I'm a pervert, really

My friend prefaced his visit to town with a simple text message: "Strip club on Sunday. Be ready."

Right off, you never really have to twist my arm to go to one of these places, and the one just outside of town here is rather good--a lot classier than it appears from the outside, but still raunchy as fuck. Some times I put up a fight about it; some times my financial status--just above the poverty line--gets the better of me and I decline, but really, I'd go whenever if I could. It's something I enjoy, and even if I should feel guilty about it, I really don't.

The fact of the matter is I only go two or three times a year. I realize I'm rationalizing.

We headed out to the club, and it was an extremely slow night--only five girls working as one of the dancers informed me. "Sunday," she said, "is our slowest night." The group at the club was rather ragtag: a couple of old guys, a strip club rookie who asked me how to get a girl to give him a lapdance, the creepy fellows who lurk in the back, and this group of college-aged youths (guys and girls) out for a good time, though they seemed rather shady. The place was uncharacteristically dark inside--it's never really bright, but the lights were even more dim tonight, it seemed--and our mood was just as mellow (one of my friends was kinda stoned). Even though the music was bumping loud, it still felt quiet, and that gave me ample opportunity to consider the surroundings, while, of course, a nubile young woman thrust her crotch in my face.

I never know how to react to that. Some times I try to look unphased--my usual blank expression--some times I smile, but I've always worred about whether or not I have a creepy smile. I know these girls pay about as much attention to me as they do to every other loser who happens into the club, but I still don't want to be the creepy guy. No one wants to be the creepy guy.

Some times, even, my eyes wander to what else is going on. Even though she's on a stage, with lights pouring all over her, I still feel it's impolite to look, what with her being naked and all. I leave my dollars on the rail like I'm supposed to, and I say "you're welcome," when they say "thank you."

I ponied up the cash for two private dances in the VIP room, which isnt' very VIP...this isn't Vegas champagne room stuff. They had sisters working, of all things, and I ended up getting dances from both of them. The first was wonderfully gentle with rings in both nipples, and she smelled real nice. Somewhere along the way, the heavy perfumes associated with strip clubs had been replaced with more natural vanilla-y smells. The second--she looked like the older of the two, but maybe only by a year--shook my hand and introduced herself as "Paris," and informed me about Sunday nights. We talked for a couple minutes before she said, "I'm sure you know the rules." I did. And then she hopped on my lap and said softly, "Just let me know if I hurt you." before proceeding to use her tiny body as a projectile and batter me against the back of the bench. At one point, she jammed her knee into my clavicle. It hurt, well most of it did, but much to my surprise, I didn't mind so much. I guess you can learn a lot about yourself at a strip club.

Unfortunately, there was a creepy guy at the club that night--one of the bouncers. Usually, the bouncer for a VIP room stands at the entrance. The typical body type is big, like really big, like you've gotta be a fuckin' idiot for fucking aroudn in there big. Just his presence as the entrance of the room is enough of a deterent. The girl will check with him as you walk in, and he stays at the doorway while she does her thing in one of the booths. Occasionally, he will make a sweep to make sure none of the guys (or girls) are doing something they shouldnt' be. However, this bouncer was a little more involved in the process. As the first sister wrapped her leg behind my head and did her best to make it look like she wanted me, and I had just given in to the fantasy of the moment, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the bouncer...and he was staring at us. It was gross, but my friends and I cracked up when I told them the story, and the night became much more fun after that. Thanks, creepy guy.