Strip Clubs, Jabba the Hut and Me

It may be hard for you to believe, but when I was in my twenties I would go to strip clubs. It wasn’t a regular thing for me - I went with friends about 4-6 times a year (more if there was a bachelor party that year).This occurred in the late seventies/early eighties. Strip clubs were much “simpler” back then: women danced near a pole, men threw money on the stage or tucked it in their g-strings. Simple.

(Side note: my friend P and I once drove over 50 miles from where we lived to see Rhonda Jo Petty dance - worth every drop of gas we used)

Towards the end of that period, P came back from a business trip to Montreal and told me about this fantastic strip club, Club Super Sexe (it’s still there!) where they did something called private dances - a woman would bring a small stage to where you were seated and dance JUST FOR YOU! What a concept!

It was years later before I actually experienced it during a bachelor party at a club I had never been to before. When we entered the club the first thing I noticed was that we were seated much further from the stage than I was used to. We went upstairs to a balcony area where the chairs were in a row up against the wall rather than at a table. Soon after we sat down there were these women in skimpy costumes walking from chair to chair asking if the guy wanted to buy a dance for $10. My friend P (same one - he was at most of my strip club forays) bought me a dance from a blond dancer. She stood right in front me undulating and taking off her clothes.

It made me very uncomfortable. She was young and still had that “baby fat” look teens have just before maturity fully kicked in. The idea that she was in some way “bought for me” bothered me. When she finished I gave her another $10 because I wanted the “ownership” of the dance. I did not get another dance and was disconcerted the rest of the evening.

I did not go to another club for a long time. During my hiatus I heard of something else I hadn’t known about: lap dances. I was watching a news program when a story came on about an effort to crack down on lap dances in NYC. Part of the story was a demonstration of what a lap dance was, done by a clothed stripper. I was shocked! A woman rubbing her ass into your crotch? What if you got an erection? What if you (OMG) came? Wouldn’t your clothes get all messy? How could you go through the rest of the night with your underwear filled with spunk?

I couldn’t see myself getting a lap dance at all. I was going through one of my dry spells (I’ve had more dry spells than the Sahara) so I knew if a woman so much as touched my thigh I’d go off. Also, I had seen “Showgirls” - I definitely didn’t want that kind of activity performed on top of me. I pretty much figured my time at strip clubs were over.

Until my business trip to Dallas.

In the late 90’s I was working for a company that had just bought another company in Dallas. I was part of the team that had to merge the two companies’ computer systems. Around five people - including myself, my boss and my boss’s boss - went down to Dallas to start analyzing what had to be done.

The company division I worked in was like a locker room. There was a lot of talk about drinking and sex: who in the office you would do, guys sexual orientation, discussion/acquisition of porn, etc. It was the kind of place you would study to write a manual about inappropriate behavior at the workplace (side note: most of this talk occurred behind closed doors. I have NEVER harassed a woman nor made them feel uncomfortable. I flirt, but I have told every woman I have flirted with I would stop immediately and never bother her again if I ever made them uncomfortable. Not one ever did). So I was not surprised that one night during the trip my boss’s boss wanted to go to a strip club. Everyone from the group I was traveling with and some of guys from the Dallas office agreed to go. While I wasn’t really interested in going, I also didn’t want to be the only person who didn’t. I figured I’d just stay in the background and let the other drink and do whatever.

We all went out to dinner and drinks and after getting properly lubricated we went a club called BabyDolls (still there). When we arrived I was struck by how large it was - much larger than any club I had been to in Massachusetts. The parking lot was full - surprising as it was a work night (Texans must like their beef and their babes). We went to the entrance where two HUGE guys were collecting cover charges. After we paid we walked through black velvet curtains....

... and I cannot begin to tell you how fast my jaw dropped. It had been a while, but I thought I knew what the inside of a strip club looked like. The interior of BabyDolls seemed as big as an airplane hanger. There were several stages with women dancing on them, a bar that pretty much went the length of the room, strobe lights, loud music, and wall-to-wall people. I was pretty much close to sensory overload when I realized that my group was walking through a doorway. I followed them and had my second jaw-dropping moment.

The second room was smaller than the first, but was still bigger than any strip club I had ever been in. The lights were low but you could still see well enough to make out what was in the room. There was music playing, but nowhere near as loud as the first room. There were no stages, only tables that practically filled the room. The tables were of varying sizes and each seemed completely occupied. My eyes adjusted to the light and I was able to see more clearly.

That’s when I saw the women.

There has to be somewhere between 50 to 100 women walking around or sitting at the tables. Some wore sequenced stripper outfits. Some had on just a thong bikini. Some had on kimonos, silk robes, etc. Blonds, brunettes, Asians, blacks, Hispanics, short, tall, long hair, short hair - the whole range. What they all had in common was they were beautiful and they were giving men lap dances.

Somehow my boss’s boss found an empty table near a wall. We made our way to it through the crowd and ordered some beers. I was then able to observe how the lap dance process worked. The walking women would come up to a man sitting next to an empty chair and ask if he would like some company. If he did, she would sit down with him. They would talk for a while - she would always manage to hold his hand or touch him during the conversation. At some point she would ask him if he wanted a dance. She would then take off most of her clothes and give him one - either back to front or face to face. If he wasn’t comfortable doing it at the table, she could lead him to a more secluded spot in the back of the room.

My boss and my boss’s boss soon each had a lovely lady sitting next to them. I was of two minds about the situation. On the one hand I still had strong doubts about my ability to survive a lap dance (getting all spunky in front of your boss is probably not a good idea). On the other hand there were a lot of pretty women around and I enjoy talking to pretty women. I’d pay for a dance (that was their livelihood after all) but only talk. I was still debating with myself whether or not to do it when I happened to look over at another table. What I saw made up my mind for me.

She was tall and thin and as elegant as a woman can be standing in nothing but a sequenced thong bikini. Her hair was cut very short. She was probably a dancer as she had very nice muscle definition. Her breasts were perfect for her body - not small but not overpowering. All in all, one of the most beautiful, sexy women I had ever seen in a strip club.

He was fat. I’m not talking overweight; I mean obese. He couldn’t sit up straight in his chair. He sort of reclined back as if gravity pulled on him more than other people. He had short black hair, glasses, and a mustache. His neck was one gigantic chin resembling a bullfrog in mid-croak. I was too far away to see it, but I knew he was sweating. He reminded me of Jabba the Hut. In any other situation I would have tried very hard not to look at him. However, he was getting a lap dance from the tall stripper.

She was very sexy as she danced and swayed before the fat man. As she danced she reached up and unclasped the front of her bra, freeing her breasts. She stepped forward, put her hands on his knees and did a series of squats, shaking her breasts at him and swinging her hips. She then laid on top of him face to face (as he had no discernible lap). She undulated on him with her face close to his. I could see her ass making small thrusts into him.

I was nauseated. It was one of the most vile sights I had ever seen. I couldn’t see anyone wanting to be in the same room as that man, let alone be almost naked on top of him. How could she do such a thing? Then I remembered it was her job. She was getting paid to be on top of him (I hoped she was getting much more than her usual amount). My emotions changed from pity for her to anger at him.  I was positive if it wasn’t her job, she wouldn’t go near that pile of sweating blubber. How DARE he subject that woman to his disgusting self? And then, as is my wont, I thought “How am I any different from him?”

I had an almost physical reaction to that thought. There was no doubt in my mind that the woman had to be bothered being on top of that man. She did it because that was how she made a living. There were probably things she would not do, but she would do generally unpleasant things to earn her money. In my mind, a good person would not subject a woman to things she would not like. Therefore, how could I ask any stripper to be near me given the possibility that ordinarily she would not want to be near me? The answer was obvious: I couldn’t.

I practically jumped up from the table. I spent the rest of the evening walking around the building, not making eye contact with any dancer. I haven’t been to a strip club since that night.

So, why have I told this story? As I have mentioned in previous entries, I exchange tweets with a number of women in the adult industry. Occasional they post links to pictures of conventions, expos, and the like they attend. Some of these links are their own, some are from other attendees. Occasionally there with be a picture of the woman with a fan, who seems more often than not to be an overweight, hairy guy. Like the Texas Jabba the Hut. Like yours truly.

This is why no matter how friendly I become with any of the ladies I follow, I probably will never meet them nor try to.

I don’t want to be Jabba the Hut.

We interupt our soul searching for an important announcement:

DIA ZERVA WON THE 2010 ULTIMATE SURRENDER SUMMER VENGEANCE ELIMINATION CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WOOT!! WOOT!! WOOT!! WOOT!!!!

 ALL HAIL THE CHAMPION!!!!!!!!!!!