and my usual social terrified-ness has prevented it so far. I want to go to the B…..i club downtown, and in saying that I just gave away my secret location! Oh well. I think we’re going to do this soon. When, I don’t know. I still think a retro 50’s/early 60’s strip club would be pretty sweet, and also a great business idea.. Firstly there would be no boy bodies or fake tits, both of which I am not a fan of. Secondly, retro lingerie type things. Nice!

    1. I think the idea of the retro-themed club is awesome, we should go into business. And did you notice the blatant act of censorship I used to help conceal your secret location from only the most clever and/or ambitious? Mwa-ha-haaa! I think I could grow to like this whole Big Brother thing.

      But I digress. Be sure to let me know how this club is, whenever I happen to visit, you will have to take me out there…

  2. I will! You could come with us, but that might be a bit too awkward for you lol. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t know what to do! Thank you for your censorship sir.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s