I get in trouble when I'm by myself. I mean, I get in trouble when I'm hanging with the boys, but somehow when I'm out partying by myself, things get...surreal.
Take for example, my night at The Burlesque.
It'd been a night of gentle imbibing of adult beverages (as my friend Leon calls it). It really was going to be a pint of Guinness and then back home. Well, my dumbass thought that I had an extended weekend, why not see what the action was "out there."
I first stopped off at a regular bar I'd gone to. Watched some pre-season football. Bored. Crowd was mostly guys and lame. I texted a friend. Didn't want to hang. Texted another. Busy. Texted one last friend...I think he may have been under house arrest, this one. Anyway, these were the three dudes I knew in the valley. Since I was out already, didn't want to text anyone else in the greater city of Los Angeles, since it would entail waiting for them to show. Which is why I dislike how spread out we are.
Well, I just had it. The girl situation at all the places I visited were pretty lame. So I thought to myself, well...what better place to find women than at a strip club.
I am the strip club patron strippers hate. I'm really cheap since I equate the money I'm handing them, to a good meal. Which would be a LOT more satisfying (if you're playing the odds). So I drove around the San Fernando Valley hitting up most of the places I remembered or saw a billboard for. The places had cover charge or dress code. Both of which I was clearly under the bar for. After some lame cruising, I decided that I should go back to the place I knew before. The Burlesque is a bikini bar. Sorry to fake you into reading about a stripper. They don't get nude. Because they have a full bar. Anyone who knows me, would know that this, to me is better than full nude.
I go in and order a drink from the middle aged Russian lady behind the counter. She's nice and chatty and is curious about me. The same way a bored night security guard would be pulling a double shift. I order a really high end single malt scotch. The bar is stocked really well. But doubt ANY of the patrons I saw this night even knew what they were. AND, to boot, super cheap drinks.
Since I didn't pay a cover charge I figured it was a good time to throw some the ladies way. I use that term loosely since these ladies were loose. Not loose, but...since you don't have the easy ice breaker of being nude, you have to have some personality. The first woman came up to me was a black woman. She asked me to buy her a drink because (in her words) "she was worth it".
To which, I have to admit, she was not. She was a really heavy black woman from Louisiana . Far as I could tell, I think we were the same age. But she looked haggard and tired. She'd just gotten off the phone with someone, and really upset. I bought her a drink. Which ended up being much pricier than mine. Apparently, the phone call had been about eviction. As in, she was about to be. She laughed through her whole story and then asked what I did.
"Male exotic dancer" I replied.
She laughed "no, really"
I said "really"
And then she asked where I danced.
And I said "Thunder From Down Under". Drawing from a male strip club my friend's wife went to on her bachelorette party.
To which she followed "Lemme guess your stripper name...uh...Hung Lo"
That cracked me up. I was in a Bukowski nightmare (or dream depending on where you stand on his life).
Then she asked me where I was from.
I told her Cincinnati.
No...my heritage.
I told her I was born in Taiwan.
Then without missing a beat...I kid you not...she started speaking Mandarin.
I looked at my snifter of booze. At her. Then back at my glass. She'd spoken the language. My shock was not lost to her.
"I was a military kid."
Aaaaahhhh...
It was then, I felt an soft hand touch my shoulder. I spun around to see a stunning woman. She was about five feet eight, six in heels and absolutely breathtaking. She had the kind eyes of a sweet girl, light brown skin. Puerto Rican.Very skimpy lingerie. I turned my attention to her.
I used the male stripper line on her as well. She drew her hand across my chest and said she could tell. Uh...I was using that line as an ice breaker. She was using it as bait. To which she started rubbing my bicep. She seemed to be really turned on. I followed up that male stripper thing with the whole idea as to why you don't see too many Asian strippers is because of the penis size thing. She looked confused as her nails went from my chest to my abs. She missed the joke. She purred the whole time. And smelled like cocoa butter. The unofficial pre-requisit exotic dancer cologne. She also seemed to like my arms a lot. Running her hands up and down them. She pointed to the bicep and said "I would lick here" and pointed to my other arm "...to here". Earlier, she'd told me she had a boyfriend. So I asked her how he would feel about that. I'm not sure where they learn this but she said "he doesn't have your body." My junk 'bout exploded.
So the line was casted. Time to reel in this chump. She then asked if I wanted a dance for $20. I said I didn't think I had enough. She asked me how much money I had in my pocket. I drunkenly drew it out. Which I wish I didn't because she would've given me a lap dance for a few bucks. I had roughly $24. To which she brightened. I handed her the $20 but she took the extra $4. She laughed "funny, you wanted to keep that extra dollar." Her accent...whoa. It was that sexy smooth talk that always ended in "honey". She knew her trade because even though I tried getting rid of her, she liked being around me. Knowing full well, I could be fleeced if I was drinking single malt scotches. She kept calling me "the hot guy" and I was eating it up like a true pigeon.
So she took me to the back booth. It wasn't really private since the booths faced the stage. I sat in the chair as she straddled me. Not sure this was okay, but I put both my hands on her thighs as she gyrated against me. She worked it hard. Spinning around to lay her breasts against my face. I naturally kissed them. She laughed. Then I grabbed them. She didn't say anything. She was what I wanted her to be. And this is where it got really outrageous, from behind I reached into her panties and stuck my fingers in her. And she was okay with it. Wow. The economy must be bad. Then she licked herself off my fingers. My brain went crazy. She pulled up my shirt and gasped. She started rubbing my chest. And undressing me! I rolled up my sleeves so that it couldn't be pulled over my head. And her eyes widened...our fingers intertwined with each other and she pulled my arms above my head. She then bent over...
...and licked my arm. Straight up licked a complete stranger's arm. AND she repeated with the other one. I was confused. But a bit turned on. Since by then I had a raging boner.
So I'm not going into a "Dear Penthouse..." letter moment here, so I'll keep it simple. The dance ended and she reached down grabbed my crotch and said "y'know, you're pretty big down there."
I told her I was really out of money this time, and she kissed me. And disappeared into the darkness.
Altogether I spent less than $80. Drinks with two women and a lap dance.
The reason I mention this is because...of the girl who recently dumped me.
I took her out for multiple dates. Drinks. Activities. Which costs four times what I spent last night only to get, more or less the very same thing. I'm no economist, but what the Hell was I thinking trying to wine and dine someone who would later ditch you? In hopes of a relationship? Or that that person would learn to love you because of your financial support. I got that from this dancer. AND she catered to me.
My friends, the one thing I do understand about life (amongst the majority of the moments that confound the shit out of me) is that we are all prostitutes. We do things for other people that we don't want to do (a job) to pay for things we don't need (wall sized plasma t.v.). I think if we were honest with what we wanted in life, prostitution would be universally accepted. But doing things strictly for money, is...somehow more dishonest than a stripper being forthright about your relationship to services rendered.
A guy has SO much to have to deal with when it comes to selling himself out for just a glimpse of tail. To which I conclude a strip club is not a bad place to be, if your life couldn't stand, nor if you've had past bad experiences with crazy drama filled girls.
Most girls in this country are very much like the first woman I met at The Burlesque. Very entitled with a high regard for themselves, even though they've shown nothing to deserve it. The other one is much craftier and more accepting of their "clientele". Learned to read the situation and enhanced the relationship with an intention that is much more clearer. The entitled one took. The other knew in order to get what she wanted ($$) she had to actually work for it. To that, I subconsciously was drawn to her work ethic. Because that was what America use to be. If you worked hard enough, you can have what you want.
I rather enjoyed having my arms licked. Good for the ego. And definitely worth the $24.
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