Charon's strip club story.
once upon a time, I helped plan a bachelor party.
Now, I have seen, attended, and taken blackmail photos of many bachelor parties in the past, but I had never officially been part of one.
The day of the party I was called up, given an “honorary male” status, and invited along for fun and shenanigans. It seems that a number of the guys invited had canceled at the last minute, due to girlfriend/wife/partner disapproval. This made the party pathetically small, and I was tapped to fill the gap.
I told them I would put on a fake moustache for the occasion.
The groom-to-be was a sweet, quiet, mellow guy who plays online role-playing games and paints lead figurines. The best man (my co-conspirator in this little adventure) is a batshit-crazy nuclear scientist from Kentucky who looks like a giant hairy Viking.
I knew from the start that this night would end up as a quirky story about prostitutes.
We started our night of debauchery at a nice restaurant, then had drinks at a local martini bar while we mulled over our choices.
“Would you like to go to an upscale strip club?” I innocently inquired “I happen to know of several”
“We want sleaze!” The boys declared in unison.
“Take us to where old strippers go to die!”
… Hrmmmmm.
Skanky hellholes were a little out of my expert field, but I am always willing to embark on a scientific experiment. I told the group that I’d heard nasty things about the Mitchell Brothers O’Farrell theatre, but had never personally gone.
When I described its history and all the rumors I’d heard, the group instantly agreed that it sounded like a splendid place to start out.
Our mission was set, and off we went.
When we first entered the building, our group was greeted by a squinty-eyed old codger who was older than dirt.
(Really. That's not an exaggeration. judging by the length of his beard, this guy probably played the banjo while Nero fiddled.)
his appearance was somewhere between “classic cave-dwelling hermit” and “western gold rush coalminer”.
He was pure, unbridled awesome!
upon our entry, He barked something unintelligible that sounded like “murble murble crumbcakes snarf”, and then proceeded to forget we were there.
I looked back at the men to see if they had understood whatever secret military code he was speaking in, but it was obvious they only shared my confusion.
wishing to advance with the hot strippery goodness, we tried to get his attention but to no avail. he was deeply locked inside some kind of old-man-meditative-trance.
At that point I did the only thing you can do in that sort of situation:
I poked him with a pen.
It wasn’t quite the same as poking him with a stick, but it did the job.
Suddenly he snapped back to reality, extending a hand and pointing a withered finger in my direction.
“The lady gets in for free.” he solemnly intoned.
Hooray!
old man river himself had just blessed me with free boobies!
I skipped ahead into the club, feeling his myopic glare boring into my back for the entire length of the hall.
It was finally time to see if all the rumors about this club were true.
We all regrouped at the main dance area, and took our time glancing around at this notorious den of iniquity.
Huh.
As it turns out, it was a pretty nice setup. The girls I saw were all attractive, well groomed, with perfect makeup and amazing bodies. The ones I spoke with were also fairly intelligent and had a sense of humor.
I was surprised.
Frankly, I had been told that the O’Farrell theatre was raunchy as hell.
Was my info wrong?
I decided the best way to find out was to get a lap dance.
Looking around, I spotted a gorgeous brunette and asked her for the basic lap dance info.
She smiled at me, licked her lips, and then started quoting positions and prices like some kind of kinky maitre d’.
As it turns out, the girls in this place all do more than just a few “extras”.
In fact, the extras are so common that they take the place of normal strip club activities. If I was so inclined, I could fuck my beautiful brunette for just $300.
For $400, I could fuck her for an hour. $600 and she allowed 20 minutes of anal.
The prices worked on a sliding scale, depending on what I wanted to do.
I was… surprised.
Not because of what they were doing, but because of the way they were doing it. there was not even a hint of dancing in that place. The girls walked across the stage like contestants in a Miss America contest.
They didn’t even touch the pole.
As far as I could tell, the O’Farrell theatre was more or less a nice quality brothel.
Beautiful girls, set prices, and private rooms.
We left to go find some places were the girls actually danced, but I considered it an altogether interesting and informative experience.
Our second strip-stop for the night was the century theater.
This choice was made after we stopped off at a little neighborhood martini bar (for a few drops of liquid fortification) and had wailed our plight to another inebriated patron.
“Welllllllllllllll…..” he slurred. “You should head down thata way to the century. It’s cheap!”
That was all we needed to hear. What sort of fools would discard the advice of an old drunkard in a jaunty hat? Obviously, our course for the night had been set.
The century theater was a step down from the O’ Ferrell theater. The façade on the outside was scuffed and dirty, the inside hallway was dark.
However, once we got all the way to the main dance area, we realized this was just what we wanted.
Pure, unbridled sleaze. Hurrah!
It was wonderful.
From the slightly depressed girls gyrating on the stage, to the porn films playing on the TV screens, it was guaranteed to terrify the poor groom-to-be into faithful monogamy.
Giddy as schoolgirls about to enjoy their first gang bang, we virtually skipped to the V.I.P section and awaited the cascade of dance offers.
We didn’t have to wait long.
The first wave attacked us before we even had a chance to fully seat ourselves.
The groom was whisked off into the dark abyss, not to return for almost 20 minutes.
I was approached by a eight-drinks-and-she-might-be-almost-attractive blond and her homely friend. They both decided that the guy I was sitting next to would be a proper victim, and asked him for a dance.
He turned them down.
Calculating quickly, they decided to sweeten the deal.
“If you get a dance with one of us, we can do a double with HER” they declared, pointing at me.
“Wouldn’t you like to see her getting a dance, while you get one?”
“Why yes! YES HE WOULD.” I stated quickly.
Damn it. I was intent on getting a lap dance.
If I had to drag an innocent man into the jaws of death so I could achieve my goal, then so be it.
I and my poor, startled male compatriot were instantly hustled into the back room, and asked to pay.
Now, these “ladies” were crafty. They stood between us so we couldn’t see each other, but they could see the money exchange.
The sign at the entrance said lap dances were $20 each.
My poor fellow victim gave his dancer $40, to pay for both him and me.
I didn’t see him do this, but my dancer did.
Never the less, she then turned to me and said “a dance is $30”.
I paid, (not knowing she was blatantly ripping me off) but thinking “oh well, let’s see if this dance is worth it”.
It wasn’t.
the dance started when my girl walked up to me, said “put out your hands” and squirted a generous amount of hand sanitizer into my palm.
After making me rub my hands together, she pointed to her bikini bottoms and said“well ok, let’s get to it.” and plunked herself down on my lap.
Now, even if I was a space alien newly arrived from a skank-less galaxy, I would still know what she was intending.
She wasn’t going to give me a real dance;
she was instead trying to make me pay for the great honor of fingering her.
yeah.
Sorry, but no.
There was no way in hell I was going to fish around in her honey pot.
It’s just not happening. Not if I only just met you, definitely not for money, and certainly not after turning down the little hottie from O’Farrell who was actually cute.
When she sat on my lap, I placed my hands firmly down by my sides and awaited the dancing.
It never came.
She just sat there.
She never moved. Not a single bit.
I’m being 100% dead honest with you here.
No exaggerations, this woman sat on my lap, facing away, and didn’t move a single muscle for the entire song.
It was the worst dance I’ve ever gotten in my entire life, and let me tell you, I have had a wide range of dances to compare this to.
Was she just lazy? Did all her previous dances consist entirely of men trying to find her lucky charms?
If she charged me that much with the expectation of me digging around inside her secret compartment, I’m wondering what she must have kept in there to make it worthwhile.
Was there a secret prize hidden somewhere deep inside her nether bits?
If I searched deep enough, would I get a secret decoder ring?
find Jimmy Hoffa’s body?
discover A lost tribe of pygmies?
I looked over at my poor compatriot suffering through the boney-ass lap-pummeling he was receiving from the homely dancer.
I felt no pity, despite his obvious pain and discomfort.
Hey, At least his dancer was moving.
The dance ended, and the girls asked if we wanted another.
Alas, we both regretfully declined.
Later, my male friend told me that his dancer had tried to talk him into paying her to go down on me. She wanted him to hand over $500 for the act.
Now first of all, don’t you think she should have consulted me before offering up my vagina for another person’s amusement?
After all, if I’m to be involved in prostitution for voyeuristic purposes, it’s only polite to actually ask me first.
Anyway, as it turns out, she also gave him a large list of sexual acts and the prices they would cost.
Surprise surprise! The costs were all more then at the O’Farrell, and the goods of a less…ummmm… appealing quality. I have no idea if this menu applied to all the girls, or if this just applied to these two “dancers” in particular.
I spent the rest of the evening making little hats, clown noses, and finger puppets (out of dollar bills) for men in our bachelor party to wear.
I think my first impression of how bored the dancers were was accurate.
once the girls on stage figured out what we were doing, they started exclusively dancing in front of our section.
Each new girl that came on stage would try and make a game out of finding new ways to snap up the transformed dollars with different bits of their anatomy.
It was kinda fun.
in the end, we rescued our poor traumatized groom from the bowels of hell, collected our posse, and all tromped happily home.
Wheeee!!!
:)