Part 12: Indianapolis

On Memorial Day, we woke up and headed over to Jack’s go-to bar and grill for lunch. From there we shook hands and I began the long trek back to Chicago. Once in Indianapolis, I got off the interstate at the Pendleton Pike in order to get some gasoline, a drink, and take a little rest. For all of the times I have partied in the Circle City, I have never been to any of the east side’s strip clubs. What the heck. I have a few hours to kill.

I cruised the Pendleton Pike to look at my options. Both Harem House and Babes were closed on the federal holiday. I believe Harem House, Babe’s, and Classy Chassy are all owned by the same person. Upon driving by, PT’s Show Club was open. I normally avoid PT’s because of the wristbands to get dances, the expensive drink prices, and the fact that I dislike corporate chains in this particular avenue of entertainment. Against my better judgment, I pulled into the parking lot. I reasoned with myself that this club might be okay; the VCG Holdings clubs east of St. Louis were tolerable because despite the nickel-and-diming, they did look the other way when it came to the VIP rooms.

The club shared a plaza with a pawn shop. I was nervous leaving my truck in the lot with one of the best rods and reels on the market sitting in the bed.

The cover was $5 and with a ticket, in and out privileges were granted for the rest of the evening. The inside was nice, probably only Rick’s has as nice of an interior in the metro area. There were three stages in the front room, the center one with a pole and the flanking stages were tabletop. Two stages were in the back room, both tabletops. Only the poled stage was in use. The bar was tiny, maybe just four stools and was occupied by the nonspending regulars the duration of my visit. I ordered a Coke since I had hours of driving ahead of me. The club did not have the world’s and country’s most popular soda, so I ended up with a small glass of Pepsi that cost $4.25. There was so much ice in the glass, that I downed the paltry five ounces of liquid in three sips. Maybe a beer was the way to go here. I got a Bud Light from the tap. It came in a thirty ounce mug, but cost an astronomical $8.25. I would be nursing this one till I left.

The first dancer I came across was Savannah, and sans a lump on her make-up coated cheek, she was a 10. She mentioned she had been there all day (it was now 17:40) and had only made $2. After watching her on stage, I took her back for some lap dances. She said that she only charged the minimum $25, while other dancers were charging $30, $35, and $40 per lap dance. In order to get lap dances, you need to buy a $5 wristband to get lap dances from a troll that counts how many dances you get at a desk in the middle of the lapper area. Each booth also has a mirror on its far side allowing the troll to see what is going on inside your booth. Savannah had awesome curves and super smooth skin. Her hips and handful-sized breasts were perfect. When I mentioned this, she said, “I’m saving up for a boob job.” One thing, I’ll never understand is why so many young women want to destroy themselves with silicone when they already have perfect mammaries. I reminded her that half of the boob jobs out there look horrible and any surgery comes with health risks. She straddled me in the cowgirl position for four songs, but the lack of positions did not bother me much, as my hands enjoyed her flawless skin and I applied my patented titty-sucking technique to her nipples. Whenever my face got within eight inches of hers, she’d awkwardly lean back or turn her head. I am guessing she was scared I was going to kiss her. She must have had a pimp…oh wait, sorry…boyfriend.

When four songs were over, she claimed, “That was five.”

I retorted, “No, that was four songs.”

She then said, “Just joking.”

While I hated the fact that an employee was a voyeur, at least he was counting dances. Savannah had no leg to stand on. However, I imagine the ploy would get the occasional unsavvy customer to overpay.

I went back to the main room to watch the rest of the talent. By 18:00, there were only four dancers working. Jasmine was a fake-titted tan brunette who I’d guess was maybe in her late twenties. Mercedes was a busty blonde who I did not get a good read on because she spent most of her time off of stage in the back or with regulars. She did look hot though. Casey was a blonde-haired, brown-eyed 7. One of her tattoos was the date her child was born. So she had a kid about fifteen months ago and was still showing some residual effects. Finally, Divine was a tan, heavily tatted dancer with amazing curves. She was a 10 in my book. I approached the stage and tipped heavily. She said she would come see me when she got off stage, but had to stop by her regular first. Well, her regular ended up taking her back for a thirty-minute VIP session.

I decided to give Casey a roll of the dice since she was fun to chat with and let me feel her up at the table. I figured that since she had had a kid, she had obviously been versed in the ways of getting a man to orgasm. She was wearing two undergarments: Skimpy blue bottoms and a small black thong beneath. I asked if she would strip down to just the black thong for our dances. She said she would. The troll tried to charge me for an additional wristband when I went back to the booths again, but I showed him I already paid. There were only about six patrons in the club. How could he not remember me from twenty minutes prior? Casey charged $30 per lap dance. She claimed that the club takes $5 of every dance they do as a fee. The grind was much better than my first sortie. I could feel Casey thrusting her clit against my hard member. However, when I went to give her nipples a little lick she denied me. She also never stripped down to the skimpy black thong. That combined with the fact the lap dance area troll was constantly looking back into the booth via the mirror made me end the set at just two dances.

I went back out to the main room and shortly after Divine was back on stage. She apologized about being away for a half hour as I showered her with George Washington’s. She suggested I take her back to the VIP room. It was $275. I still had a lot of cheddar left in my wallet from the weekend and decided that I’d TOFFT for intelligence purposes. She said she’d come see me after she got off the stage. When she got off the stage, she visited a guy at the bar briefly, probably a guy who comes in just about every day I’d guess. Then she started heading back to the dressing room, briefly talking to a black guy dressed in all white who sat at a table nursing bottled water the whole time I was at PT’s. She then departed and went back to the dressing room. I looked at my cell phone. It was 18:48. If Divine did not come back to me by 19:00 sharp I was going to depart. At 18:59 she emerged from the dressing room and went back to the bar to say something to the guy at the bar she had talked to before. My cell phone then flashed 19:00, so I got up and headed to the door. Who knows, maybe she was going to come see me next, but like the lyric in “Ohio is for Lovers”: I’ll wait for you, but I can’t wait forever.

I made the rest of the drive back to Chicago. A blinding thunderstorm had cars traveling 30 mph on the interstate near Lebanon. I decided to take a piss in Lowell, Indiana. At the exit was a Lion’s Den adult store. I had never been inside an adult store and could use a refill on my rubber stockpile, so I decided to check it out. I found the condoms among the plethora of DVD’s, dildos, and Fleshlights…only two dozen options. You’d think a sex shop would have a better selection. Prices were outrageous too. A three-pack of Trojans was $5.99. I think I’ll stick to buying online.

Part 11: Cincinnati

On Sunday, we did not get up until two o’clock in the afternoon. The Taste of Cincinnati was going on downtown so we decided to check it out. I targeted a few of the German booths, getting a mettwurst and a corned beef sandwich, while Bareback Jack grabbed some Greek food. We grabbed some Yuengling to wash it down and walked over to the newly built Jack Binion’s Horseshoe Casino, just a short distance from downtown. With a new casino in the heart of the city, the other casinos in the area, such as those in Lawrenceburg, will probably be taking a hit. Jack went to the bar to watch the Cubs beat the Reds in extra innings, while I lost another $60 on the roulette wheel.

We walked back up Mount Adams, stopping at a dive bar called City View to have a few beers and get a great view of the skyline from their patio. I was interested in fishing the Ohio River, so I suggested that we go fishing, but did not know where to go. The bartender told us the Little Miami River was a good spot, so we jumped in the car and headed east.

Bareback Jack and I stopped at a gas station to get bait and a six pack of Coors Light, then headed down to the river. We fished until dusk, not getting a single bite on the line. It was a complete waste of time. On the way back to the car, we ran into a couple veteran fishermen. They told us they were there all day and only caught one fish, a sauger. However, last weekend they caught over one hundred fifty fish. They said it depends on the water level and weather. The Little Miami can be hit or miss.

On the way back to Jack’s place, he remarked, “That was fun. I am going to have to get a fishing pole and start fishing again.”

I said, “How was that fun? We did not catch a single fish and are covered in mud.”

Jack said, “Well, I had a six pack of beer and was on the river.”

We headed back to the house and washed up. Pregaming for the bars consisted of Jager Bombs and Jack Daniels straight up. We hit St. Gregory Street, and I was coming in hot. I started ordering pizza slices at the first bar we went to. Needless to say, I had the munchies and ended up eating all of the pizza they had. They only charged us for half of the pizza slices I ate because Bareback Jack had become friends with the bartender since moving to The Nati. We then jumped to another bar which was crammed with twenty-somethings grinding to hip-hop. I was prowling for some single coeds, but it seemed all of the females were accompanied by males. There was once a time when bars were places where singles went to meet new people or hook-up. Nowadays, it seems bars are places where people go with a group of friends to converse over drinks. There are definitely more bars filled with tables and chairs than there were fifteen or twenty years ago.

Finally, we went across the street to a club called Pavilion which had a great view of the night skyline. Closing time was an early 02:00. One of the black guys in the club who was getting bottle service decided that they had paid too much for the Grey Goose to let it go to waste. He walked out of the club with the open bottle in hand. A police officer, who was known to harass the bar patrons in the neighborhood, pounced on the black guy and pinned him to the police cruiser. The black guy ended up going to the city jail.

Part 10: Cincinnati

In the morning, I walked into Wallyworld to wash up and grab some Coors Light and Jagermeister as housewarming gift. I made it to Cincinnati a couple hours later. After getting lost, I finally found Mount Adams, a nice neighborhood of Cincy on top of a hill that overlooked downtown and the Ohio River. This part of the city reminded me a lot of Pittsburgh. I met up with my old friend Bareback Jack and was told we’d be having a barbecue and party that evening. We went to the grocery store and bought meat, buns, chips, condiments, and booze. The party was to begin at 17:00 and there were still a few hours to kill so we went to some of the bars on top of the hill. Bareback Jack sent out a mass text inviting people to come and invited the bartenders and waitresses and the local establishments to the party. When five o’clock rolled around, there were only eight people at the party and six were guys. It was a bust. We consumed the case of Coors Light, and the party faded by 22:00.

Bareback Jack and I decided to clean up and go strip clubbing. I am typically a lone wolf when it comes to adult entertainment, but whenever I have gone with a friend, it was always Bareback Jack. When we went to East St. Louis during Mardi Gras weekend, he ended up fucking a stripper inside one of the clubs…bareback. I couldn’t believe it and told him he needed to get tested for AIDS and other STD’s. He clearly loved strip clubs as much as I do. I texted another friend who lives in Cincinnati, Erik, and asked him where the best strip clubs were. He couldn’t come out due to just getting married, but here is what Erik texted:

Diamonds or Cheeks in Centerville is good, or racers in Sparta Kentucky. Don’t recommend Covington. Those are nasty. Lawrenceburg isn’t that much better. Might be better getting the private ones incall.

Bareback Jack claimed the best club in the Cincinnati metro area was across the river in Covington called Club Venus, so that is where we went first. It was located in downtown in a kind of a narrow store front, but the inside extended back a ways. The front half was a bar and the back half had the stage. The club was “bikini”, meaning the girls would dance on stage wearing bikinis and we wouldn’t even see a nip slip. There was also a no-touch policy at the stage. The old fart manager sat near the stage and stared everyone down. The dancers were mostly white and had an affinity for hardcore rap music based on their TouchTune choices. I think there were six working at 22:30 on a Saturday night, which seemed week. About two were fuckable by my strict standards, but the other four were below a 6 rating. There was one that was almost completely covered in tattoos and had must have recently given birth. Her stomach was disgusting. She knew she was nasty too. She went up to every guy in the club and asked for a dollar for the jukebox because she knew she was too nasty to ask for a dollar for her body. Most guys relieved their pocket of a Washington just to get her away from him. She honed her sights on Bareback Jack and told him he could do anything he wanted to with her. I believed it.

The no-touch, no-lap dance, and bikinis did not rev our engines. Apparently, to get around the no lap dance thing, you can buy a dancer a “drink”. She’d then spend one-on-one time with you for how long it took her to consume the “drink” on a bench in the back of the club with no privacy. I believe prices ranged from $40 to $150 for the “drinks” and the more you spent, the more intimacy you’d get. This is similar to how some clubs operate on The Block in Baltimore. Bareback Jack claimed he bought the blonde dancer, who was across the room locked down with a regular, a $100 “drink” on a previous visit and got mutual groping and DFK. He enjoyed it, and that is why he brought me there. We watched about three dancers on stage and got out of there at my behest.

I could not deal with the rules on the Kentucky side of the river, so I suggested we hit up Lawrenceburg, Indiana. There is a strip club chain in the metro area called Concepts. The have clubs in Aurora, Indiana and Lawrenceburg, Indiana on US 50 and a club in Covington, Kentucky that we had no interest in. Our plan was to go to Aurora first and then double back to Lawrenceburg on the way home.

Concepts in Aurora is a relatively new club. It appeared it used to be a restaurant called Journeys then remodeled into a strip club. When the dancers came out to the stage, they came out through what was the kitchen. The first room you enter has a two pole stage if I remember. Beers were $3.50 and cover was $5. The club was very clean and new, but the talent did not match up with the nice atmosphere. There were six dancers: five white, one black. One of the white girls was even visibly pregnant. No one from the sparse crowd of ten or so patrons would even give her a cent. Two of the white dancers approached our table and hit us with a hard sell. Both appeared to be on some kind of drugs. The younger of the two was very skinny and appealed to my friend, who has been known to have a liking for nasty crack whores. She kept sticking her tongue out at him and making a licking motion. My friend departed for the VIP with her thinking he was going to get his dick sucked. I think he paid $150 for thirty minutes and nothing happened other than regular dances. He was pissed and would later whine about blue balls. The VIP area was not even that private considering the staff would peek around the corner every five minutes or so.

While five of the six dancers did not appeal to my taste, there was one who was nothing short of heaven sent. Her name was Alexis. Her body was amazing…marriage material for Sinclair. When it was her turn on stage I started sprinkling singles, making sure to outspend the swinger couples just down the tip rail. She did not give me much attention. When her stage set was done, I retreated back to my table and waited for her to come by. Instead she just sat next to the DJ in a chair and looked bored. Was the young DJ her boyfriend/pimp? Was she content with just making money dancing on stage? Is there something wrong with the way I look? I would have gladly maxed out my Black Card and ATM Card on Alexis, but she did not take the hint. That might have been a good thing in the end for the sake of my bank account. One thing I will never understand is why dancers squander opportunities to make money. I have seen many instances in my strip clubbing career where girls will loiter with friends, regulars, or other nonspenders when spenders are drooling over them. Perhaps the poor decision-making behind this is the same poor decision-making that has relegated them to being a sex worker.

After leaving Concepts in Aurora, we headed back west to the Concepts in Lawrenceburg. This location was much more populated in terms of both dancers and customers, which makes sense because it is closer to Cincinnati and near two casinos. Beers were $4 and cover was $6. There were three box stages, meaning each stage was close to floor level and a square frame about two and half feet in height surrounded each, acting as tip rail. I found more attractive women working here than the previous two clubs. There were a few dogs, but close to half got me hard. Most of the talent seemed to be in their twenties. I tipped a few dancers well, but they always went to other guys when they got off stage: guys who did not tip or even buy them drinks. I figured they must be regulars. I had not gotten a lap dance all night, while he had gotten dances in both Aurora and Lawrenceburg, so Bareback Jack started insisting that I take a dancer back for some action. In his drunken state, he wandered off and pulled away one of the dancers I was smitten with on stage. He told her I wanted a lap dance and gave her a twenty. Mia was about 20 or 21 I’d guess and about 5’9” with nice long legs, the type of girl who probably played volleyball in high school. Her stomach had a hint of stretch marks, meaning she had a kid in the last year or two. She said she had been dancing for ten weeks and maybe that was why she had not approached me after my generous tipping. I tend to avoid women who’ve been “beat up” by childbirth, but there was something about Mia that I found attractive; she had a good attitude and a great smile. One dance turned into many more, possibly seven, but more likely eight or nine. I felt her grind her pubic bone into my crotch, trying to get off. I felt up her lean body but did not indulge further than that. I rode the string of dances right to the 03:00 closing time.

The music stopped and she said, “Thank you,” as she climbed off my lap.

I looked across the lap dance room and saw a morbidly obese Mexican guy getting a dance and then ten feet down the couch a dwarf with a fanny pack getting a dance. I thought to myself: “Damn. Strip clubs attract a lot of weirdoes.”

Mia continued, “I like dancing for nice guys. And there aren’t too many of them.”

She then kissed me on the cheek. I handed her $90, enough to cover six dances at $15 apiece, in addition to the one prepaid by Bareback Jack. I think I might have owed her for another dance but she walked off without counting the money and didn’t seem to care if I had underpaid. That was the first time I came across a dancer who didn’t care about payment. Frequently, they try to overcharge you for dances you never received. We exited the club and wandered off into the surrounding residential area. I felt bad that there were houses close to the club that had to endure boisterous drunks parking in front of their property and waking them up in the middle of the night.

We were not ready to call it a night, so we drove a few blocks and went to the Hollywood Casino. I ended up losing about $100 on slot machines and roulette. At least I was able to drink all of the soda I wanted for free out of the complimentary soda fountains. Yes, I was wandering around the casino at 03:30 with a Mello Yello in each hand. Pissed off by how tight the slots were, we decided to find somewhere to eat.

Jack and I rolled into a Waffle House at about 04:00. Bareback Jack had never been to a Waffle House. I explained the food sucks but it is great when you are drunk, plus it is one of the only options at this time of night. I was horny and buzzed, and one of the waitresses was looking good to me, a diamond in the rough. She was maybe 19 or 20 and looked good in those tight black pants. I started dozing off waiting for my cheese steak sandwich, thinking what it would be like to bang her in the bathroom stall of the Waffle House. We finished our meals and got back to Mount Adams around sunrise.

Part 9: Kokomo

I had not gotten out much since I returned home from Argentina in March. A friend had moved to Cincinnati in January and had been begging me to come down and visit him, so I relented and decided to road trip to the Queen City over Memorial Day weekend.

I got out of work in Chicago early and sat in traffic for hours. I-65 towards Indianapolis was thick in traffic too. Apparently, the Indianapolis 500 is still a big draw. I did not think open-wheel racing was popular in the United States compared to NASCAR. To get out of the congestion, I took Indiana 26 east to Kokomo and took a timeout at the Hip Hugger at 21:30. The club was packed and I overheard many patrons there talking about how they were going to the race.

The attractiveness of dancers was higher than my last visit to this club back in September 2012 on a weeknight. There were some dogs in the mix, but half of the night shift got me erect. When I entered, I paid the $3 cover with $4, and the manager actually gave me a single back. In just about every other club in the country, the door attendant would have kept the tip. I took a seat at the bar and started guzzling down three-buck drafts of Budweiser and Bud Light. Most of the crowd seemed to be there to drink beer and watch the stage show. A pitcher of beer was just eleven bucks. While taking in the Friday night, I observed two interesting interactions. (1) A young guy was ejected from the club. He was getting dances from a goth chick when some type of dispute happened. Either he did not have money to pay or he was sticking his digiti manus where they did not belong. They went over to the manager, and then both the manager and dancer were shouting at him angrily. Out the door he went. (2) A horny Indian guy grabs the ass of a dancer walking by the bar. She turns around, greets him, and then offers him a $10 lap dance. He declines. It all happens in less than ten seconds. I don’t know why he would grab at a dancer and expect her to hang around with him for free.

I went to get a few $10 dances from a blonde dancer named Mandy. She was probably a 7 or so 30-something on my scale, but I was buzzed and her body looked sexy enough. I sat on my bingo hall chair and got four full-length songs. Two way groping is encouraged at the Hugger. My paws ravaged her fake boobs and ass. The $10 lap dances are a great value. I doubt there is a club in the United States with better lap value. Afterwards, Mandy asked me to buy her some new dance gear that was being sold on the south bar. She said she’d give me her phone number if I got her a new outfit. I read it as stripper shit. The number would either be fake or to advertise when she was working.

In an age where the industry is transitioning to corporate chains that perfect methods of extracting as much money from you as possible while giving you the least utility, or relative satisfaction, that you’re willing to accept, the Hip Hugger is old school. But remember, old school is the best school. I spent just $62 total and had fun.

After leaving the club around midnight, I realized I had not eaten dinner and hit the McDonalds drive-thru, one of the few options this time of night. The Angus burgers have recently been removed from the menu so I took a #1. Eating while I drove south turned out to be a bad idea as I dropped half of the Big Mac on the floor of my rig. I forewent staying at a hotel due to the jacked up prices for Memorial Day weekend and the race. I slept in my vehicle in the parking lot of the Noblesville Wallyworld.

Part 8: Memphis

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.

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.

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.

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.