I’m a girl and I like strip clubs, so what? Some people might think it’s weird, and come to think of it I can’t really come up with a reason why it’s not. I think they’re fun. Sometimes it’s a little sad to think that this is the only way most of these girls can make a living (and also scary–will I have to strip one day just to make it out there in the big bad world? Don’t make me graduate.) Overall, it’s a funny experience. There are men there paying ridiculous amounts to have girls who are not in the least bit attracted to them dance on their laps for about five minutes and then leave and dance on the guy’s friend.
Anyway, I’ve been living in the city for two months now and I realized last week that I had not yet visited an NYC strip club. And that was not acceptable. So my friend and I (she also likes strip clubs, not that weird) stumbled upon this place a few blocks from her apartment. It didn’t look that trashy (read: there were no crack whores visible from outside), so we walked up.
First things first: $20 cover charge? No thanks. If I really wanted to, I could go stare at my own boobs in a mirror for a while for free. Not as fun, but possible. So we refuse, and they let us in anyway. We’ll throw down some ones, gentlemen, I promise.
So as we’re going in, we meet this girl who’s walking in solo. Since she’s alone, we figure she’s on the same level of strip club appreciation as us. So we chat her up, and turns out she is a TALKER. She did not leave our sides the entire night. So the three of us skip downstairs hand in hand (just kidding, we walked) and they give us a table right in front of the main stage. Thanks boys, I feel like a VIP. But I don’t know what that really means in a strip club.
We sit down and this other girl (we’ll call her the talker) starts telling us about how she owns a massage company and a bunch of girls work for her that also work here and blah blah blah and at one point we start to feel like she’s some Heidi Fleiss-type madam trying to suck us into her world of strippers and cocaine. And massages. I don’t know if you get our motive here lady, this is seriously just an innocent trip to a club that happens to be crawling with topless women. But I don’t think she really gets it, and she ends up paying one of her “employees” (who is not topless, but wearing a tiny red dress) to give us both shoulder massages in our seats. Don’t get me wrong, it was fabulous, but I think at this point we had started to give off the wrong impression. Getting massages from a girl in a strip club? I can only guess what the ladies working there were thinking. Are these girls lesbians? Are they here to audition? Do you think I can get their numbers??
Why yes, strippers, you CAN have my number.
So after the massages and a few (very overpriced) drinks, a little blonde girl in teeny lingerie came and took the empty seat next to me. Oh great, the team of strippers has sent her over to investigate this table of strange girls. So we start to chat, me distracted by the fact that I had just seen her topless with her hands all over the fat man in the corner and her telling me about how she grew up in Florida and recently moved to the city and could use a few suggestions on where to go out.
Listen, girl, I am not from the city and I’m leaving next Saturday. I told her this, but she ignored it, took my phone out of my lap and punched in her number. Then called herself so she had mine. This was all happening so fast. Are we friends? Do I have a stripper friend? Why yes, you do.
Soon after, my new bestie got called up to the top floor to work a private bachelor party. Sadly, I will probably never see her again. But I did get a text the next morning that said “hey did you guys have fun last night?” And there was a smiley face. What a friendly stripper.
This was long, I know, but if you’re still here, I just want to let you know that we still text each other. I can only hope we go out together before I leave the city. Like, where do strippers go out? I just hope she doesn’t think I want to be more than friends.
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