My First Experience At A Strip Club/Joint

8929399302_5b10da7eb2_qSo on Monday night, when i wrote this blog, i finished reading a book by Kelly Oxford. Incidentally one of my favourite tweeters. And in a chapter called VEGAS she talks of her, her husband, her best friend and her husband going to a strip club. One of the funnest things i’ve read, EVER!

Anyway, i was just now taking a shit when i started to recall my first experience at a strip club. Though i can’t in all good conscious call it a strip club, it’s more of a joint. It was south of the river (Thames, London), i never go south of the river, only because i’m from North London. But it was a night out and we had just finished training for the prison service. Yes i work for Her Majesties Prison service. One of our number, a guys whose name i can’t remember, Tony, maybe, i don’t know. Anyway, he said he knew of this strip club and that we could go there. Spearmint Rhino or even Stringfellows would have been better. But no, we were heading south of the river.  And let me tell you, it wasn’t what i was expecting. I wasn’t expecting a club, with bouncers and load music playing with sexy, half silicon strips climbing poles of sweaty silver. What we found was, a pub. A blue pub. In the middle of nowhere. It was a really bad horror movie. A group of friends find a lone building, hoping for some laughs, but instead they find misery and pain.

This was my first strip club, pub experience, and it looked like shit.

We walked into the pub, no knowing what to expect. Ahead of us was a bar, to my right were a few fruit machines (slot machines) and a pool table. To my left was a make shift stage. A small make shift stage, with a dull pole standing in the centre. Everyone stopped and looked at us as we walked in. Like some cheesy western. I didn’t really care and just walked to the bar, followed by a few other, we were the designated booze buyers. The rest sat around the make shift stage. My feet were sticking to the worn through carpet.

“You can’t sit there until you buy drinks”, said the woman behind the bar. I told her we wanted to buy drinks, but she just repeated herself, “You can’t sit there until you buy drinks”, so i told her, again, that we wanted to buy drinks. This exchange went on for a few more cycles. Until one of our number told everyone to stand up, “There, they ain’t sitting now. Can have some fucking drinks”, he was already a little drunk. We bought the drink and handed them around, whole the striper starting walking through the crowd collecting money for pussy. I dropped a hand full of change in her tin. Because i didn’t want all the change. So i gave it to a stripper. Wearing some black and white PVC get up. Nice legs though. She wasn’t happy with me, and she disappeared.

Five minutes later i saw her standing by the back wall getting ready. A strip, place, where the stripper had to prepare in the pub, there was no green room, or what you call it, strippers den. The show was about to start so i sat down, looking over my shoulder at the bar woman, holding up my beer. I sat down and the music started, some techno blah. The stripper who i thought didn’t like me stepped up on to the stage and strutted straight towards me, i genuinely thought she was going to kick me in the face for having the nerve to sit there after dumping a hand full of shrapnel in her collection tin. But no, she stood in front of me, and i mean i could smell her knee high boots. Not a bad smell, just the PVC or patent or whatever it’s fucking called. She squatted down and her knees went behind my ears, she started to gyrate. Now, this being my first stripper experience i wasn’t up on the etiquette of what to do. Can i drool? Would it be wrong to put my hand down my trousers? Do i look her in the eye, or do i look at her vagina, which was dancing about four inches from my face. And no, it didn’t smell bad. A relief i can tell you.

What do you do, look straight ahead, down the throat of her vagina, or up to her eyes. She gave me that “I wonna fuck you” look. But i suspected she gave it to every punter that came in there. No pun intended. She was gyrating and my eyes watched her vagina dance. Then she opened it up for me. Yep, she used the vulcan salute, two fingers on her right hand, either side and spread her labia’s. I tried to keep my face straight, in a “Meh”  expression. I was tempted to stick out my tongue. But i didn’t do that.

She eventually got up and moved to the next punter. And i have to admit, i kinda felt used. Or like she was cheating on me. Bitch!

It was at this point i noticed our number had dropped. I gave a quick scan and realised that the women that came with us had disappeared. At first i thought, “Why?”, then i looked to my left and looked at my stripper gyrating in some other guys face. Right.

The women came back, they had gone to the toilet, but they were coming back fast, “We’re leaving, Now!”, that quietly said to us. Confused, us men just sat there watching the girls leave, torn between staying and having more vagina opened for us, or going with the girls we originally came out with. We left.

They told us outside that the women’s toilet was brown. And not on purpose. Just brown from filth. So now we’re all standing outside to divest, seediest strip joint in London. A nondescript blue pub. We headed north, back across the river to a night club where we all got shit faced.

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