There really isn’t any instruction manual or rules of etiquette for strip clubs. Books have been written about dinner etiquette, not much for strip clubs. Different states, different clubs have different rules. There are I think there is a basic guidelines that could agreed upon for both dancers and customers. Here’s my attempt at the Dancer/Customer Covenant. Some points are serious, some are for laughs.
I (state your name) as a customer about to enter a strip club will agree to the following conditions:
1) I will tip. At least one dollar per stage set and the clubs accepted price for other dances. Watching the dancers without making a decent attempt at tipping is stealing.
2) I will bath and perform basic personal hygiene.
3) I will leave the club the club in a reasonable amount of time after I have run out of money.
4) I will not make any assumptions about somebody’s intelligence, moral qualities, ethics, and attitude toward drugs, personal ambition or any other aspects of personality purely on a person’s current profession. The only conclusion you safe conclusion you can determine about dancer is what she does to pay the bills. Until you meet and talk to her make draw no other conclusions.
5) I will tip legal US currency.
6) I will pay for all dances asked for.
7) I will not cry.
8) I will not grievously lie about my occupational or financial situation purely to take advantage of a dancer by promising fiscal return or occupation rewards I cannot support.
9) I will not physically touch a dancer unless she previously approves.
10) I will not contact, follow, stalk, or bother the dancer in any manner after I leave the club property without the dancers prior consent.
11) I will not throw up on the stage.
12) I will not ask the dancer why she became a stripper.
13) I will not ask the dancer for a date repeatedly. If she says no the first time, you odds aren’t going up if you drink more.
14) I will not lie to a dancer for the express purpose of causing problems with another dancer.
15) I will not insult, harass, or agitate the dancer.
16) I will not expose any body parts.
I (state your stage name) as a dancer will agree to the following:
1) I will show up.
2) I will bath and perform basic personal hygiene.
3) I will put on makeup and get ready for stage in a timely fashion
4) I will not grievously lie about pets, children, medical conditions or a child’s pet’s medical condition for the express purpose of manipulating the customer for more money.
5) I will not get in fight on the club floor.
6) I will not take out my anger on the customers that don't deserve it.
7) I will not order outrageously expensive drinks with asking the customer first.
8) I will not text message on stage.
9) I will not drop a customer for another without telling him/her first.
10) I will not assume a customer is a jerk until he/she demonstrates it.
11) I will not throw up on stage.
12) I will not ask for more money than deserve. I will not ask for money for dances I intentionally did not perform.
13) I will not fall asleep in the VIP room
14) I will not wear more perfume than allowed by the EPA.
15) I will not lie about other dancers.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Don't dare drunk dancers
Important safety tip: daring drunk dancers can be hazardous. A dancer threaten to cover my face in lip stick smears so I'd get in trouble when I got home. To which I replied I live alone and there was nothing she could do to me. I was wrong. Who would have thought she'd give me a felony hickey. I wore collared shirts to work for a week.
That's going to leave a mark.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Cities aflame with mindless ramblings
This post is more sort of a trip down memory lane than anything else. For me the songs that had the greatest impact on me were the songs I heard growing up. Unfortunately that was way before most of current crop of DJs and dancers were born. Such is life. The following is a bit of rambling blog with minor references to strip clubs.
The first album I ever bought was Blue Oyster Cult’s first album. Actually, it wasn’t the first album ever bought was Willie Horton’s Greatest Hits. I really didn’t want the album but I wrecked my parent album. We had a Telefunken radio/record player, early 1960’s vintage. This thing wasn’t some portable piece of electronics it was furniture.
If I had to describe it in a word, it would be industrial. The tone arm on the record player was cast iron. Most tone arms you measure in grams, this thing was in pounds. It looked more like a part of a car suspension than something you’d play music with. The motor for the turn table sounds like the starter from world war two tiger tank. This thing had an industrial growl to it. If you didn’t want to play records you could probably use it to resurface the brake rotors on your car. In the hands of small child it could render an album into vinyl hamburger in short order.
Blue Oyster Cult always has had a special place in my heart because it was the first group I “discovered” that played music that was so totally different than anything I had heard before. Until then pretty much everything I listen to was the typical AM pablum the permeated the radio air waves in the early 70’s. One afternoon with nothing to do, I was turning the radio dial up and down trying to find something to listen to. On the far end of the dial I found KVAN 1480, the monomaniacs. “Cities aflame with Rock and Roll” by Blue Oyster Cult was playing. It was like nothing I had ever heard. In retro spec it’s not that remarkable song, but it was my first glimpse into a wider world of music. The Partridge Family didn’t cut it any more. KVAN 1480 was a really odd station. First they didn’t broadcast 24 hours a day. I think at 8pm or 9pm they’d sign off. Sunday mornings they would play religious music. Listening to the Monomaniacs you could go from scriptures to Alice Cooper to Friendly neighborhood narco agent in less than 10 minutes. Unfortunately I’ll probably hear Friendly neighborhood narco agent in club long before BOC.
To really get a feel for how revolutionary this was for me keep mind that during this time there is no internet, cable TV, barely any FM radio. Everything you heard was through AM radio. Which basically means it was really rare you heard anything different. Suddenly finding this music was mind blowing. In retrospect Cities aflame may not be a great song, but it still gives me chills.
I never really fit in high school. I wasn’t good at sports I spent most of my time just trying not to be noticed and get through the day. Computers and technology were just starting become mainstream. Curiously my high school baby boom era career counselors were completely useless. I took the high school electronics science course my junior year. I read both text books (solid state electronics and tubes) and completed all the course work for the year plus extra credit by the end of November. I seem to have an aptitude for electronics. Yet when I went met with career counselor he told me to forget electronics because all the stuff was going to be made in Japan in a couple years. He recommended that I become a mechanical engineer and go to work for Boeing. It took me about three years to figure out the counselor was an idiot. I wasn’t at very good at mechanical engineering. But I was better at mechanical engineering than english. As you've probably figured out with my horrible editing.
One aspect about the strip club culture that always made impression on me is how accepting some dancers are of fringe personalities. If you are respectful to the dancers (and I include tipping in being respectful) most dancers will accept you. People who in polite society would be ridiculed or ignored are welcomed. I know there are ultra bitches who think they own the world and cynical dances who hate customers, but for the most part dancers are very accepting. The strip club environment is far more accepting than my work place. I’m considered a pariah since I don’t golf. Literally every one of my peers is a golfer. It amazes me how many business trips are planned around golf tournaments. I always feel more comfortable in a strip club than I do in a meeting room.
I tend to be a contrarian at times. If you tell me that I’m going to love something before I tried it I will begin to hate it. This is how I tend to be toward music. If it’s really popular I don’t like it. One of the really by big band from high school was the Eagles. I hate the Eagles. I really hate the Eagles. I can die a perfectly happy man never hearing Hotel California again. One of the things about the 70’s is when something became popular it became inescapable. You heard this song everywhere. It was on the radio when you got up for school, somebody was playing it on their car eight track tape player. It was on the car radio on the way home from school. I think even our parakeet learned to sing parts of the song. In a couple of months it would change to something new, Saturday Night Fever, Convoy, Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. I absolutely and positively do not miss that aspect of the 70s. I like being able to download music, I like being able to search Pandora for new musicians.
It’s frustrating when I hear the same music at the strip club. Come on, there is so much stuff out there. One group I always expect to hear in a club but rarely do is Queen. It seems to be a good fit, very upbeat and theatrical. Bohemian Rhapsody is actually one of my least favorite queen songs. They are (or were since Freddie Mercury died) one of the best groups I’ve seen in concert. David Bowie was another amazing show.
The first album I ever bought was Blue Oyster Cult’s first album. Actually, it wasn’t the first album ever bought was Willie Horton’s Greatest Hits. I really didn’t want the album but I wrecked my parent album. We had a Telefunken radio/record player, early 1960’s vintage. This thing wasn’t some portable piece of electronics it was furniture.
If I had to describe it in a word, it would be industrial. The tone arm on the record player was cast iron. Most tone arms you measure in grams, this thing was in pounds. It looked more like a part of a car suspension than something you’d play music with. The motor for the turn table sounds like the starter from world war two tiger tank. This thing had an industrial growl to it. If you didn’t want to play records you could probably use it to resurface the brake rotors on your car. In the hands of small child it could render an album into vinyl hamburger in short order.
Blue Oyster Cult always has had a special place in my heart because it was the first group I “discovered” that played music that was so totally different than anything I had heard before. Until then pretty much everything I listen to was the typical AM pablum the permeated the radio air waves in the early 70’s. One afternoon with nothing to do, I was turning the radio dial up and down trying to find something to listen to. On the far end of the dial I found KVAN 1480, the monomaniacs. “Cities aflame with Rock and Roll” by Blue Oyster Cult was playing. It was like nothing I had ever heard. In retro spec it’s not that remarkable song, but it was my first glimpse into a wider world of music. The Partridge Family didn’t cut it any more. KVAN 1480 was a really odd station. First they didn’t broadcast 24 hours a day. I think at 8pm or 9pm they’d sign off. Sunday mornings they would play religious music. Listening to the Monomaniacs you could go from scriptures to Alice Cooper to Friendly neighborhood narco agent in less than 10 minutes. Unfortunately I’ll probably hear Friendly neighborhood narco agent in club long before BOC.
To really get a feel for how revolutionary this was for me keep mind that during this time there is no internet, cable TV, barely any FM radio. Everything you heard was through AM radio. Which basically means it was really rare you heard anything different. Suddenly finding this music was mind blowing. In retrospect Cities aflame may not be a great song, but it still gives me chills.
I never really fit in high school. I wasn’t good at sports I spent most of my time just trying not to be noticed and get through the day. Computers and technology were just starting become mainstream. Curiously my high school baby boom era career counselors were completely useless. I took the high school electronics science course my junior year. I read both text books (solid state electronics and tubes) and completed all the course work for the year plus extra credit by the end of November. I seem to have an aptitude for electronics. Yet when I went met with career counselor he told me to forget electronics because all the stuff was going to be made in Japan in a couple years. He recommended that I become a mechanical engineer and go to work for Boeing. It took me about three years to figure out the counselor was an idiot. I wasn’t at very good at mechanical engineering. But I was better at mechanical engineering than english. As you've probably figured out with my horrible editing.
One aspect about the strip club culture that always made impression on me is how accepting some dancers are of fringe personalities. If you are respectful to the dancers (and I include tipping in being respectful) most dancers will accept you. People who in polite society would be ridiculed or ignored are welcomed. I know there are ultra bitches who think they own the world and cynical dances who hate customers, but for the most part dancers are very accepting. The strip club environment is far more accepting than my work place. I’m considered a pariah since I don’t golf. Literally every one of my peers is a golfer. It amazes me how many business trips are planned around golf tournaments. I always feel more comfortable in a strip club than I do in a meeting room.
I tend to be a contrarian at times. If you tell me that I’m going to love something before I tried it I will begin to hate it. This is how I tend to be toward music. If it’s really popular I don’t like it. One of the really by big band from high school was the Eagles. I hate the Eagles. I really hate the Eagles. I can die a perfectly happy man never hearing Hotel California again. One of the things about the 70’s is when something became popular it became inescapable. You heard this song everywhere. It was on the radio when you got up for school, somebody was playing it on their car eight track tape player. It was on the car radio on the way home from school. I think even our parakeet learned to sing parts of the song. In a couple of months it would change to something new, Saturday Night Fever, Convoy, Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. I absolutely and positively do not miss that aspect of the 70s. I like being able to download music, I like being able to search Pandora for new musicians.
It’s frustrating when I hear the same music at the strip club. Come on, there is so much stuff out there. One group I always expect to hear in a club but rarely do is Queen. It seems to be a good fit, very upbeat and theatrical. Bohemian Rhapsody is actually one of my least favorite queen songs. They are (or were since Freddie Mercury died) one of the best groups I’ve seen in concert. David Bowie was another amazing show.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Nope, you got 'em both
I'll start this post out with my caveat regarding confidentiality about people I blog about. At least six months or more will have elapsed and I'll remove any specific information that might identify them. Not that anything really bad happened, but its a little embarrassing.
It was really slow Sunday at the club. As per usual I was sitting in a corner, hoping to mitigate the DJ's audio assault on my ears. I'll spare you my usual rant about DJs that crank the music when nobody is in the club. Yes, there is nobody in the place and you are doing your best to make sure it stays that way. OK, that was a little rant.
What few people that were in the club were at the bar. On stage the dancers were more interested in either practicing pole moves or sending text messages. It was as subdued as you could get in a strip club and still be open for business. None of my favorite dancers were there, but I decided to hang out a bit to see if any would show up. After few drinks I needed to use the restroom. To get the restroom I had to walk along the bar. This can sometimes be a little hazardous, since the folks at the bar usually have their backs to you, your drink is at risk getting knocked out of your hand.
On the way back to me seat I'm walking along the bar. One dancer sitting at the bar facing away with her back to the bar, elbows on the counter looking away from me. I'm not sure is she was demonstrating her latest pole trick, had an involuntary muscle spasm, or reenacting her favorite scene from Kung Fu Panda but as I walked by her leg shot out and kick me below the belt. A direct hit. When you see a flash a light as your nerves are overloaded.
When ever I get hurt like that my first instinct is not to react. I grew up with three older brothers that were inflicting pain in one form or another, I never wanted to give them the satisfaction that they hurt me. Nothing good ever really came of this, except the ability to take a punch with out reacting. This only resulted in getting hit again. I didn't react much she kicked me. I just hesitated for a second then headed for a chair, the nearest chair. The dancer followed me, asking if I was OK. Yes, squeaked back in a falsetto voice. Your voice doesn't really go up, but taking a deep breath is really out of the question at that moment. At best you can chirp out short replies.
Despite my answer it was readily apparent I wasn't since I was inexorably and involuntarily slowly curling into the fetal position. The bartender quickly arrived with a glass of water. I appreciated the thought, but considering the section of my anatomy that had suffered a severe trauma, drinking water didn't seem like a good idea.
After a minute or so I began to recover. the dancer was really apologetic and offered to by me a drink. Again, nice thought, but not really desirable. We chatted for a little bit, trading assorted trauma stories. Then she ask me if I wanted to buy some dances. Uhm, no. Call me petty, but if you try to neuter me with a six inch clear platform heel I'm going to hold a grudge.
It was really slow Sunday at the club. As per usual I was sitting in a corner, hoping to mitigate the DJ's audio assault on my ears. I'll spare you my usual rant about DJs that crank the music when nobody is in the club. Yes, there is nobody in the place and you are doing your best to make sure it stays that way. OK, that was a little rant.
What few people that were in the club were at the bar. On stage the dancers were more interested in either practicing pole moves or sending text messages. It was as subdued as you could get in a strip club and still be open for business. None of my favorite dancers were there, but I decided to hang out a bit to see if any would show up. After few drinks I needed to use the restroom. To get the restroom I had to walk along the bar. This can sometimes be a little hazardous, since the folks at the bar usually have their backs to you, your drink is at risk getting knocked out of your hand.
On the way back to me seat I'm walking along the bar. One dancer sitting at the bar facing away with her back to the bar, elbows on the counter looking away from me. I'm not sure is she was demonstrating her latest pole trick, had an involuntary muscle spasm, or reenacting her favorite scene from Kung Fu Panda but as I walked by her leg shot out and kick me below the belt. A direct hit. When you see a flash a light as your nerves are overloaded.
When ever I get hurt like that my first instinct is not to react. I grew up with three older brothers that were inflicting pain in one form or another, I never wanted to give them the satisfaction that they hurt me. Nothing good ever really came of this, except the ability to take a punch with out reacting. This only resulted in getting hit again. I didn't react much she kicked me. I just hesitated for a second then headed for a chair, the nearest chair. The dancer followed me, asking if I was OK. Yes, squeaked back in a falsetto voice. Your voice doesn't really go up, but taking a deep breath is really out of the question at that moment. At best you can chirp out short replies.
Despite my answer it was readily apparent I wasn't since I was inexorably and involuntarily slowly curling into the fetal position. The bartender quickly arrived with a glass of water. I appreciated the thought, but considering the section of my anatomy that had suffered a severe trauma, drinking water didn't seem like a good idea.
After a minute or so I began to recover. the dancer was really apologetic and offered to by me a drink. Again, nice thought, but not really desirable. We chatted for a little bit, trading assorted trauma stories. Then she ask me if I wanted to buy some dances. Uhm, no. Call me petty, but if you try to neuter me with a six inch clear platform heel I'm going to hold a grudge.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Dude, it's not a contest
I don’t go to strip clubs to interact with guys. Fortunately most of the guys who come into clubs don’t want to interact with me so its happy situation. The only exception is when it comes to tipping. I generally don’t comment about customers, mostly because I am a customer (something about throwing stones in glass houses) and there are far better blogs out there by dancers that cover this. That being said, I’ll talk about other customers.
It might seem peculiar but I had to learn about tipping through trail and error. It takes a nut job like me to take something simple like tipping and over thinking it. I had rather naïve idea that the amount of time a dancer would pay me was directly proportional to the amount of my tip. If I was sitting at the rack with three other guys who each had a dollar in front of them and I had three dollars in front of me the dancer should be spending half the song dancing for me. It seemed logical there was six dollars on the rack and I contributed half of it, I should get half the girls time. It’s not the simple. I larger scheme of things my three dollar tip probably represents less than one percent of the dancers take that night. I’m not sure what I was expecting, “Ooh, Todd tipped me and extra two dollars! Early retirement here I come.” Eventually I figured out that the dancer’s customer management issues where far more complex than that. Even if the other guys weren’t tipping as much during that set, they might be dances later or be their regular.
What was weird was when I ran into another customer who would turn the set into a tipping war. If I tipped three he would tip four. This was good for the dancer on stage usually. Sometimes it would cause problems. Puppet master type customers need to occupy every second of her time and gets upset if anybody else takes her attention away can get ugly. For me this has never gone beyond dirty looks, but some dancers have had pretty bad evenings dealing with a temperamental child masquerading as an adult at a strip club. Somehow they think it’s a contest or I’m stealing from them. I’ve had one guy intentionally sit between me and the stage. When I moved he’d move, always staying between me and the stage. I fully expect to see his mug shots on the 5 o’clock news some day.
Another type of customer I really hate is the rail thief. This is the guy that waits for me to put a tip at the rail then proceeds to sit down behind it as if he put it up. I really don’t care if he sits between me and the stage, if it was that important I’d sit at the stage. But don’t sit at the stage like there’s time left on parking meter. It’s stealing from the dancer and disrespectful of the other customers that actually do tip.
Squatters are more of a nuisance to me, but a major point of irritation for the dancers. These are the “customers” that buy a drink and spend the entire evening sitting at the tables never tipping a thing. At least throw a buck up there on occasion. I admit I don’t always tip, but I try. Some times these guys can a bit creepy for customers. They are kind of the opposite of the puppet master, on the rare occasion I’m at the rack they’ll intentionally sit behind me or somebody else who is tipping. I assume its to get a closer look at the dancer, who is most likely ignoring these guys. Its definitely uncomfortable to have somebody constantly making a point to sit behind you.
I’m sure there are a few customers out who think I’m an idiot. I’m not too worried about upsetting folks. I’ve managed to crush my traffic with my summertime melt down. When I had this blog on myspace I averaged about 300 hits a week. My current rate is about 2 percent of that number. Oh well, at least I don’t get any more messages asking me how to get a dancer to go out with you. (You can’t. Give up now and save yourself some grief. Just enjoy the visit.)
It might seem peculiar but I had to learn about tipping through trail and error. It takes a nut job like me to take something simple like tipping and over thinking it. I had rather naïve idea that the amount of time a dancer would pay me was directly proportional to the amount of my tip. If I was sitting at the rack with three other guys who each had a dollar in front of them and I had three dollars in front of me the dancer should be spending half the song dancing for me. It seemed logical there was six dollars on the rack and I contributed half of it, I should get half the girls time. It’s not the simple. I larger scheme of things my three dollar tip probably represents less than one percent of the dancers take that night. I’m not sure what I was expecting, “Ooh, Todd tipped me and extra two dollars! Early retirement here I come.” Eventually I figured out that the dancer’s customer management issues where far more complex than that. Even if the other guys weren’t tipping as much during that set, they might be dances later or be their regular.
What was weird was when I ran into another customer who would turn the set into a tipping war. If I tipped three he would tip four. This was good for the dancer on stage usually. Sometimes it would cause problems. Puppet master type customers need to occupy every second of her time and gets upset if anybody else takes her attention away can get ugly. For me this has never gone beyond dirty looks, but some dancers have had pretty bad evenings dealing with a temperamental child masquerading as an adult at a strip club. Somehow they think it’s a contest or I’m stealing from them. I’ve had one guy intentionally sit between me and the stage. When I moved he’d move, always staying between me and the stage. I fully expect to see his mug shots on the 5 o’clock news some day.
Another type of customer I really hate is the rail thief. This is the guy that waits for me to put a tip at the rail then proceeds to sit down behind it as if he put it up. I really don’t care if he sits between me and the stage, if it was that important I’d sit at the stage. But don’t sit at the stage like there’s time left on parking meter. It’s stealing from the dancer and disrespectful of the other customers that actually do tip.
Squatters are more of a nuisance to me, but a major point of irritation for the dancers. These are the “customers” that buy a drink and spend the entire evening sitting at the tables never tipping a thing. At least throw a buck up there on occasion. I admit I don’t always tip, but I try. Some times these guys can a bit creepy for customers. They are kind of the opposite of the puppet master, on the rare occasion I’m at the rack they’ll intentionally sit behind me or somebody else who is tipping. I assume its to get a closer look at the dancer, who is most likely ignoring these guys. Its definitely uncomfortable to have somebody constantly making a point to sit behind you.
I’m sure there are a few customers out who think I’m an idiot. I’m not too worried about upsetting folks. I’ve managed to crush my traffic with my summertime melt down. When I had this blog on myspace I averaged about 300 hits a week. My current rate is about 2 percent of that number. Oh well, at least I don’t get any more messages asking me how to get a dancer to go out with you. (You can’t. Give up now and save yourself some grief. Just enjoy the visit.)
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
More ways to know you are spending too much time at a strip club
I’ve been having a tough time writing recently. Lots of ideas, just can’t seem to put them in writing. I’ll get better. In the mean time I’ll revisit a previous post with more one liners.
More ways to know you are spending too much time at a strip club:
1) Dancers ask you for a ride to work because “you’re going there anyway”
2) Dancers coming on shift tell you that your car lights are on.
3) You utter the phrase “I remember when at this club…”
4) In conversation you keep asking “Which Asia?” because you know three of them.
5) The bouncer ask you what TV channel you want to watch.
6) The waitress and bartender argue because they both know what whiskey you drink. (The waitress was right)
7) You know what dancers are working by what cars are parked in the lot.
8) When you’ve seen the same outfit on three different dancers.
9) All the people you follow on twitter have avatars that are NSFW.
This is a collection of some of the worst dancer opening lines I have heard:
1) “Will you buy me a couple drinks, I’m not drunk enough to talk to you yet”
2) “Can I sit next to you for a second, I’m trying to hide from my parole officer
3) Angry dancer stomps on my foot and calls me a fuckin’ dick, second dancer yells at her “not him, the other table”.
4) Dancer walks up tries to shake my hand, knocks drink in my lap. Turns and leaves.
5) “Men are fucking pigs…. Except you of course”
6) “You hate me don’t you”
7) “Don’t I know your brother?”
8) “I’m not leaving until you buy dances from me”
More ways to know you are spending too much time at a strip club:
1) Dancers ask you for a ride to work because “you’re going there anyway”
2) Dancers coming on shift tell you that your car lights are on.
3) You utter the phrase “I remember when at this club…”
4) In conversation you keep asking “Which Asia?” because you know three of them.
5) The bouncer ask you what TV channel you want to watch.
6) The waitress and bartender argue because they both know what whiskey you drink. (The waitress was right)
7) You know what dancers are working by what cars are parked in the lot.
8) When you’ve seen the same outfit on three different dancers.
9) All the people you follow on twitter have avatars that are NSFW.
This is a collection of some of the worst dancer opening lines I have heard:
1) “Will you buy me a couple drinks, I’m not drunk enough to talk to you yet”
2) “Can I sit next to you for a second, I’m trying to hide from my parole officer
3) Angry dancer stomps on my foot and calls me a fuckin’ dick, second dancer yells at her “not him, the other table”.
4) Dancer walks up tries to shake my hand, knocks drink in my lap. Turns and leaves.
5) “Men are fucking pigs…. Except you of course”
6) “You hate me don’t you”
7) “Don’t I know your brother?”
8) “I’m not leaving until you buy dances from me”
Sunday, February 7, 2010
How long can you look at a naked lady until she is no longer naked?
How long can long at a naked lady until she’s no longer naked? This was a question asked of me by a dancer. I suppose what she was really asking me is why do I keep coming back. Short of cosmetic surgery the dancer really isn’t going to change much. Fortunately I’m not that complicated. I can look at the same dancer every week and not get tired.
I don’t sit at the rail. There are several reasons why. Mostly it because I prefer to look at the whole dancer, not just zoom in on specific body part. I also wear bifocals sometimes I have to fight the urge to tilt my head back look through the reading section of my glasses. I suppose it would be a little rude to ask a dancer move back from the rail. Maybe I can hand her a menu ask her to step back so I can read it better. I also don’t want to trim the hair my nose which becomes an issue when you spend a lot of time with your head tilted back.
Hanging out a table next to the stage leads to some slightly peculiar tipping habits. I spend a lot of time scurrying back and forth tipping the dancer. I always try to tip while the dancer is on the other side of the stage. Despite a decade of hanging out at a strip clubs, I still sometimes feel embarrassed handing a dancer money. It’s easier to wait, I also always wait until a dancer either picks up her tips after a song, or starts the next song and leaves the tip on the rack. If I put the tip before she collects from the previous song both tips will get picked up and there won’t be any money up. This makes me fell guilty. I’m sure the dancer can figure out that the tip was for the next song, but still.
I’ve never been a big fan of hanging out at the rail, but when a favorite dancer on stage with a empty rack I’ll go up. Customers tend to act like lemmings, they crowd around the edges of the tables waiting for somebody to jump. I’m more than happy to be the alpha perv and lead the charge to the stage. But since I don’t spend much time at the rack I will occasionally get odd response from the dancer. I have many dancers tell me they suddenly feel weird with me sitting at the stage. It makes me feel like I just showed up at their house to watch them shower, putting dollar bills on the towel rack. It’s a compliment that the dancer considers me more than just a another face in the crowd.
Ultimately the one of the reasons I can look at the same dancers and not get tired is I is go to the club is for companionship. I can hang out and talk with a beautiful girl who under different conditions wouldn’t give me the time a day. Many folks rail against strip club because it dehumanizes woman. Yet it’s built on the most human of principles: the need to be around others. In no uncertain terms it has fundamental sexual quality to it. It is what you make of it. It can be art, it can be therapy, simple friendship, or monetized sexuality.
I don’t sit at the rail. There are several reasons why. Mostly it because I prefer to look at the whole dancer, not just zoom in on specific body part. I also wear bifocals sometimes I have to fight the urge to tilt my head back look through the reading section of my glasses. I suppose it would be a little rude to ask a dancer move back from the rail. Maybe I can hand her a menu ask her to step back so I can read it better. I also don’t want to trim the hair my nose which becomes an issue when you spend a lot of time with your head tilted back.
Hanging out a table next to the stage leads to some slightly peculiar tipping habits. I spend a lot of time scurrying back and forth tipping the dancer. I always try to tip while the dancer is on the other side of the stage. Despite a decade of hanging out at a strip clubs, I still sometimes feel embarrassed handing a dancer money. It’s easier to wait, I also always wait until a dancer either picks up her tips after a song, or starts the next song and leaves the tip on the rack. If I put the tip before she collects from the previous song both tips will get picked up and there won’t be any money up. This makes me fell guilty. I’m sure the dancer can figure out that the tip was for the next song, but still.
I’ve never been a big fan of hanging out at the rail, but when a favorite dancer on stage with a empty rack I’ll go up. Customers tend to act like lemmings, they crowd around the edges of the tables waiting for somebody to jump. I’m more than happy to be the alpha perv and lead the charge to the stage. But since I don’t spend much time at the rack I will occasionally get odd response from the dancer. I have many dancers tell me they suddenly feel weird with me sitting at the stage. It makes me feel like I just showed up at their house to watch them shower, putting dollar bills on the towel rack. It’s a compliment that the dancer considers me more than just a another face in the crowd.
Ultimately the one of the reasons I can look at the same dancers and not get tired is I is go to the club is for companionship. I can hang out and talk with a beautiful girl who under different conditions wouldn’t give me the time a day. Many folks rail against strip club because it dehumanizes woman. Yet it’s built on the most human of principles: the need to be around others. In no uncertain terms it has fundamental sexual quality to it. It is what you make of it. It can be art, it can be therapy, simple friendship, or monetized sexuality.
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