My night with naked women, a lesbian, and too many Gummy Bears.
RJM
Published
05/09/2011
Last night my wife and I were invited to V.I.P. treatment to a couple of L.A. area strip clubs. Needless to say, taking your wife to a strip club for the first time is a tricky situation. But not in the way I anticipated.
The first club is in Long Beach, which is a topless-only bar. The owner, George, introduced us to the manager and informed him that anything we asked for would be on the house. So George orders us a round of Shots of Happiness, basically cough medicine, but with about three times the medicine. Now, I'm not much of a drinker, but my wife makes up for me, plus about 1/3 of my extended family. She's the kind of person that drinks until she can't lift her hand to her mouth. Or her head from the floor. Whichever come first.
We toast and George and I talk over the job, and various life stories while enjoying the entertainment. The wife, whom I shall refer herein as "The Drunk", watches in amusement and enjoys her drink. She drinks slowly, knowing her reputation with such chemicals could jeopardize the relations with the new client. Eventually she finishes her Happiness and orders a Gummy Bear, which tastes like gummy bears of all things.
I ask George intriguing questions about running a place like this, and he mentions one girl he says is his most entertaining employee. He says, "She's like an acrobat from Cirque Du Soliel! I'll show you. Let me put her on..." and passes a word to the D.J., tapping a blond girl on his way to the booth. During her routine at one point she "walks" inverted on a platform on the ceiling, supporting her weight on the bar out to her side. It looks like she's defying gravity. The Drunk is very impressed. After the set, she goes up the girl and congratulates her with smiles and compliments.
(Side note: She's unaware that I know about her lesbian leanings. She's been cheating on me with her friend "Sherry" for six weeks and has a bad habit of not deleting all her txt messages. Maybe I'll blog about that ordeal another time.)
George asks if we want to see the other club which we learn is a fully-nude establishment. I leave the decision to The Drunk. By now she's had two Gummy Bears and the Happiness, so she's somewhat reluctant, but agrees. He drives us there in a Prius, which I find somewhat amusing for a guy that makes what he makes, but knowing his roots I understand. (At one point he had $1 to his name and no place to sleep. He bought bread and made a phone call to his grandmother. It was Christmas Day, 1983.)
We arrive to the L.A. club and George introduces me as their new boss to the staff there. I joke back, "New 'bus' boy. Not 'boss' boy." One of the bouncers is a linebacker-looking black guy named "Hammer". Some time ago Nicolaus Cage came to the club in character for a film. He approached Hammer from behind and started grinding. Hammer thought is was one of the girls and started playing along until he felt a hard-on. Hammer ran into the men's room and locked himself in a stall until Cage left. Apparently Hammer is somewhat homophobic, and Cage is somewhat less so. I would have paid to see that.
While we were there I did see parts to girls my wife led me to believe never existed. One such healthy lady-part was worth a very healthy $260,000 a year, George tells me. The second highest-paid stripper "only" made $190,000 last year. After last night, I realize my views on strippers may be somewhat prejudiced by the media's portrayal. I feel ashamed for being one of the mindless masses that fell in the trap. I will forever admire the Women of the Uncloth and encourage my future daughters to pursue a less-than-glamorous career when they realize I wasted all their college money on Candii's lap dances.
After about an hour of watching spread-eagle axe wounds I came to the realization that even the best things in life can get boring. So did The Drunk, and after George was done taking care of various details, we returned to the Long Beach club. Immediately The Drunk orders another Gummy Bear and I have more cough medicine. She finishes her Gummy Bear, and then my cough medicine. She feels bad for drinking my drink so she gets another one. And finishes it too.
George is busier now so it's really just The Drunk and I taking in the entertainment, and chatting about various quirks in the patrons and staff there. She uses the restroom, and comes back talking about how nice and, well, "kinda flirty" the girls there are. She tells me she was talking to the Ukrainian girl, (probably named "Naughtia," but I forget now) and how they shared a beer. By now her lesbian side is starting to show.
She's making friends with the strippers and getting somewhat touchy-feely, often getting up and dancing with passing girls. At one point she slaps the ass of one girl she had been flirting with as she was walking by and the girls shakes it back. The Drunk grabs a hand full of her playboy-esque ass, and the stripper turns around, grabs her hands, and plants them firmly on her bikini-clad breasts. All this is illegal, of course, as patrons are not allowed to touch the strippers. The stripper comes behind The Drunk and starts feeling down and grabbing her chest. She's truly making some friends here.
By this point in the night, she's already had too many and is starting to slur her speech and get overly-excited. I know the night needs to end or I'll have a situation soon. Fortunately, the club closes in 15 minutes and the last call goes out. One of the girls comes up to us and asks us if we're going to the other club after this. I said no, she said "SURE!" with wide eyes and a big grin. I remind her the other club doesn't serve alcohol and then I see the gears turning...
"We can get some on the way!"
George asks me a minute later if we are going to the club. I tell him, "No, I think I need to take her home." He frowns, then raises the stakes.
"No... " in his Eastern-European trademark frown. "Why don't you go in the limo?"
FYI, the limo is the bus of sorts that takes all the strippers from the Long Beach club to the nude L.A. club. There were at least 10 girls in it already. I don't think there were enough seats so I know it would have been a very interesting seating arrangement to add the two of us. He drives a very hard bargain. I hesitated. The Drunk was still in happy mode, but I knew from experience she was one misunderstanding away from a fist fight with Hammer.
*Sigh* "No, she'll pass out soon and we have a 90 minute drive back home. Maybe next week"
Eventually I tell her "Let's go in our car," so she won't put up a fight. She's OK with that. In the car I say, "Let's stop somewhere to eat." She agrees. 90 minutes later she wakes up in our driveway.
But that 5 minute limo ride sure would have been fun. =(
The first club is in Long Beach, which is a topless-only bar. The owner, George, introduced us to the manager and informed him that anything we asked for would be on the house. So George orders us a round of Shots of Happiness, basically cough medicine, but with about three times the medicine. Now, I'm not much of a drinker, but my wife makes up for me, plus about 1/3 of my extended family. She's the kind of person that drinks until she can't lift her hand to her mouth. Or her head from the floor. Whichever come first.
We toast and George and I talk over the job, and various life stories while enjoying the entertainment. The wife, whom I shall refer herein as "The Drunk", watches in amusement and enjoys her drink. She drinks slowly, knowing her reputation with such chemicals could jeopardize the relations with the new client. Eventually she finishes her Happiness and orders a Gummy Bear, which tastes like gummy bears of all things.
I ask George intriguing questions about running a place like this, and he mentions one girl he says is his most entertaining employee. He says, "She's like an acrobat from Cirque Du Soliel! I'll show you. Let me put her on..." and passes a word to the D.J., tapping a blond girl on his way to the booth. During her routine at one point she "walks" inverted on a platform on the ceiling, supporting her weight on the bar out to her side. It looks like she's defying gravity. The Drunk is very impressed. After the set, she goes up the girl and congratulates her with smiles and compliments.
(Side note: She's unaware that I know about her lesbian leanings. She's been cheating on me with her friend "Sherry" for six weeks and has a bad habit of not deleting all her txt messages. Maybe I'll blog about that ordeal another time.)
George asks if we want to see the other club which we learn is a fully-nude establishment. I leave the decision to The Drunk. By now she's had two Gummy Bears and the Happiness, so she's somewhat reluctant, but agrees. He drives us there in a Prius, which I find somewhat amusing for a guy that makes what he makes, but knowing his roots I understand. (At one point he had $1 to his name and no place to sleep. He bought bread and made a phone call to his grandmother. It was Christmas Day, 1983.)
We arrive to the L.A. club and George introduces me as their new boss to the staff there. I joke back, "New 'bus' boy. Not 'boss' boy." One of the bouncers is a linebacker-looking black guy named "Hammer". Some time ago Nicolaus Cage came to the club in character for a film. He approached Hammer from behind and started grinding. Hammer thought is was one of the girls and started playing along until he felt a hard-on. Hammer ran into the men's room and locked himself in a stall until Cage left. Apparently Hammer is somewhat homophobic, and Cage is somewhat less so. I would have paid to see that.
While we were there I did see parts to girls my wife led me to believe never existed. One such healthy lady-part was worth a very healthy $260,000 a year, George tells me. The second highest-paid stripper "only" made $190,000 last year. After last night, I realize my views on strippers may be somewhat prejudiced by the media's portrayal. I feel ashamed for being one of the mindless masses that fell in the trap. I will forever admire the Women of the Uncloth and encourage my future daughters to pursue a less-than-glamorous career when they realize I wasted all their college money on Candii's lap dances.
After about an hour of watching spread-eagle axe wounds I came to the realization that even the best things in life can get boring. So did The Drunk, and after George was done taking care of various details, we returned to the Long Beach club. Immediately The Drunk orders another Gummy Bear and I have more cough medicine. She finishes her Gummy Bear, and then my cough medicine. She feels bad for drinking my drink so she gets another one. And finishes it too.
George is busier now so it's really just The Drunk and I taking in the entertainment, and chatting about various quirks in the patrons and staff there. She uses the restroom, and comes back talking about how nice and, well, "kinda flirty" the girls there are. She tells me she was talking to the Ukrainian girl, (probably named "Naughtia," but I forget now) and how they shared a beer. By now her lesbian side is starting to show.
She's making friends with the strippers and getting somewhat touchy-feely, often getting up and dancing with passing girls. At one point she slaps the ass of one girl she had been flirting with as she was walking by and the girls shakes it back. The Drunk grabs a hand full of her playboy-esque ass, and the stripper turns around, grabs her hands, and plants them firmly on her bikini-clad breasts. All this is illegal, of course, as patrons are not allowed to touch the strippers. The stripper comes behind The Drunk and starts feeling down and grabbing her chest. She's truly making some friends here.
By this point in the night, she's already had too many and is starting to slur her speech and get overly-excited. I know the night needs to end or I'll have a situation soon. Fortunately, the club closes in 15 minutes and the last call goes out. One of the girls comes up to us and asks us if we're going to the other club after this. I said no, she said "SURE!" with wide eyes and a big grin. I remind her the other club doesn't serve alcohol and then I see the gears turning...
"We can get some on the way!"
George asks me a minute later if we are going to the club. I tell him, "No, I think I need to take her home." He frowns, then raises the stakes.
"No... " in his Eastern-European trademark frown. "Why don't you go in the limo?"
FYI, the limo is the bus of sorts that takes all the strippers from the Long Beach club to the nude L.A. club. There were at least 10 girls in it already. I don't think there were enough seats so I know it would have been a very interesting seating arrangement to add the two of us. He drives a very hard bargain. I hesitated. The Drunk was still in happy mode, but I knew from experience she was one misunderstanding away from a fist fight with Hammer.
*Sigh* "No, she'll pass out soon and we have a 90 minute drive back home. Maybe next week"
Eventually I tell her "Let's go in our car," so she won't put up a fight. She's OK with that. In the car I say, "Let's stop somewhere to eat." She agrees. 90 minutes later she wakes up in our driveway.
But that 5 minute limo ride sure would have been fun. =(
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