I started out my second evening in Memphis on Beale Street. It was just as I remembered it. The only difference I noticed was that the Pat O’Brien’s had closed down. With the street occupied with tourists, I figured getting dinner would take too long at one of the Beale Street restaurants. I walked over to the Hooters a block away, across from Peabody Place, hoping to flirt with some big-titty Memphis belles. It was not to be. The Hooters in downtown Memphis has very ugly waitresses. Out of the thirteen on night shift, only one was fuckable by my standards, and I lost the roulette spin trying to get seated in her section. The real kicker was that even the food at this particular Hooters tasted subpar. At the Hooters back home, the cooks actually care and make the food taste good.
Next I headed to my “go-to” club in Memphis, The Pony. Over the years, The Pony has been a reliable club for me. There are good-looking dancers and the club has a party feel to it. This particular club is probably the closest to being Las Vegas-style out of all of the Bluff City clubs. It appears The Pony is now a chain with additional locations in Huntsville, Starkville, and Poplar Bluff. I think the Memphis location was the original one. The last time I stepped foot in this club was February of 2009.
Pulling into the gravel parking lot, I noticed the large metal statue of a horse had been removed. I headed inside where I was banged with a $15 entrance charge that included cover and your first two beers. Your first beer is given to you at the counter and a small paper ticket is handed to you in order to claim your second beer inside the club. As I was about to walk in, the door girl shouted at me that I needed to tip her. Strike one! The inside of The Pony has one large sixty-foot long stage taking up the center of the club that has three dance stations and two smaller satellite stages. There are always five dancers performing on weekend evenings, rotating each song, which makes for a lot of excitement. I like this because I can always find at least one stage with a girl I want to tip or follow a hottie as she moves through the five-stage rotation. This club attracts a lot of couples for some reason and was packed on a Saturday night. I finally found a place to sit off in a corner. Just then a bouncer came by and told me I had to find somewhere else to sit. Apparently I was sitting in a reserved section for VIP’s. I saw no sign denoting this and could not understand why seats had to be kept empty in a club that was almost at standing-room-only capacity. Strike two! I finally found an opening stage-side and got to do some tipping. None of the girls were giving contact to the tippers. You could put the money in their g-string or garter band, but that was it. Two years ago, a few bucks would get you good contact. There must’ve been some sort of “three-foot” rule or something similar in the last round of Shelby County strip club regulation. This was kind of a letdown, but the club still had some beautiful girls. Kiki is still there and did not look like she aged a single day. Envy put on the greatest pole show I have possibly ever seen. She won a national poledancing competition in Atlanta last year.
I ended up going for some lappers from a stunner from Nashville, flaunting a fit body begging to be fucked. Dance prices were $40 for one or $60 for two. I opted for the latter. The dances are done on benches along a hallway. There is very little privacy; you won’t get extras here. The songs are short, but the contact is cautious two-way. My dancer kept putting her nip-nips in my face. I had to take a lick. She reprimanded me by saying she could get in trouble for that. Yes, the glory days of Memphis strip clubs are definitely long gone. In the process of shuffling around I lost my ticket for my second drink. That is the downside to having to prepay for your beer at Memphis clubs. The waitresses here are vultures. I had to turn several away every minute I was in the club. It was getting very annoying and getting in the way of me enjoying my visit. Strike three, you’re out! I decided to take off. The Pony is still a decent club, but the staff treating me like a blow-up doll and the horrible customer service was enough for me to bail. Poor lap dance value and the lack of stage-side contact are also knocks against a club that used to be my hotspot.
Despite having a free admission pass for Christies Cabaret, I decided to stop back at the Gold Club since I had a pretty good time there the previous evening. I was hoping the dancer I had been with the previous evening was there again, but that was not the case. This allowed me to sample some of the other talent. The girl who shoved her kittie into my face the previous night was back on stage, and sure enough she backed her clean package into my face again, probably violating stage contact rules. Her thong was much skimpier this evening and my mouth touched her labia. I chatted up some of the girls and learned that some of them began stripping before they were even 18. No wonder dancers now have to get licensed in Shelby County. Proposed legislation from G.A. Hardaway to raise the dancer age to 21 in Tennessee might have a little sense to it, but then again, all dancers in the 18-20 range would just dance in another state until they turned 21. The only way of preventing girls from being strippers before age 21 would to pass that law in every state, and that is highly unlikely. I had one girl try and sell me a dance for $60. Some of these dancers have egos bigger than the universe. Not too long after that, another dancer offered me $10 dances. I took her up on it. It seems like the payout model here is a flat fee to work the shift. Club personnel did not seem to be counting dances in order to administer fees on a per-dance basis. The nice thing about this was that the less egotistical girls could be bargained with. Similar to The Pony, the waitresses were very pesky, constantly harrassing you, looking to sell another beer. I would turn away multiple waitresses one right after the other. Watch out for an older one in her early forties; she was the worst of the lot and got mean when you turned her down. They are money whores just like the strippers, only they keep their clothes on. What these clubs should do is assign each waitress a section so that you only have to deal with one rather than all of them. I ended up closing down the club; Memphis strip clubs stay open till 6AM on Friday and Saturday nights. It was surreal walking out only to watch the sun come up over the horizon. I got a couple hours of sleep and had to start the long journey home.
To summarize, I think the Memphis scene has gone downhill and is a shadow of its former self. Almost no girls providing contact at the stage was a big disappointment. Private dance contact was still decent, but unless you can find a girl willing to negotiate, lap dance will be expensive. I think you can BYOL to clubs, but having to pay the two-drink minimum before you even get in the door is lame if the club is having a poor night and it's not worth sticking around. Waitresses are very pushy. There are still a lot of beautiful women working in the Memphis clubs, but the town is definitely on the downswing since the Purple Palace got shut down. I would not recommend making a special trip here just to monger, but the scene is worth a stab if you have other reasons for coming to the Memphis area.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Part 7: Memphis
I returned to the Home of the Blues for the first time in a year for a short vacation and to see how recent legislation had impacted the local strip clubs. Apparently, Shelby County had barred the sale of hard liquor in Memphis strip clubs and required dancer licenses. Club owners felt this would put them out of business, but so far it had not. After checking into my hotel just south of the Mississippi state line, I resurfaced back into the Volunteer State and considered my options for the evening.
Virtually all of Memphis’s establishments are in an area south of I-240, yet north of the Mississippi state line, and close to the airport. The only club that is not in the aforementioned area is the Gold Club near the I-240/I-40 interchange on the east side of the city. Further classifying the Memphis scene, you have black clubs and white clubs generally speaking. The majority black clubs are: Babes of Babylon, Pure Passion, Showgirls, Jet Strip, and El Cabaret Dulce Amante (which is black/Latina). The majority white clubs are: The Pony, Gold Club, and Christies Cabaret.
My game plan was to hit the isolated Gold Club out on the eastern front and then possibly double back to the airport area, if needed, where the rest of the clubs are more closely concentrated. On my way into town that afternoon, I had heard on the news that there was a shooting outside the Gold Club the previous night. I could not find a news article on the internet. When I arrived at the club I asked about the shooting and, yes, it was true. Two Mexicans got into a scuffle in the parking lot resulting in one shooting the other in the leg. That makes for two shootings at Memphis titty bars in one week’s time. There was a shooting at Babes of Babylon seven days prior. Apparently, Bluff City strip clubs could get dicey.
The last time I was at the Gold Club was in May of 2007. I remember this place being kind of dumpy with very few good-looking girls. Well, my current visit was completely the opposite. The Gold Club had been recently renovated (which was dragged out over a period of three years according to locals). The quality of dancers was definitely above average with some stunning 18-24 year old babes.* The inside was upscale with two stages, a large main with a pole and a small secondary with a spinning pole. According to the DJ, this club has the only spinning pole in Memphis, and the girls were all hanging out at the secondary stage early on trying to practice tricks on the spinning pole since it had been installed very recently. This was definitely not the same crappy club I remembered from four years prior.
Dances are $40 and a horrible value for a short song. You either have to try to negotiate a better price or wait until the occasional 2-for-1 deals. The two-fers also include a prize: a shirt or mug. Generally, guys were only buying dances during blue light shopping. I noticed some girls were charging $40 for the 2-for-1 prize dance while others were charging $50. I think the girls have to pay the house $10 for the souvenir itself, and some were trying to pass on that fee to the patrons. Dancers really seemed to hate doing the two-fers because they made half as much money. Dances took place in cubbyholes that anyone on the main floor could see into. You will not get extras here. In fact, I noticed the really perverted guys liked to sit at the tables that were within six feet of the cubbies, so they could be peeping Toms to your private dances. While you could generally get two-way contact during dances, 90% of girls would not touch you during stage tipping. You could insert money into their g-string and that was it except for a couple girls daring enough to break an apparent “buffer rule”. I was lucky enough to have one freak back her pussy into my face when I tipped. The Lycra covering her snatch was pressed to my lips. She smelled like spring flowers, and I would have loved to have partaken in that feast. Beer was being served, but there was no liquor being served. There is a two drink minimum, which are prepaid for with the entrance fee of $19 ($8 cover + $5.50 beer + $5.50 beer).
Some of the girls seemed to have bad attitudes. For example, I got a two-fer from a bolt-on Barbie, and she would not remove her top because she would only be making half as much money during the promo than she would have made if some dumbass actually paid full price for two dances. I made it a point to grab her melons with her bra on. I tipped a tattooed brunette well on stage, thinking I was sending a message. When she got off stage she ignored me and sat with some guy at the bar for two hours. The guy bought her one drink, unbelievable. Eventually, I hooked up with another young stripper. The attraction was mutual and the conversation interesting. Eventually we went for some lap dances and that is when we spontaneously started making out and got all girlfriendsy-boyfriendsy. She kept dropping hints that she really was into me and did not even want me to pay for the lap dances, but I still paid in full. I let my guard down and starting getting pathetic--something I am usually able to contain--falling in love with a stripper. I was spending time with a girl I would have definitely dated outside of the club. I tried to keep my head straight and reaffirm the past hour was a dream and did not happen. I tried to tell myself that my lover had a boyfriend, which is likely. Meanwhile, I noticed a guy staring at me from across the room the whole time all of this was going on. Now where I come from, if you stare at other guys, (A) you are a homosexual or (B) you want to fight. I could have destroyed this faggot easily. I soon learned the guy staring me down was one of my new ATF’s regulars. He was jealous and clearly freaking out that his girl was all over me and ignoring him. I agreed she should visit him so she could make money; after all this is her job and I secretly needed to disconnect to keep myself from falling in love with a dancer. I ordered some more beers and chilled out a bit. The regular was a tightwad, not spending a dime on her for the hour and a half I remained at the club. I am starting to see this type of thing a lot: a guy drops hundreds his first few visits to establish “regular” status with a girl. Then, he starts to get cheap and really milks the dancer’s time on subsequent visits. The dancer is scared to drop him from her stable because he may start discharging big bills like he has in the past. These are generally lonely guys that get absolutely no interaction with women in the real world, so they want to come into strip clubs and talk to girls for hours on end and spend as little as necessary to string them along. I have seen this frequently at Brad’s Brass Flamingo.
I did not make it back to the airport district that evening. Tired, I headed back to the hotel and planned to do more reconnaissance the following evening.
*Side note: As of a few weeks ago Democrat Rep. G.A. Hardaway of Memphis wanted to pass HB 0072 to raise the minimum age of strippers from 18 to 21. I have not heard if this has been made into Tennessee law yet.
Virtually all of Memphis’s establishments are in an area south of I-240, yet north of the Mississippi state line, and close to the airport. The only club that is not in the aforementioned area is the Gold Club near the I-240/I-40 interchange on the east side of the city. Further classifying the Memphis scene, you have black clubs and white clubs generally speaking. The majority black clubs are: Babes of Babylon, Pure Passion, Showgirls, Jet Strip, and El Cabaret Dulce Amante (which is black/Latina). The majority white clubs are: The Pony, Gold Club, and Christies Cabaret.
My game plan was to hit the isolated Gold Club out on the eastern front and then possibly double back to the airport area, if needed, where the rest of the clubs are more closely concentrated. On my way into town that afternoon, I had heard on the news that there was a shooting outside the Gold Club the previous night. I could not find a news article on the internet. When I arrived at the club I asked about the shooting and, yes, it was true. Two Mexicans got into a scuffle in the parking lot resulting in one shooting the other in the leg. That makes for two shootings at Memphis titty bars in one week’s time. There was a shooting at Babes of Babylon seven days prior. Apparently, Bluff City strip clubs could get dicey.
The last time I was at the Gold Club was in May of 2007. I remember this place being kind of dumpy with very few good-looking girls. Well, my current visit was completely the opposite. The Gold Club had been recently renovated (which was dragged out over a period of three years according to locals). The quality of dancers was definitely above average with some stunning 18-24 year old babes.* The inside was upscale with two stages, a large main with a pole and a small secondary with a spinning pole. According to the DJ, this club has the only spinning pole in Memphis, and the girls were all hanging out at the secondary stage early on trying to practice tricks on the spinning pole since it had been installed very recently. This was definitely not the same crappy club I remembered from four years prior.
Dances are $40 and a horrible value for a short song. You either have to try to negotiate a better price or wait until the occasional 2-for-1 deals. The two-fers also include a prize: a shirt or mug. Generally, guys were only buying dances during blue light shopping. I noticed some girls were charging $40 for the 2-for-1 prize dance while others were charging $50. I think the girls have to pay the house $10 for the souvenir itself, and some were trying to pass on that fee to the patrons. Dancers really seemed to hate doing the two-fers because they made half as much money. Dances took place in cubbyholes that anyone on the main floor could see into. You will not get extras here. In fact, I noticed the really perverted guys liked to sit at the tables that were within six feet of the cubbies, so they could be peeping Toms to your private dances. While you could generally get two-way contact during dances, 90% of girls would not touch you during stage tipping. You could insert money into their g-string and that was it except for a couple girls daring enough to break an apparent “buffer rule”. I was lucky enough to have one freak back her pussy into my face when I tipped. The Lycra covering her snatch was pressed to my lips. She smelled like spring flowers, and I would have loved to have partaken in that feast. Beer was being served, but there was no liquor being served. There is a two drink minimum, which are prepaid for with the entrance fee of $19 ($8 cover + $5.50 beer + $5.50 beer).
Some of the girls seemed to have bad attitudes. For example, I got a two-fer from a bolt-on Barbie, and she would not remove her top because she would only be making half as much money during the promo than she would have made if some dumbass actually paid full price for two dances. I made it a point to grab her melons with her bra on. I tipped a tattooed brunette well on stage, thinking I was sending a message. When she got off stage she ignored me and sat with some guy at the bar for two hours. The guy bought her one drink, unbelievable. Eventually, I hooked up with another young stripper. The attraction was mutual and the conversation interesting. Eventually we went for some lap dances and that is when we spontaneously started making out and got all girlfriendsy-boyfriendsy. She kept dropping hints that she really was into me and did not even want me to pay for the lap dances, but I still paid in full. I let my guard down and starting getting pathetic--something I am usually able to contain--falling in love with a stripper. I was spending time with a girl I would have definitely dated outside of the club. I tried to keep my head straight and reaffirm the past hour was a dream and did not happen. I tried to tell myself that my lover had a boyfriend, which is likely. Meanwhile, I noticed a guy staring at me from across the room the whole time all of this was going on. Now where I come from, if you stare at other guys, (A) you are a homosexual or (B) you want to fight. I could have destroyed this faggot easily. I soon learned the guy staring me down was one of my new ATF’s regulars. He was jealous and clearly freaking out that his girl was all over me and ignoring him. I agreed she should visit him so she could make money; after all this is her job and I secretly needed to disconnect to keep myself from falling in love with a dancer. I ordered some more beers and chilled out a bit. The regular was a tightwad, not spending a dime on her for the hour and a half I remained at the club. I am starting to see this type of thing a lot: a guy drops hundreds his first few visits to establish “regular” status with a girl. Then, he starts to get cheap and really milks the dancer’s time on subsequent visits. The dancer is scared to drop him from her stable because he may start discharging big bills like he has in the past. These are generally lonely guys that get absolutely no interaction with women in the real world, so they want to come into strip clubs and talk to girls for hours on end and spend as little as necessary to string them along. I have seen this frequently at Brad’s Brass Flamingo.
I did not make it back to the airport district that evening. Tired, I headed back to the hotel and planned to do more reconnaissance the following evening.
*Side note: As of a few weeks ago Democrat Rep. G.A. Hardaway of Memphis wanted to pass HB 0072 to raise the minimum age of strippers from 18 to 21. I have not heard if this has been made into Tennessee law yet.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Part 6: East St. Louis
The next day I decided I had better check out some of the tourist draws. Going on a trip just for strip clubs can drain you, so I decided I needed to see some of the local attractions. I went up the Gateway Arch, toured Busch Stadium, played some slots and card games at the Ameristar Casino, and then climbed some mounds at Cahokia Mounds State Park. The largest one was one hundred feet tall and gave a good view of the American Bottom. By this point, I was done with the touristy stuff and wanted to see some fleshy mounds and spank some bottoms.
I decided to drive all over the ESL area and scout out the locations of the various clubs while there was still daylight. I first went to Brooklyn. This is a little town that you have to drive a couple miles through a wasteland to get to. The sign coming into town says it is first town in the United States incorporated by blacks. There are two VCG Holdings clubs and two black clubs here. I think there is a massage parlor as well. It was pretty scary here. Buildings lay demolished and boarded up, and there was trash everywhere. It was so surreal I should have taken a picture but was too scared to leave my vehicle. The two VCG clubs looked pretty trashy from the outside. There was a pack of stray dogs hanging out in the Roxy’s parking lot. I wondered: why VCG just doesn’t demolish these clubs? I don’t see why anybody with money to blow would drive all the way out to this shithole, risking getting murdered or robbed, to spend money in a rundown building. I did not feel like taking one for the team and peeled out of there. I drove out next to Sauget. Sauget is directly across the river from downtown St. Louis and seemed to be mostly industrial and safer than my previous stop. The two clubs here are close, with an infamous 24-hour concert hall bar situated adjacent to the titty bars. The Penthouse Club appeared to be built inside one end of a warehouse. Next, I went over to Centreville, home to PT’s and the Centerfold Cabaret. These two clubs actually looked fairly inviting compared to others in the area. The vicinity seemed alright, probably due to the fact that a shrine is on the other side of Bluff Road. Finally, I headed back to Washington Park. The infamous clubs where you can “get anything you want” are off the interstate a bit in the ‘hood. Generally, they look like pole barns surrounded by ten-foot chain-link fence. You want to stick to the main roads in Washington Park, obey the speed limit, and keep your doors locked. You will see lots of boarded up houses and lots of gangstas loitering on street corners and porches sipping St. Ides. I was glad I brought my .357 on this jaunt. Like I said earlier, I was not in the mood to TOFTT in the asshole of America. I have TOFTT too many times. I just headed back to the Hollywood.
By the time I got back to the Hollywood, the night shift was in full swing. I was enticed by Spinner 3, a surgically-enhanced 8.5. I decided to sample some dances from Spinner 3 and was blown away by the mileage I got—way more than from the previous night’s prospects. I had my belt and shirt pulled off and was at the mercy of Spinner 3 who was trying in earnest to make me cum all over myself. I think Spinner 3 gave me the best private dances in my clubbing career as I sit here and recollect my years in the game. Spinner 1 was back at the club and this time trying to play some stripper shit on me about not being able to pay rent and a broken down car. I just came out and flat out told the bitch, “Fuck off, your deadbeat boyfriend can pay your rent.” I also chatted with Spinner 2, a sexpot that could be in Penthouse if she wanted, for a bit but declined private time; her dances were fun but not as high mileage as Spinner 3's. Mileage will vary by the dancer and extras are not likely due to the setup of the VIP rooms and private dance rooms. What cracked me up was that the management of this club reads TUSCL. Above each pisser in the washroom was a poster with the TUSCL Top 10 list showing the Hollywood at #7. Then above the sinks were posters of the TUSCL Top 10’s for Best Dancer, Best Dollar, and Best Physical. Obviously, the management here was excited to be rated well. I thought that was pretty cool because that means the management actually gives a shit about how their club is viewed by the strip-clubbing public. Perhaps, they will act on our constructive criticisms and take our suggestions into account. There are way too many strip clubs out there that could care less about the customer.
I decided to drive all over the ESL area and scout out the locations of the various clubs while there was still daylight. I first went to Brooklyn. This is a little town that you have to drive a couple miles through a wasteland to get to. The sign coming into town says it is first town in the United States incorporated by blacks. There are two VCG Holdings clubs and two black clubs here. I think there is a massage parlor as well. It was pretty scary here. Buildings lay demolished and boarded up, and there was trash everywhere. It was so surreal I should have taken a picture but was too scared to leave my vehicle. The two VCG clubs looked pretty trashy from the outside. There was a pack of stray dogs hanging out in the Roxy’s parking lot. I wondered: why VCG just doesn’t demolish these clubs? I don’t see why anybody with money to blow would drive all the way out to this shithole, risking getting murdered or robbed, to spend money in a rundown building. I did not feel like taking one for the team and peeled out of there. I drove out next to Sauget. Sauget is directly across the river from downtown St. Louis and seemed to be mostly industrial and safer than my previous stop. The two clubs here are close, with an infamous 24-hour concert hall bar situated adjacent to the titty bars. The Penthouse Club appeared to be built inside one end of a warehouse. Next, I went over to Centreville, home to PT’s and the Centerfold Cabaret. These two clubs actually looked fairly inviting compared to others in the area. The vicinity seemed alright, probably due to the fact that a shrine is on the other side of Bluff Road. Finally, I headed back to Washington Park. The infamous clubs where you can “get anything you want” are off the interstate a bit in the ‘hood. Generally, they look like pole barns surrounded by ten-foot chain-link fence. You want to stick to the main roads in Washington Park, obey the speed limit, and keep your doors locked. You will see lots of boarded up houses and lots of gangstas loitering on street corners and porches sipping St. Ides. I was glad I brought my .357 on this jaunt. Like I said earlier, I was not in the mood to TOFTT in the asshole of America. I have TOFTT too many times. I just headed back to the Hollywood.
By the time I got back to the Hollywood, the night shift was in full swing. I was enticed by Spinner 3, a surgically-enhanced 8.5. I decided to sample some dances from Spinner 3 and was blown away by the mileage I got—way more than from the previous night’s prospects. I had my belt and shirt pulled off and was at the mercy of Spinner 3 who was trying in earnest to make me cum all over myself. I think Spinner 3 gave me the best private dances in my clubbing career as I sit here and recollect my years in the game. Spinner 1 was back at the club and this time trying to play some stripper shit on me about not being able to pay rent and a broken down car. I just came out and flat out told the bitch, “Fuck off, your deadbeat boyfriend can pay your rent.” I also chatted with Spinner 2, a sexpot that could be in Penthouse if she wanted, for a bit but declined private time; her dances were fun but not as high mileage as Spinner 3's. Mileage will vary by the dancer and extras are not likely due to the setup of the VIP rooms and private dance rooms. What cracked me up was that the management of this club reads TUSCL. Above each pisser in the washroom was a poster with the TUSCL Top 10 list showing the Hollywood at #7. Then above the sinks were posters of the TUSCL Top 10’s for Best Dancer, Best Dollar, and Best Physical. Obviously, the management here was excited to be rated well. I thought that was pretty cool because that means the management actually gives a shit about how their club is viewed by the strip-clubbing public. Perhaps, they will act on our constructive criticisms and take our suggestions into account. There are way too many strip clubs out there that could care less about the customer.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Part 5: East St. Louis
To break up the monotony of work and see some new scenery, I took a road trip out to St. Louis for the weekend. I checked into an upscale hotel that I was able to get a very favorable rate due to connections. I washed up and suited up for some club time. I had forgotten my secret stripper bait at the house, but, hey, the show must go on. The ESL scene can be divided into four subgroups: Brooklyn (Roxy’s, PT’s, Pink Slip, Bottoms Up), Centreville (PT’s, Centerfold Cabaret), Sauget (PT’s Sports, Penthouse), and Washington Park (Blondies, C-Mowes Key Club, Cheeks, Dollies, Wise Guys, Hollywood Show Club, Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club, and Miss Kitty’s). The East St. Louis area is very poor, very dangerous, and tolerant of adult businesses because the sales tax and licensing fees provide a significant percentage of these rundown towns’ revenue. I headed over to Washington Park for the first night.
Right at the interchange of Kingshighway and I-64 is Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club and Miss Kitty’s. I decided to bypass both of these clubs based on tidbits from the reviews. A few reviewers for the Hustler Club said that the girls would take your hands and graze them on their ribcages, as if that was risqué, but did not allow touching in other places. The rumors that this club is ROB-laden and the fact that I hate the Déjà Vu/Hustler chain kept me away. Miss Kitty’s, while apparently having a dancer named Sinclair, seemed hit or miss, with a few reviewers mentioning getting robbed and upsold by dancers. A carjacking took place in Miss Kitty’s parking lot a few nights prior. I continued down the road to the Hollywood Show Club, the safe bet, which is currently rated #8 on the Top 100. The Hollywood by far had the safest parking lot—it was fenced in, had private security guards, and was lit up brighter than Fresnel lenses. The Hollywood reminds me of Rorke’s Drift in the movie Zulu. Inside the Hollywood’s compound is safe, but dangerous welfare-dependant savages look to breach the walls to break into your car. I was warned by several of the entertainers to avoid stopping at the gas stations at the intersection of Bunkum and Kingshighway. Apparently, patrons have gotten robbed, assaulted, and carjacked there.
I watched the stage show for a bit, where tit and ass groping is encouraged, and then decided to get some dances from Spinner 1, a 7, to see what level of contact is given here. The level of contact was about the same as at the stage. I would later find out that I had just picked a very restrictive dancer that thought she should be showered with money to do nothing because she has a deadbeat boyfriend at home that can’t make any money. The low enthusiasm and “give me your money” attitude turned me off and I moved on to Spinner 2 when Spinner 1 left to take care of a regular. Spinner 2 was a 9 and gave more contact, enthusiasm, and intimacy then Spinner 1. When Spinner 1 saw me dropping heavy cheddar on Spinner 2, she started to get catty and thought she owned my wallet. Fuck off, bitch! I am going to associate with the girls that make me feel like a man, not girls that make me feel like an ATM. I had wanted to try out some more dancers to prospect how mileage varied from girl to girl, but the club started to get crowded and my prospects became occupied. I was tired and hungry by this point and headed out after a couple hours clubbing. I hit a Denny’s on the way back to the hotel. I ordered three plates of food, one for each meal I skipped that day. The food was greasy and delicious.
Right at the interchange of Kingshighway and I-64 is Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club and Miss Kitty’s. I decided to bypass both of these clubs based on tidbits from the reviews. A few reviewers for the Hustler Club said that the girls would take your hands and graze them on their ribcages, as if that was risqué, but did not allow touching in other places. The rumors that this club is ROB-laden and the fact that I hate the Déjà Vu/Hustler chain kept me away. Miss Kitty’s, while apparently having a dancer named Sinclair, seemed hit or miss, with a few reviewers mentioning getting robbed and upsold by dancers. A carjacking took place in Miss Kitty’s parking lot a few nights prior. I continued down the road to the Hollywood Show Club, the safe bet, which is currently rated #8 on the Top 100. The Hollywood by far had the safest parking lot—it was fenced in, had private security guards, and was lit up brighter than Fresnel lenses. The Hollywood reminds me of Rorke’s Drift in the movie Zulu. Inside the Hollywood’s compound is safe, but dangerous welfare-dependant savages look to breach the walls to break into your car. I was warned by several of the entertainers to avoid stopping at the gas stations at the intersection of Bunkum and Kingshighway. Apparently, patrons have gotten robbed, assaulted, and carjacked there.
I watched the stage show for a bit, where tit and ass groping is encouraged, and then decided to get some dances from Spinner 1, a 7, to see what level of contact is given here. The level of contact was about the same as at the stage. I would later find out that I had just picked a very restrictive dancer that thought she should be showered with money to do nothing because she has a deadbeat boyfriend at home that can’t make any money. The low enthusiasm and “give me your money” attitude turned me off and I moved on to Spinner 2 when Spinner 1 left to take care of a regular. Spinner 2 was a 9 and gave more contact, enthusiasm, and intimacy then Spinner 1. When Spinner 1 saw me dropping heavy cheddar on Spinner 2, she started to get catty and thought she owned my wallet. Fuck off, bitch! I am going to associate with the girls that make me feel like a man, not girls that make me feel like an ATM. I had wanted to try out some more dancers to prospect how mileage varied from girl to girl, but the club started to get crowded and my prospects became occupied. I was tired and hungry by this point and headed out after a couple hours clubbing. I hit a Denny’s on the way back to the hotel. I ordered three plates of food, one for each meal I skipped that day. The food was greasy and delicious.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Part 4: New Orleans
I needed a big rebound after the previous night being a big time bust. I had to pull the ace out of my sleeve. I hit up the Penthouse Club. This place is a 7UP factory. They have strict hiring requirements. Most dancers that try to work here don't even get their foot in the door. The difference between this place and other French Quarter clubs is night and day. There is a totally different clientele and an overabundance of dancers. Whereas at most clubs you will tip with singles, it is not uncommon to tip with five, ten, and twenty dollar bills at the Penthouse Club. You better be packing at least $500 to show your face inside. Upbidding is fierce between patrons, and dancers aren't even fazed by a C-note. I first took up a position at the rail to survey the goods. The quality was off the charts compared to the other clubs in the area: girls with insane polework, perky lolitas, silicone-pumped princesses. Fuck yeah! I first sampled a table dance from a blonde stunner but felt like she was holding back some. I turned my attention to a spray-tanned blonde that I had hit it off with at the stage. For a stripper, she had exceptional conversation skills. This was a big bonus to compliment her banging body. I took her up to the private rooms for the rest of the night. Call me a pathetic loser but it was like boyfriend-girlfriend chemistry. This chick was a perfect 10 and didn't even seem fixed on the money. We actually spent alot of time together outside of the private area too. I don't think I have ever fallen for a stripper as I did with this girl. I spent every dollar in my wallet and walked out at closing time broke.
Next, I decided to hit up the bar I am a regular at in New Orleans. My friend, the bartender, told me a hotass black girl came into the bar around 5am early in the morning and started acting strange. She went into the washroom and didn't come out. A half our later, the bartender went in there to check on her. She was in there naked vomiting with one leg up on the sink. Her panties were hanging on the soap dispenser. The bar called 911. It was clear this girl was beyond drunk. After getting a few more beers, I decided to head back to the Staybridge Suites. On the 100 block of Bourbon there was an SUV parked with a guy standing outside of it acting all strange. From what I could make out, some whore was blowing someone inside the vehicle, and the guy outside the SUV was the pimp keeping lookout for the cops. I kept walking and a Dodge Magnum with spinners pulled up next to me. I was solicited by some hooker riding shotgun. I just ignored it, and the pimp and his bitch finally drove away. It was a pretty crazy night.
Next, I decided to hit up the bar I am a regular at in New Orleans. My friend, the bartender, told me a hotass black girl came into the bar around 5am early in the morning and started acting strange. She went into the washroom and didn't come out. A half our later, the bartender went in there to check on her. She was in there naked vomiting with one leg up on the sink. Her panties were hanging on the soap dispenser. The bar called 911. It was clear this girl was beyond drunk. After getting a few more beers, I decided to head back to the Staybridge Suites. On the 100 block of Bourbon there was an SUV parked with a guy standing outside of it acting all strange. From what I could make out, some whore was blowing someone inside the vehicle, and the guy outside the SUV was the pimp keeping lookout for the cops. I kept walking and a Dodge Magnum with spinners pulled up next to me. I was solicited by some hooker riding shotgun. I just ignored it, and the pimp and his bitch finally drove away. It was a pretty crazy night.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Part 3: New Orleans
If I went two for two the first night out, then I definitely went 0 for 4 the second night. I hit four clubs and all turned out to be either busts or dives. The only good news was that I did not spend much money and gathered good reconnaissance for the website.
First went to Deja Vu at 8:30pm. This club used to be the shit back in the day. I even dated a girl that worked there. It turns out this place has taken a turn for the worse. Only four girls were working, some of whom were packing on the pounds. Only one of the four, a 6, you might consider, but even then you'd need to be buzzed. It is crazy when one of the female patrons is way sexier than any dancer the club offers. The interior redesign looked good, but renovation is meaningless if there aren't good-looking dancers. The manager had dreadlocks down to his knees. I wonder if his hair gets in the way when he needs to go to the restroom? I pounded a beer and bailed, regretting paying the cover to get in.
Next, I went to the Hustler Club 9:00pm. This is one of the sister clubs of my previous stop. It turned out to be even worse. There were no dancers there when I arrived. Ever sit in a strip club with music blaring and an empty stage? I sure did. Finally, the management forced the waitresses to dance on the stage to keep people from leaving. A half hour later two dancers showed up, but both were not to my liking, a 2 and a 5.5. One of the two was a Russian girl that I have seen working at this club for the past three years. They must have her on some type of indentured servant type of deal. I've never seen a girl work at the same club for that long. There was no cover, but a beer was $8, so that was like a cover charge for sitting in an empty club. The Hustler Club was a big disappointment.
The third stop was Stilletos. I had never seen this place open before (and has few ratings on TUSCL), so I took a gamble. It was a bad gamble. Stilletos is a dive. All of the women were 30+ and some possibly 40+. The club is pretty run down; the DJ is a redneck sitting at a table with a laptop. I was the only customer in the place. I didn't even finish the mandatory beer before I ran out the door. This is the type of club where strippers end up at when they are at the end of their careers. This place was scarier than any horror movie.
My fourth stop was another place with little intel, Sho Bar. I had a bad feeling about this one but decided to take one for the team and check it out. Sho Bar turned out to be a dive as well. It was a very small place with a small stage. Probably only forty people tops could fit in this hole in the wall. There was no way I was going to go unnoticed. A transvestite (or at least she looked masculine and talked manly) started begging me to take her to the VIP. I was scared to death. The rest of the line-up was just as bad. I would have paid these women to keep their clothes on. I was led to believe alot of these dancers were supporting drug habits.
First went to Deja Vu at 8:30pm. This club used to be the shit back in the day. I even dated a girl that worked there. It turns out this place has taken a turn for the worse. Only four girls were working, some of whom were packing on the pounds. Only one of the four, a 6, you might consider, but even then you'd need to be buzzed. It is crazy when one of the female patrons is way sexier than any dancer the club offers. The interior redesign looked good, but renovation is meaningless if there aren't good-looking dancers. The manager had dreadlocks down to his knees. I wonder if his hair gets in the way when he needs to go to the restroom? I pounded a beer and bailed, regretting paying the cover to get in.
Next, I went to the Hustler Club 9:00pm. This is one of the sister clubs of my previous stop. It turned out to be even worse. There were no dancers there when I arrived. Ever sit in a strip club with music blaring and an empty stage? I sure did. Finally, the management forced the waitresses to dance on the stage to keep people from leaving. A half hour later two dancers showed up, but both were not to my liking, a 2 and a 5.5. One of the two was a Russian girl that I have seen working at this club for the past three years. They must have her on some type of indentured servant type of deal. I've never seen a girl work at the same club for that long. There was no cover, but a beer was $8, so that was like a cover charge for sitting in an empty club. The Hustler Club was a big disappointment.
The third stop was Stilletos. I had never seen this place open before (and has few ratings on TUSCL), so I took a gamble. It was a bad gamble. Stilletos is a dive. All of the women were 30+ and some possibly 40+. The club is pretty run down; the DJ is a redneck sitting at a table with a laptop. I was the only customer in the place. I didn't even finish the mandatory beer before I ran out the door. This is the type of club where strippers end up at when they are at the end of their careers. This place was scarier than any horror movie.
My fourth stop was another place with little intel, Sho Bar. I had a bad feeling about this one but decided to take one for the team and check it out. Sho Bar turned out to be a dive as well. It was a very small place with a small stage. Probably only forty people tops could fit in this hole in the wall. There was no way I was going to go unnoticed. A transvestite (or at least she looked masculine and talked manly) started begging me to take her to the VIP. I was scared to death. The rest of the line-up was just as bad. I would have paid these women to keep their clothes on. I was led to believe alot of these dancers were supporting drug habits.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Part 2: New Orleans
After running a few errands, I got in a good evening of clubbing in. I started hitting up the Bourbon Street establishments at 8:00pm. Since I have been to almost every strip club in New Orleans, I targeted the couple I never went to as my objectives for this first night.
I first went to Babe's. I was skeptical going in due to the minimal Rue Bourbon crowd. The hawker at door told me he got kicked out of the Navy for fucking a stripper in Darwin, Australia. He promised me there were hot bitches inside. There were five girls working. All of them were fuckable. I got some dances from a brown-eyed, hot ass 25-26 year old. Fake tits, a body to die for. This was her first night at this club, which turned out good for me. She actually undercharged me for dances, $20 instead of $30, because she did not know the price structure. $20 for full contact, I have never had such a good deal in this tourist trap town. We took a break from the lapdances and she sat down with me. Then seconds later she got up to talk to some dud at the bar who shops at the Dollar Tree. This is the shit I don't understand about strippers. They are there to make money but spend their shift texting or sitting with customers that don't spend a nickel. I was the only guy buying lapdances in the club and had been given the cold shoulder. I bailed.
I went to Scores next. This club was fairly empty too. All dancers were in their lower twenties. I sat through one rotation to see my options. Once again, I was the only person spending money in this club. The difference here was that the girls were more eager to please than at my previous stop. Dances were $40 but almost worth it. For example, my hand was guided to pet one dancer's kittie during the dance and another bit my cock through my pants. There was one dancer that looked like she just graduated high school. You could tell she was still learning the ropes and was shy to take dollars in her g-string. I wondered what it would be like to take her back for a dance, but my spidey senses told me there would be too much air. Hundreds of dollars lighter, I left to have some beers at a quarter of the strip club price at a normal bar. My perception is that the number of dancers in town is low in the summer, but so is the number of tourists. The market is pretty well balanced for hurricane season.
The parties started to die about 2am or 2:30am, early if you ask me. By this time streetwalkers were descending upon Bourbon Street looking for a john. All were black and surprisingly young. Not my cup of tea.
I first went to Babe's. I was skeptical going in due to the minimal Rue Bourbon crowd. The hawker at door told me he got kicked out of the Navy for fucking a stripper in Darwin, Australia. He promised me there were hot bitches inside. There were five girls working. All of them were fuckable. I got some dances from a brown-eyed, hot ass 25-26 year old. Fake tits, a body to die for. This was her first night at this club, which turned out good for me. She actually undercharged me for dances, $20 instead of $30, because she did not know the price structure. $20 for full contact, I have never had such a good deal in this tourist trap town. We took a break from the lapdances and she sat down with me. Then seconds later she got up to talk to some dud at the bar who shops at the Dollar Tree. This is the shit I don't understand about strippers. They are there to make money but spend their shift texting or sitting with customers that don't spend a nickel. I was the only guy buying lapdances in the club and had been given the cold shoulder. I bailed.
I went to Scores next. This club was fairly empty too. All dancers were in their lower twenties. I sat through one rotation to see my options. Once again, I was the only person spending money in this club. The difference here was that the girls were more eager to please than at my previous stop. Dances were $40 but almost worth it. For example, my hand was guided to pet one dancer's kittie during the dance and another bit my cock through my pants. There was one dancer that looked like she just graduated high school. You could tell she was still learning the ropes and was shy to take dollars in her g-string. I wondered what it would be like to take her back for a dance, but my spidey senses told me there would be too much air. Hundreds of dollars lighter, I left to have some beers at a quarter of the strip club price at a normal bar. My perception is that the number of dancers in town is low in the summer, but so is the number of tourists. The market is pretty well balanced for hurricane season.
The parties started to die about 2am or 2:30am, early if you ask me. By this time streetwalkers were descending upon Bourbon Street looking for a john. All were black and surprisingly young. Not my cup of tea.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Part 1: New Orleans
I haven't had a vacation since February. My job kept cancelling my vacation plans all summer. Finally, I was able to get a few days off, so I decided to head to New Orleans for five nights. I plan on eating some good Creole cuisine, getting wasted, exploring the city, and of course hitting up some strip clubs.
Everything has gone like clockwork so far. I took Southwest Airlines from Midway to Louis Armstrong, and they are the best airline operating in the continental 48 states, mark it down. I got checked into the Staybridge Suites downtown, and it is more than I expected. I proceeded to go out to one of my regular hangouts in the French Quarter and got fuckin' wasted before it was even 5:00pm! It is too easy to get drunk here. There are tons of bars, you can imbibe in the streets, and every single store sells booze. I ended up stumbling back to my room and called it a night. Tomorrow I will try to drink in moderation and do some titty bar reconnaissance. More blogs to come.
Everything has gone like clockwork so far. I took Southwest Airlines from Midway to Louis Armstrong, and they are the best airline operating in the continental 48 states, mark it down. I got checked into the Staybridge Suites downtown, and it is more than I expected. I proceeded to go out to one of my regular hangouts in the French Quarter and got fuckin' wasted before it was even 5:00pm! It is too easy to get drunk here. There are tons of bars, you can imbibe in the streets, and every single store sells booze. I ended up stumbling back to my room and called it a night. Tomorrow I will try to drink in moderation and do some titty bar reconnaissance. More blogs to come.
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