Perverts and Pointy Elbows: Freshman Strip Club Trip
by Savvy
(636 views) - 3/16/04
(recorded 3/16/04 @ 2:17:11 PM)
Perverts and Pointy Elbows (I apologize for the tense shifts, etc.)

It’s November of 1998, my freshman year in college. As we trek out to find our manhood in my best-friend Chad’s 1989 Dodge Shadow, a blatantly obvious college car, the adrenaline is flowing. The testosterone-charged talk is just a prelude to the supposed woman-objectifying acts that are about to ensue. Another friend of ours, Tom, is fingering through his wallet counting up all his one dollar bills, surely envisioning the number of artful female forms he is about to encounter.

Hey, are they gonna have change there? Chad asks.

It was a comforting realization that I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what to expect, I replied, “I don’t know? I’d figure so.”

I began thumbing through Tom’s CD case, “What’s Concrete Blonde? I’ve never heard of her.”
Tom pops in the disc and a soulfully singing woman comes over the speakers. It’s kind of funny the way the bass is cranked-up, I’m sure from Tom’s rap albums that are in more frequent rotation than Concrete Blonde. The woman’s voice sounds pained, yet strong and inspires me to pay attention to the lyrics, which can basically be chalked up to personal tragedies some of which may have been self-inflicted and some which weren't her own subjective experience.

Chad smirks, and whispers back to me, “Not exactly the type of stuff that gets you pumped before…ya’ know.”

I nod my head in what I think is a masculine way, but when I look over at Tom I recognize the expression on his face. I could tell he really felt the music, he identified with it. After the song he smiled, and I handed him AC/DC Live. As soon as it started playing we all joined in singing and/or yelling, “You shook me all night long.” There was a feeling of togetherness that was permeating through the release of noise.

We park across the street from Dangerous Curves Gentleman’s Club, each of us eager to get inside. As we approach the door a couple bouncers quickly stop us, but only momentarily. We had our ID’s ready. I noticed the expected double take at my license, and I promptly quipped, “Yeah, I know I look like I’m fourteen. You don’t have to rub it in.” This bouncer who didn’t look older than me, politely snickered at my comment, and then flicked off his flashlight. We nonchalantly walked inside, trying to hold back our excitement as if the world was watching us, or at least I was.

“Ten bucks at the door!” Tom says in a strained whisper.

“God, we must be desperate,” I joked back to him, wasting no time handing over my money. Chad was already picking out a table as the bouncer at the cash register starts eyeing me over as he takes my money. He glances back at the bouncer who checked my ID.

“Yeah, he’s cool, he knows he looks young.”

The man at the register smiles and says, “Have a nice evening.”
As I sit down at a table next to Chad, I examine the room: Colored lights everywhere, a disco ball, and of course a shiny, metal, dancing-pole center-stage. All the chairs surrounding the stage are full. A couple of older college kids are sitting at one end. Next to them are a few large dirty looking men ranging anywhere from 35 to 50 years old. I grinned snobbishly, thinking these guys were more perverted myself. I figured they had probably been here on more than just one previous occasion. The stripper makes her way around the stage, attracted as much to the cash as these overgrown boys were to her. She was beautiful, graceful, and not trashy looking either. I thought if I met this girl on the street and had enough guts I would definitely ask her out.
After watching from a distance for a few minutes, I walk up to the cashier and hand over the ticket he had given me upon entry.

“What’ll ya’ have?”

“Coke, please.”

“There ya’ go, enjoy yourself!”

My mind was obviously in the gutter, because as soon as he said, “enjoy yourself!” I thought of the fact that I’d probably do just that when I got home that night. As I turn around somewhat carelessly, excited to join my friends next to the stage, I bump into a young stripper of about twenty-one. I quickly apologize acknowledging that even the slight bump of my skinny elbow into her breast must have hurt a little. She just smiles and mumbles words to the effect of it being okay.

Sipping my coke, I sit down next to my friends at the stage, who already have a single dollar-bill in front of each of them, waiting for the next performer. The DJ on the microphone calls out, “Gentlemen please welcome, all the way from Chicago, Illinois, Miss Kendra!” The speakers begin to hum a slow bass line. I was instantly captivated by the way this woman controlled the stage. She has shoulder-length, dark-brown hair with her bangs highlighted and in two distinct curls on her forehead, her eyebrows were precisely plucked into two, perfect forms. She has big brown eyes and pouting lips. She slowly dances across the stage and stops right in front of a middle-aged pervert who has been drinking from a bottle of water. She grabs the bottle and places it between his legs in a phallic position. As she leans over to take a swig from the bottle, I begin to wish I had gotten water instead of a can of coke. The dancer gets up, and appreciatively smiles as she takes the pair of one-dollar bills stacked on top of each other. She dances back across the stage and stops right in front of Tom’s chair, taking his hat off pushing her breasts together on his forehead. She steps back, sees the exceedingly satisfied smirk on his face and casually grabs the dollar lying in front of him.

The next performer is the girl I bumped into earlier. I lay two dollars down in front of me. She notices me right away and looks in front of me to see the bill laying neatly in front. She glides over, kneels down, and puts her arm around me pulling me toward her. Next, she nuzzles up to my ear, brushing her lips over it. Her breath is warm and I feel a shiver down my spine as she caresses the back of my neck with her fingers. It was the sweetest smell and the softest touch I’d ever experienced, at least by someone so confident in what they were doing.

Similar encounters carry us through the next hour or so, until we are ready to leave. The trip home is made up of high volume speeches of highlights and individual favorites.
“Chad, you can’t count Lexy she’s been in Playboy,” Tom complained.”
“It’s too bad they only had one copy of her cover issue,” was Chad’s only reply.
Along with these discussions there are periods of silent reflection and once in awhile lifting our shirts to our noses because the girls’ sweet baby powder scent still covers us.

I’ve heard stories of guys’ first trips to strip-clubs and now I had my own. I could tie this whole story together with a meaningful statement maybe stating how I feel about the idea of these establishments as part of society, to show some sensitivity. But I don’t feel guilty about it. I had a good time. The trip was a bonding experience, and I’d like to end it as that, with no psychological undertones, just memories with college friends.
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I'm thinking this will probably go down as the most artistic account of going to a strip club for the first time ever found on this site. Way to make it classy and not "We saw boobs!"

   [Diffused (J) 3/16/04 4:38 PM]

strip clubs are odd
... odd indeed.

~Cut and print~
   [noprotein (J:: M) 3/16/04 9:35 PM]

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