It was an early Friday afternoon, my wife was out of town, and I had some time to kill, so I went to a strip club. I feel no embarrassment about going to see naked women dance. I don’t mind letting my wife know that I went. I don’t go all the time, in fact, this was the first time I had gone to one in at least ten years. I know nothing is going to happen beyond spending some money and seeing a naked woman. I’m not going to have sex or develop a close relationship with any of the dancers.
I picked out the strip club for two reasons: one, it was in the area where I was doing errands and two, there were only six cars in the parking lot. I wanted to walk into a low key situation, have a couple of drinks, spend a couple of bucks tipping dancers, and then go home.
I went in and the two stages were empty. No one sat at the tables. Everybody was at the bar, so I sat down in the first empty stool I could find. Checking out the other patrons, I saw that the dancers outnumbered the customers two to one.
The bartender was a blonde woman in a bikini top and a short black skirt. She was busy texting someone on her phone and it wasn’t until the manager and two of the dancers yelled at her that she finally realized that there was a customer waiting to be served. She came over, took my order, and flashed her tits. They were nice tits and I felt that was a pleasant way for her to apologize for not noticing me. That is, until she flashed her tits at somebody else. She just enjoyed flashing her tits. I liked her immediately.
I was sipping my Jack and Coke when a dancer asked if she could join me. I knew the drill. She would flirt with me until my wallet was empty. I wasn’t in the mood and I didn’t have much cash on me anyway. But since there were so few other guys, I told her that I would love her company.
Right away, she proved to be different from what I expected. She was older than the other dancers, probably in her forties. She was attractive and in good shape. She said her name was Libby, but one of the other dancers called her by a different name.
Libby acted like a friendly hotel hostess, which she said was her job when she wasn’t dancing. There was no sexy flirting, just friendly conversation. She asked if I would buy her a drink, which I did. She then asked if I would buy the bartender a drink too.
“Melissa has been through so much, she really deserves it,” Libby explained. “You know, she’s the famous Melissa Wolf.”
Of course, Melissa Wolf. The Mansion Madam. I’d heard that she was bartending at this strip club, but completely forgot it until Libby reminded me. I recognized Melissa now. She was a former Penthouse Pet. “North America’s Most Published Centerfold,” and was busted in 2007 for running a prostitution ring at her mansion. She’d been all over the Atlanta media during her trial.
“I got your autograph at Dragon Con,” I told her.
The year I saw her at Dragon Con, there had been a row of adult models selling photos and autographs. I had never heard of any of them, but I loved the idea of these hot women selling nude photos of themselves to geeky teenagers. I couldn’t resist joining the crowd.
At that convention, Melissa had handed out post card invitations to a Halloween party at her mansion. The pitch on the invitation was that you paid admission to the party, which included food and booze, and the opportunity to photograph a group of nude models, including Melissa herself. Apparently, and this info was not included on the invitation, for more money, you could do more than photograph the girls, which is what Melissa got busted for.
I didn’t bring up the Halloween invitation. I didn’t have to. Melissa did it for me.
“You know, I got more of the kitchen staff at my Halloween party from Dragon Con, that I did from the people who went to the convention,” she said.
I don’t know why she seemed so surprised by that. Dragon Con is about fantasy, not reality.
So, Melissa was interesting and I was glad I had a chance to talk to her, but it was Libby who really blew me away.
After buying Melissa and Libby a second round, Libby said, “Years ago, I danced in a burlesque show in Canada. They did the traditional show with comedians and dancers. I got to work with Morey Amsterdam and Pinky Lee.”
Traditional burlesque? Morey Amsterdam and Pinky Lee? My opinion of Libby, which was already quite favorable, shot through the roof.
“You got to work with Morey Amsterdam, Buddy from the Dick Van Dyke Show?” I said.
“And Pinky Lee,” she said.
I didn’t know who Pinky Lee was, so I googled him later and found out he was a famous baggy pants vaudevillian comedian.
“What was Morey like?” I asked.
“Ooh, he was so sweet. Like a father to everybody. And he traveled with his wife. She was as little as he was.”
“I understand that burlesque is not like this,” I said, indicating the strip club.
“No sir,” Libby said. “Burlesque stripping is an art form. The whole show is so precise, the way the comedian comes out and does his part, then the dancer, then another performer. There’s no fooling around. And a dancer didn’t just take her clothes off. These girls today don’t understand. It wasn’t all about showing your ass. Burlesque was something special.”
I agreed. Burlesque was something special. Burlesque is having a resurgence, but there wasn’t much chance it was going to replace strip clubs. If guys could pay naked girls for lap dances; what chance was there of them paying to see a woman only show complete nudity at the end of a performance?
The really weird part of sitting there talking to Melissa and Libby was that I kept thinking that I couldn’t wait to tell my wife about this. She loves a good story as much as me.
So, a guy walks into a strip club to see naked women and ends up leaving with a story. Not much of a joke, but a hell of a nice way to spend the afternoon.