"To the hustlas, killers, murderers, drug dealers even the strippers"

Last Friday I attended Mistress Sade's demo for domsub friends on anal play at Paddles. As I've experience in this area myself and we've discussed this type of play at length, I was really there more for moral support than anything else. She was, as expected, terrific.

Afterward a few of us went out...sometime around 2am myself, Sade, Kho, Freya and Alice arrived at Scandals. I've been to high-end strip clubs and to bottom of the barrel, all-nude pre-"Times Square Clean Up" joints. This club, essentially under the 59th St Bridge in Long Island City, fell somewhere in the middle. I was surprised and amused by the free valet parking. We had been at the bar for less than a minute when a drunk guy with an Irish accent asked if he could buy me a drink. I told him I'd already ordered one, and turned away from him, which essentially translates to "Go the fuck away." What kind of guy hits on a chick IN A STRIP CLUB???? Sade really wanted to see some impressive pole-dancing, unfortunately none of the women we saw had any real skill. The women got off the stage and made their way along the moat between the stage and the bar accepting tips by pulling the dollars from our fingers with their breats. It was fascinating how most of the dancers gave an individual jiggle, wink and smile to each of us and were rewarded with their tip from our stacks of singles on the bar, while others rushed past the five of us without even glancing in our direction. In a way we were easy marks, I certainly didn't have the heart to stiff any of the girls who made eye contact with me. Particularly since it was so cheap! Single dollar tips seemed to be the norm. I actually gave several dollars to a particularly limber petite Russian girl who had done some acrobatics for a guy several seats down from us, who then didn't tip her at all. When I went downstairs to the bathroom, I spied the "Champagne Room". Or, more accurately the door with gold-tone self-adhesive letters designating it as such. As I walked past I could see that the men's room was really large, seemed clean and had an attendant. The ladies room, by contrast, was really just a filthy closet with a toilet and sink in it. After about an hour, my wallet was $45 lighter and though my prurient desires hadn't really been met, we left.

I wish I had a "listening to" option. Right now it's "I'm N Luv (Wit A Stripper)" by T-Pain.

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