by Lacey Lane
On the other hand, if you’re going by yourself, avoid the limo treatment at all costs. Guys flying solo and arriving via chauffeur have a tendency to look like stalkers and predators. You’d be much better off handing the valet attendant the keys to a racy Ferrari, Lamborghini, or similar exotic car. And even if you don’t own one, these days you can rent one for less than what a limo would cost you for the night. Trust me on this one, most dancers worthy of your attention have been in limousines before—but very few of them have ridden in Ferraris.
Before you enter the club, consider the monster-sized slab of meat with eyes standing before you who conveys without words that laying a finger on one of his girls will result in your leaving in a body bag. These guys are usually paid an hourly wage and have an affinity for violence. Face it, they’re not there to solve complex mathematical equations! When all is said and done, you absolutely want this guy on your side. My suggestion: Tip the sonofabitch. A fiver if you’re alone ought to do the trick, a sawbuck or double sawbuck if you’re with a group. Should a “touching encounter” occur inside the club, even if it’s a harmless and completely accidental brushing, your initial act of benevolence may just save your ass. In the past, broken arms have been miraculously avoided in favor of a few harsh words, courtesy of a few bucks up front.
Believe me, the bouncers view themselves along the same lines as Secret Service agents guarding governmental bigwigs and they always err on the side of caution, taking a dancer’s word over a customer’s about an incident that allegedly occurred. Translated: They will forcibly remove someone first and ask questions later. Far beyond just an ego stroke with these guys, making an example of someone crossing the line sends out a powerful message to the rest of the customers, especially those Yellow Pages readers who let their fingers do the walking.
Once, this guy was in the club no more than five minutes when he spanked the ass of a dancer walking up onto the stage. Seconds later, he was doing an impressive imitation of a javelin, although his eventual touch-down in the parking lot was far from clean and quiet. Another time, an overly amorous (and inebriated) regular decided that $500 in lap dances and tips deserved more than just a peck on the cheek. He latched on to the stripper like a lamprey eel, intent on getting his money’s worth. Her cries for help summoned the nearest leg-breaker and a python-like chokehold changed the man’s tune in an instant. By the time he was dragged to the door he was completely unconscious. They almost had to call an ambulance for that guy, but a bucket of cold water did the trick. Those examples aside, for the most part minor customer-dancer infractions are resolved without violence. No one will come to a slaughterhouse; successful clubs are all about sex and fantasy, not violence and destruction.
In addition to getting on his good side, tipping the doorman can provide a bounty of information, such as which girls give the best dances. You could also ask him if the VIP Room is anything goes, but that might just set off his alarm bells and trigger his smash-your-face response. So be cool with what you say; you’re much better off waiting to pop that question inside. At the very least, the tip should help him remember you and guarantee better treatment on your next visit. For that same reason, slip him $5 on the way out.
Once you’re inside, you have two choices of where to sit: at the bar or at a table. If it’s your first time at the club or if you just want to get the feel of the place, take a seat at the bar. Dancers are less likely to pester you for lap dances there and you’ll get the opportunity to survey the scene from afar. Be careful what you order, though, because at some clubs, where draft brews can cost upwards of $7, a multi-ingredient mixed drink might break your bankroll. Remember, you can drink all you want at home—save your money for all of those gorgeous babes you don’t routinely find in your living room. Along those same lines, if you’re trying to save money, you can do your drinking prior, but if you’re too wasted, the doorman might not let you in.
So let’s say you take a seat at the bar and the resident mixologist immediately asks you if you’d like to buy the beautiful half-naked girl—the beautiful half-naked girl who just sidled up beside you—a drink. Before you say yes, do yourself a favor by putting your hormones on hold and finding out what the little miss is drinking first. Otherwise, there’s a damn good chance you’ll hear the pop! of a champagne cork, the fizz! of the bubbles, and the sinking! of your heart as the bartender pleasantly informs you that you’re now the proud owner of a $400 bottle of Cristal.
One time, the above scenario occurred nearly to the letter, except it was two bottles! The poor schmuck had to settle his tab with a credit card, a debit card, and all of his on-hand cash. With no remaining dinero, the dancers treated him like a leper at a nudist colony—after the bottles were drained, of course.
The upside about strip clubs is that you don’t have to worry about drink minimums—most of the better clubs simply don’t have them. Believe me, they have other ways of getting your money without bankrupting you on booze.
Which brings to mind the flower girl. Usually only found in the classier strip clubs—if there is such a thing—flower girls flit around with a basket of roses, oftentimes selling one for the same price as a rose garden. Most of the flower girls would rather be dancers, but for some reason—problems with nudity, little confidence in their bodies, or a lack of dancing ability—they opt to stay clothed and make the rounds like semi-sexy candy stripers. When you see a flower girl coming, alarm bells should start going off. Make sure you put a lock on your wallet and prepare to say: “No.” Guys buying and giving these botanical pretties to the bare breasted beauties expecting special treatment in return are sadly mistaken. In fact, on numerous occasions, after the rose-giver has gone home, the rose gets recycled … right back into the basket from which it came.
As for the aforementioned resident mixologist, if the strip club were a major literary work on which you were to be tested, the bartender is, without question, your booklet of Cliff Notes. Drink-slingers are privy to anything and everything that happens inside their establishment. Whether it takes place at the bar, on center stage, in the lavatory, or in the VIP Room, chances are the bartender has the scoop. Tip that man (or woman) well and the club will soon be your oyster, offering up its precious pearl.
Cocktail waitresses are a hit-or-miss affair. Some are cordial and pleasant, happy to serve you and cater to your every beck and call. Others are invisibly stoop-shouldered, the result of that burdensome chip they carry as a result of being denied stripper status. That’s not to say all cocktail waitresses aspire to be dancers, but in an upscale topless club the nightly take-home-pay differential between the two positions is like molehills and mountains.
Understanding how the stage (or stages) works is an important aspect of your strip club experience. Most clubs require all the dancers to take a turn on the stage. The stage rotation is a great opportunity for guys to sample the goods without having to shell out a lot of coin. Whatever you do, don’t throw your big bills away here. Save them for more intimate encounters, such as table and lap dances or the VIP Room. For the stage, singles are fine, fives if you think she’s really worth it. A good trick is to keep your bigger bills ($20s, $50s, $100s) on the outside of your money wad. Sometimes, girls think they’re getting more than they really are—especially if you crumple them up before you throw them—and they might give you an extra wiggle, shake, or spread. Also, never leave your money out by your drink. I used to crawl to the end of the stage, pull a bill from a guy’s stack, crumple it, and sexily blow it on stage toward my pile. I’d start small, with his Washingtons or Lincolns; then, when the guy was captivated by my blowing technique, I’d go for his big bills. Dancers generally make the least amount of their money on stage, but one night I pocketed more than $500 during a set (two songs)—from one guy, no less.
Lap dances, lap dances, lap dances … As defined by Webster (and not that little black kid on TV!), a “lap dance” is a dance that takes place a foot in front of you, lasts the duration of a song, and has no
touching by either party whatsoever.
Now, in the real world, depending on the girl, a lap dance may involve the brush of a breast, the grind of a butt, a knee meeting an inner thigh, and so on. Truth is, most of the girls do a lot of touching. Guys usually won’t shell out the heavy coin if they don’t get to sample the goods, at least to some degree. Think about it: Would you buy a car without test-driving it first?
At some clubs, however, management gives the girls free reign to do whatever the heck they want. I quit working in one Sin City strip joint because I refused to prostitute myself like some other girls; blowjobs in the VIP Room were a frequent occurrence.
Lap dances range anywhere from $10 to whatever a girl thinks she can get away with. The most I ever charged was $150 a dance, but the circumstances surrounding that night were special: The customer was wealthy, drunk, and celebrating a divorce. Basically, he was ripe for the taking.
A good rule of thumb is to find out at the door, or at the bar, how much a lap dance costs. Also, make sure you tell the dancer exactly how many lap dances you want. Often, I linked one with another and another and before the guy knew it, he owed me for five. Keep in mind that if there’s a dispute over nonpayment for services rendered, the house almost always sides with the girl and the guy is often asked to leave—sometimes ass over teakettles—after the dispute (and the tab) has been settled. If a guy has friends with him, there’s a damn good chance they might get charged for tits and ass they never even got to see! The bottom line: Someone is always counting. More important, someone will definitely be paying.
And then there’s the infamous VIP Room. Quite simply, this is a more intimate setting where management doesn’t pay attention (in theory) and the dancers can get away with more—if they want to. It’s usually one-on-one and dances always cost more. People often ask if guys really get laid in the VIP Room. While I can’t speak for anyone else, I know I never prostituted myself inside (or out of) a strip club. But I’m sure it happens. Stories circulate and rumors abound. (The Gold Club in Atlanta received a ton of attention regarding this issue; club workers testified that many top NBA players received special treatment.) Of course, it really all depends on what girl is back there with the customers. But I’ll tell you this much, if Charlie Sheen didn’t get Scooby Snacks after dropping fifty large one night at Scores in New York, he deserves a full refund. The old adage, “You get what you pay for,” can be applied here, but keep in mind that prostitution is illegal in most places and, as the bee said to the beekeeper, “Stings happen!”
Assuming you’re not a member of the franks-n-beans club, that doesn’t mean you’re not welcome in a strip club. Quite the contrary. Men, women, straight, gay, transvestites, transsexuals, hell, even Transylvanians for that matter … if you’ve got the greens, then you’ve got the means. Nor does a woman have to be a lesbian to admire a dancer at work. Nowadays, lots of women come in with their guy friends and have an awesome time. (That’s what started it all for me.) Girls generally don’t mind dancing for girls—and the guys really get off on watching. Also, if the guys are a bit handsy to begin with, having a chick in their posse might cause them to cool their jets, a scenario most dancers greatly appreciate. (My friendship with Jennifer and Rebecca began that way.) Plus, women have the advantage of avoiding the club’s cover charge by telling the doorman that they’re interested in dancing there. This ploy usually works only once, so make it count.
So you came, you saw, and now you want to conquer. Hang on right there, bub. Picking up the strippers ain’t easy. We dance because we want money, not dates. We can get more dates than fifty Arabs standing under a forest of palm trees during a windstorm. Unless you’re a well-known celebrity entertainer or sports superstar, you’ve got strikes against you right off the bat. Again, if you don’t meet the above criteria, here are a few suggestions.
First and foremost, go with a group of friends. Guy’s night out, bachelor party, frat party—you name it. Contrary to popular belief, if you show up alone, dancers probably tag you as someone on the hunt or a spooky stalker with questionable motives. The same can be said of regulars. Guys who show up night after night, while admired for their financial contributions to the cause, are almost never considered as relationship material—unless it’s for sugar-daddy purposes. If you’re cute, in good shape, and have a smashing personality, there’s a chance you might sneak in under the radar. A big bank account won’t hurt your chances, either. But if you come off as desperate, forget about it.
Second, make sure you dress the part. Mustard-stained bowling shirts won’t cut it. Only guys like Russell Crowe and Brad Pitt can get away with tattered jeans and a ripped flannel. Armani speaks volumes, as do Hugo Boss and Christian Dior. Casual dress is fine, too, provided it’s in style. But don’t be too casual (jeans and a black T-shirt are fine), otherwise you’ll look as if you rushed to get there with no regard for your personal appearance. Loosely translated in dancer-speak, that equals a big fat “L” on your forehead, visible only to the strippers. And speaking of T-shirts, don’t ever wear a T-shirt bearing that club’s, or any other strip club’s, logo. Once again, you’ll look like a total idiot and definitely not someone one of the dancers would want to go home with. As far as jewelry is concerned, unless you’re a rock star—a real rock star—with a platinum album and a pack of groupies, stick to a nice watch and one or, at the most, two rings. Looking like a pawnbroker or a pimp won’t score you any bonus points. And if you decide to wrap a Rolex around your wrist, make damn sure the secondhand sweeps. Believe me, dancers know what’s real and what isn’t—I don’t care how good your knock-off looks.
In terms of your occupation, unless it’s a profession with a serious wow-factor—Navy SEAL, astronaut, racecar driver, brain surgeon—you might be better off staying silent. Of course, you could always lie. Try printing up some business cards advertising yourself as a movie producer or a theatrical agent (but beware of looking like a glam scammer). Even if you’re not in the industry, many of the dancers are wanna-be actresses and models and are always looking for that big break. And never use your home number; set up a voice-mail with your fictitious company’s name. At the very least, your wife won’t catch you in the act.
On the flip side, be wary when a dancer gives you her telephone number. Chances are she’s just trying to string you along for more cash. You might want to bring a cell phone into the club and call from the bathroom. But even if you do get her voice, it’s possible she set up a dummy voicemail, too.
Of course, phone numbers aren’t the only things dancers lie about. Those crazy names you thought they were born with are used for their protection. I know a guy who dated a dancer for six months before he found out her real name. Whatever you do, don’t press a dancer for her true identity. If she wants to tell you, she will. Otherwise, go along with the charade. Keep pushing her to reveal herself, however, and any chance you had of actually breaking through her defenses will be gone before you know it.
Beyond that, play it cool and try not to be too much of a dog—at least, not in her presence. With topless dancers, the hard-to-get routine definitely pays greater dividends than the frequent flier. Show all your cards right off the bat and the poker game is over—and believe me, babe, you lost the pot. You shouldn’t come across as too desperate or too anxious, and you definitely shouldn’t make the strip club your second home. Go once a week, at most, but better yet, try starting off by going once every two weeks. As I’ve said before, once you’ve been tagged as a return customer, you’re done. The hook’s been set and now all she has to do is reel you in. Just like in life, less can definitely be more. But don’t think that you can look the part of a real player while tipping like a miser—or worse—and still curry good favor with the hopes that you’ll eventually loosen the strings on your wallet. Nice try, pal, but that ploy won’t work. Whether you look the part or not, cash is still king in the strip club. And if you’re truly loaded like Fort Knox, your best bet is to follow the Chunky’s Soup commerc
ial’s mantra, “More is good.”
Aside from that, all I can offer you is a hearty good luck. You’ll need it.
Part Two
Tales From the VIP Room
The VIP Room
Ah, the VIP Room. Nearly every strip club has one and each has its own personality. Some have cozy wrap-around couches, some are fully mirrored, some have poles and mini-stages, and one even had a Jacuzzi tub built for two. Some are brightly lit, some are dim and hazy, and some are darker than the blackest cave. Some have music blaring, some are noticeably quieter, and some have no speakers at all. But regardless of their interior characteristics, all are designed to allow for more personal interaction and intimacy between a customer and the dancer, or dancers, of his/her choosing. Of course, this one-on-one (or two-on-one or twenty-on-one) attention comes at a price: Lap dances—customers usually expect a whole lot more than that—in the VIP Room are often double (and then some) what a lap dance costs in the main club. And it’s here that the wildest, craziest, most unimaginable situations occur.
All the stories you’re about to read are true. Most were witnessed first-hand; the rest were relayed to me by co-workers. Some are hard to believe. Some are nearly impossible to believe. But if you saw what I saw on a daily basis, you’d have concrete proof that truth is stranger than fiction.