I like to get my dick wet as much as the next guy, probably even more so. However, where the next guy and I differ are in our love of strip clubs. The general sentiment in the male community is “bro, tits and shit, strip clubs are money!”
…I love boobs and butts, but the strip joint environment is teeming with daddy issues…
First off, I would never speak that way, because I’m not a douche and I don’t write “reading is for losers” in my Facebook profile under “interests.” Second, I love boobs and butts, but the strip joint environment is teeming with daddy issues and shattered dreams. Make no mistake, I still get a boner, but it’s a boner of shame. Your dick is behaving the same way a regular person behaves at Wal Mart; you’re trying to keep a low profile, but you can’t resist a $2 10-pack of undershirts. Erection is all, “ugh, I don’t want to BE here right now, but damn it, titties.”
I’ve been to a few strip clubs, usually because one of the guys has never been and wants to experience it, and no amount of me saying “I know you, you’re not going to like it” is enough to talk them out of it. The premise sounds fantastic, yet in practice it’s a clusterfuck. Let me explain.
I went to BT with two of my closest friends, one of which had just broken up with his girlfriend, the other had never been to a titty bar. It was the newbie’s idea. We show up and immediately you’re given a taste of the racketeering that goes on in there. The girl that’s charging you a cover to get in starts coercing you into tipping her. You know the rules, you wanna see some fucking chesticles before you give her any green, but the powerbitch knows how to intimidate. She subtly motions toward the former XFL linebacker in a black suit in charge of deflating the nut sacks of anyone who gets a little too rowdy, and suddenly you realize the employees in this place have ALL the power.
Too much reading. Can we take a look at some boobies?
Once inside, you’re told about the drink minimum, and you awkwardly sit down and watch the girl on stage. The girls are a varied bunch. Sometimes you’ll see a veteran with a glazed look in her eyes like she’s wondering where her life went wrong. Other times you’ll get the nubile thing with way too much enthusiasm – more on her later. After you watch them gyrate across the stage very unlike you see in movies, they get off stage and walk around collecting dollar bills. The guys sitting right up on the stage eating chicken wings are usually the ones to tip the most.
When the girls walk up to you to collect money, there are various maneuvers they use. One is flat-out asking you for money, another is to give you a pseudo lap dance, and the last is they notice the slight bulge in your pants so they grab your pump stick and pretend like you’ll get a maximum of 3 tugs if you give her a dollar. Once you’ve got the money, some want you to put it betwixt their boobies, and the ones with smaller funbags like it when you sandwich it between their ass cheeks. Their skin is always cold. They’re kind of like lizards. Lizards that show you their genitals for money.
The guys sitting right up on the stage eating chicken wings are usually the ones to tip the most.
The first stripper that walked up to us wasn’t memorable. She was your typical brown single mom trying to give her kid a good childhood by letting creeps somewhat cop a feel on her areola with their wrist when they jammed a crumpled dollar bill betwixt her sweater muppets. Her name was Aurora, or Amber, or Acura — some shitty stripper tag starting with an A. She didn’t put up much of a show, simply went through the motions and scooted to the back once her g-string couldn’t hold any more singles.
Right after that chick, we got one which we made fun of my newly single friend about for a few weeks after. We kinda pulled a dick move on him, but it was funny. Some frizzy haired Amazonian Grace Jones lookalike was coming toward us, and she was closer to newly-single so she straddled him and grabbed his balls. She “whispered” in Spanish, verbatim, “oye papi, vamo pa’ ‘tra pa’ un private dance.” [Let’s go to the back for a private dance.] No, she didn’t say “private dance” with an impeccable American accent. Repeat that sentence in your head again but also imagine merengue music playing as background music to her proposal as she says it. That’s the sort of accent we were dealing with. Newbie and I noticed we ran out of cash while she was pumping up newly-single’s nut sack as fervently as a 10-year-old in the early 90s pumps up a pair of LA Gear pumps, so we got up and went to the restroom to avoid having to deal with that chick. We left a man behind. Then we dealt with the creepy Haitian guy selling Aqua Velva and Drakkar Noir in the restroom and proceeded to get cash at the ATM that charges you $9 dollars to take out cash and in addition also expects a tip.
…he was making it rain like El Niño in Peru.
Fast forward about 20 minutes and a friend of newbie comes in, which was strange. This dude is a paraplegic because of a crazy cocaine binge, a ridiculous sports car, and a very shitty friend. Anyway, he buys newbie a private dance. While newbie is in the back with, thankfully, this mocha stripper that happened to be hottest one we had seen so far, wheels was sitting with us and his friend being all friendly with the strippers. He got a pretty big settlement from the accident, which is surprising considering he was coked up, which coupled with his party attitude meant he was making it rain like El Niño in Peru. Once newbie got out of his lap dance, he had a bit of a shocked look going. Kind of like if he had a vagina literally smack him in the face. Yeah, that’s the look he had, because that stripper literally smacked him in the face with her snatch. He was over the strip club experience, but wanted to wait out until he ran out of singles since he hadn’t seen wheels in months.
One very enthusiastic girl on stage, probably 20 years of age, gave me the most “oh shit, this is new” moment I’ve had in any strip club. First, she was masturbating on stage. I’m talking finger-licking, bean-flicking, fake-moaning masturbation right there to a Mötley Crüe soundtrack. I’m guessing it was her first day. When she got off stage, she came up to us. My first friend tried so hard not to touch her he might as well have mailed her a check. The second friend did the ass cheek dollar sandwich. When it was my turn, I was having issues pulling out the single from my pocket, and while I fumbled for it she arced her legs over me splaying her vag right in front of my face. Had I been a gynecologist she’d be the one tipping me, it was that close. Then her poon landed right on my chest, and she slid allllllll the way down to my crotch. My friends tell me the look on my face was like I had seen Abe Vigoda masturbating over a photo of Betty White.
I thought I contracted chlamydia that had a tiny vagina infected with syphilis. The crazy thing is if you touch a stripper, a bouncer will knock you the fuck out, but they can touch you in whatever teasing way they want. At a bachelor party last year one of the guys slapped a stripper’s ass lightly and he was kicked out (that happened in Tootsie’s.) We left soon after the vaginal scraper ruined my shirt.
If you wanna see some tits I suggest you go to South Beach, find a club, and hit on drunk girls. If you want to see some tits and know what shame feels like, head to BT.
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 5922 S Dixie Hwy
- South Miami, FL 33143
- (305) 663-4567