Private Dancer.....

As I have mentioned on this blog at least, ohhhh, I dunno, about a hundred times already, I am not a manly man. I cry at films, I coo over kittens, and every third month I lactate. But there is one thing that I have done in my life that does give me a few man points.

I’ve been to a strip club.

Not once. But twice.

Yeah, check out this playa.

Now let me make this clear from the off. I’m not a pervy, lecherous bloke who leers at women whilst making inappropriate comments. So the whole notion of joining the sweaty ranks of men in ill fitting suits who stare lustfully at half naked girls was a bit of an alien one to me. But yes, I have frequented a strip club. Was it enjoyable? Not really. Interesting? Yes, a little.

The first time I ever visited one was about ten years ago. I had planned a night out in London with a very close friend of mine one Saturday night. We had a few venues we wanted to visit and a loose plan for the evening, but to be honest, the idea was to just see where the night took us.

So after hitting a few bars and clubs, it was getting close to chucking out time. Fuelled by a mixture of cheap amphetamines and vodka, we stood outside a club in the West End and tried to decide where to go next.

Almost by osmosis we both agreed at the same time.

Strip club.

It just seemed like the most logical choice. We were young. We were smartly dressed. We had never been to one. The night was about to get massive.

If you want any kind of pervy thrill in London, then Soho is the place to go. So we did. And ended up at a place called The Windmill.

Now please bear in mind, my only experience of strip clubs are in 80’s police buddy movies where the two mismatched cops finally bond over tacky 80’s music and women with really big hair. So to suddenly find myself standing nervously outside one of them with my friend was a very weird feeling.

I’m James Bond. I’m James Bond. I’m James Bond. I kept repeating in my head as the bouncers let us pass and we walked into the dark interior of the club.

Well this is new.

That evening we were the only two white customers in there. Two very young, scared looking, white customers. All the other patrons were either Chinese or Arab looking, and they all had about three or four half naked girls round them.

“Go grab that table over there,” I told my friend. “I’ll get us some drinks.”

As my friend went off to the table, I walked up to the bar and ordered two beers. Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned round to find a rather nice lady standing there in her underwear.

“Hello.” She said.

“Hello.” I squeaked back.

“Would you like some company tonight?”

“Yes please.” I replied.

I am, and always ever will be, this smooth.

She beckoned one of her friends over and dragged me back to my table where my friend was.

“If you want to sit here you have to buy a bottle of champagne.” She told me, sitting down next to me while her friend started chatting to mine.

“Oh, right.”

She called one of the waiters over who brought a tray with the bottle and glasses on. As he began pouring, he said “That will be £70.”

Shit.

“That’s okay, you can pay when you leave.” My new companion told me.

“Wonderful.” I sighed.

So we sat and made idle chit chat. Where have you been tonight? Do you like my bra? That kind of stuff.

“Would you like me to dance for you?” she suddenly asked me, sipping on her drink.

“Er, yeah. Why not?” I replied, my smoothness increasing with every breath that I took.

“It costs £20 per dance. You can pay everything when you leave.”

“Will you be dancing here?” I asked, looking at the tiny area around our table.

“No silly. Come with me.”

She took my hand and dragged me to one of the private booths that lined the sides of the club and almost threw me on the little sofa there. And then she took of her underwear and began to dance in front of me to the music.

Now this dance was costing me £20, but I ended up, out of some misguided form of respect, looking everywhere but the areas I was meant to be looking at. Mainly her.

I don’t know why I suddenly came over all chivalrous. It was two in the morning in a Soho strip club and I had just paid for someone to take their clothes off in front of me. But I just couldn’t do it. She was putting her heart into it, bless her, but I just didn’t find it a turn on. I ended up gazing around the little booth I was in, thinking: Ohhh, those crushed velvet curtains would really go well in my living room.

I could see by the look on her face that I may have hurt her feelings by my lack of interest. I looked to my left and saw a rather swarthy looking business man having a dance next to me. He looked like a pig in a tie.

Did I look like that?

I decided that for all the effort she was putting in to her dance, I had better put in a bit of a performance myself. So I tried to arrange my face into an expression that signified pure animal lust, but then swiftly tried to change it, as she suddenly stopped dancing and looked at me terrified as if I was suddenly going to rip my shirt off, shouting “WE DO FUCK NOW, YA?”

When my dance was finally finished, she asked me “You like?”

“Yes, lovely thanks.” I replied, resisting the urge to pat her on the shoulder. I mean, what the fuck do you say to someone who has basically been gyrating her bits in your face for about 10 minutes?

We spent the rest of the night just chatting away at the table. She asked me if I wanted another dance, but I politely declined. I was pretty drunk and the amphetamines were wearing off and all I wanted to do was go home.

When the club was finally closing, and it was time for us to leave, I was escorted by the girl to a cash machine.

“That will be £500.”

What the fuck!!!!

I mentally tried to add up the drinks, and then my brain decided that it wasn’t having any of it and just basically shut down for the night. Everything was dark and fuzzy and I started to feel a bit ill.

“£500, No problem, “I said, putting my card in the machine and entering my pin number.

PIN NUMBER DECLINED.

I entered it again.

PIN NUMBER DECLINED.

Bollocks. I entered it again.

The words: YOU’RE ENTERING THE WRONG PIN NUMBER, NUMBNUTS blinked back at me in green letters from the ATM machine.

I couldn’t remember my PIN number.

Suddenly a rather large bouncer came over.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked the girl.

“He won’t pay me.” She replied.

“No wait, “I said in a panic as he loomed over me. “I want to pay, I really do. It’s not working!” This was followed up by frantic jabbing of the buttons of the ATM machine. “Look!”

“You’ve got five minutes to pay the girl or me and you are going to have an issue.”

He’s going to rape me! He’s going to kill me, then rape me!!

Suddenly four magical numbers exploded in my head like bursting fireworks. My brain, sensing imminent danger, had suddenly come back to life.

“I remember!” I cried, blinking tears away from my eyes. “I remember the numbers!”

I jabbed them in and the blessed, life saving money came out.

“Here! Here is your money!” I said, waving the notes in the bouncers face triumphantly.

The bouncer grabbed them in a hand the size of a shovel.

“Get out.”

We got out.

So I must say that it was to my surprise, about six months later, that I found myself in Spearmint Rhino strip club with Vanessa shaking her bits at me.

I didn’t want to be there. I had gone out for the evening for one of my friend’s birthdays and somehow got roped in with three others to visit the club.

“I have no money.” I moaned as we queued up.

“Don’t worry mate, I’ve got tonight covered.” my friend replied, waving his credit card in my face.

When we walked in, I immediately sat down at one of the tables and tried to give the impression that I didn’t want to be there.

Didn’t work.

Suddenly someone jumped on me and sat on my lap. It was Vanessa. Sadly, as she sat down, I also had my phone in my pocket, which her arse then proceeded to mash into my testicles.

“Oh my god, my dahlink.” She said in a heavy Eastern European accent “Did I just sit on your peppers?”

I didn’t know what was worse, the fact that I had now turned white and was flopping around in my chair like a half dead fish, or she had just called my testicles “peppers”

“No,” I whispered hoarsely “Your fine.”

As the girls could see we were young and had cash on the hip, we were a fair draw. Suddenly all of us had girls on our laps.

“Do all you boys want a dance?” One of them asked us.

“Yeah!”

“Most definitely.”

“Ah, go on then.”

“No.”

Everyone looked at me.

“Yes?” I replied meekly with a shrug.

Vanessa took my hand and led me to one of the private booths. I was getting to be quite the veteran of this now. She removed he clothes and pushed me back on to the sofa I was sitting on.

“You’re going to enjoy this dahlink.” She said seductively.

I’m bloody not I thought.

So I sat there and watched while she danced for me.

She was good, Vanessa. She danced and moved in time to the music much better than my first experience did.

“Do you like my tits?” she said, thrusting them in my face.

“They’re very nice.” I replied to her nipples.

She then straddled me and covered my head with her long frizzy brown hair. I have no idea why she did this. I ended up looking like this man.

And then she started doing something very odd. She began blowing in my ear.

Now as I am deaf, my ears are very sensitive to me. So I certainly bloody didn’t like this at all. Every time she did this, I flinched away.

Finally my dance was over.

“Thank you,” I said. “That man over there will pay you.” This was followed with a point to my friend with the credit card, who was sitting back with a dumbstruck expression while a lady with breasts the size of my head
waved them in his face.

I sat down at our table on my own, my friends still away having their dances. About five minutes later, a blonde dancer sat down next to me.

“Listen, “I said. “I’m gonna be honest, I’m absolutely potless right now and I just want to sit here and have a drink.”

“That’s alright,” she replied. “I’m bloody knackard anyway.”

The next 20 minutes were my best experience ever in a strip club. We spent the whole time talking about our favourite books.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Go on.”

“Why do you do this?”

“Why shouldn’t I? The moneys great, I have some good friends here. 50% of the blokes here can be alright, the other 50% get chucked out when they turn twatish. I’m proud of my body. I like the job. So why not?”

“I guess. What’s the question you get asked most by the blokes here then?”

“Why do you do it?” she replied with a smile. “Have a nice night.”

And she left.

So how can I best sum up the whole experience? I guess some people like it; they wouldn’t be so popular otherwise. Not really for me to be honest.

And what was with that thing with the ears??