Getting Breakfast With a Stripper (Pt. 1)
Before your thoughts go completely into the gutter, no, I did not sleep with a stripper, nor is this an entry about some sort of sordid conquest. Just take it for what it is.
Anyways, I’ve been back from Vegas for a while now, but I remember one of the first times I was there, at that point i had never been to, shall we say, a ‘shoe-modeling establishment’.
Wait for it….there it is.
A few of my buddies who i was there with, insisted going on a 3 night tour of what Vegas had to offer. I figured, if I was going to lose my strip club virginity, I might as well do it in Vegas.
The first time you go to a strip club, at least for me, is an incredibly awkward experience. First off, it is extremely dark, and there is a sort of epileptic light show going on in front of you. And then there are the women, which in the dark, is just an incredibly dicey proposition. It’s an incredibly interesting flip on the power mechanic. Yes, you can make all the arguments that a strip club in an incredibly misogynistic establishment, but inside, the women are actually the predators. They are the ones who are there to make money. In short, they eat what they kill, and from anecdotes I know they can make up to $5000 a night, so they kill plenty.
The dancers are eager to tell you that they’re not prostitutes. Yes, in a way they sell their bodies, but in all actuality, they’re selling you a fantasy. A fantasy of power and sexual prowess, where incredibly beautiful half-naked (well, and naked) women want to be with you. You want to forget that you’re paying them in the end, and most guys do, they buy into the fantasy. It
always surprises doesn’t surprise me how much money a cute girl can pilfer from a drunk guy in one of those clubs.
But anyways, back to my story. So we ended up at the Spearmint Rhino at around midnight the second night that we were in Vegas. As luck would have it, I ended up gambling with one of the head waitress’ boyfriends during the day and she invited my whole group out with a limo and free drinks. To put it bluntly, the Spearmint Rhino is the upper-echelon of strip clubs. Women fly from all over the country to work there for a weekend because they know that’s where the money is, and that’s the most attractive girls go. I thought that I was pretty in control of myself, but the first time I stepped into the Rhino, my jaw dropped. It was just mind-boggling that literally hundreds of women were just there stalking the premises. After picking up my jaw, I spent the next half hour or so learning to say ‘no’ to half naked women sitting on your lap trying to convince you to spend money on them, and learning that apparently 4 ounces of water costs $8 there. At the time, we were keeping a running tally of how many girls came up to each of us seeing if we would like a dance. Since my group of friends was something out of a Benetton ad, it was an interesting social experiment. At that point in the night I had the lead with 10, and as a dancer was sitting on my lap and running her fingers through my hair telling me that I looked nice in my blazer, I saw a girl sitting in a chair against the wall. For some reason, I sheepishly smiled at her, completely ignoring the girl monopolizing my lap. After I courteously said no to a lapdance, or, I guess as courteously as anyone can say no to a lapdance, the girl I smiled at walked over.
She sat down next to me and introduced herself as ‘Velvet’.
(To Be Continued….)