This is a real conversation that I had with a stripper at Rick’s Cabaret on Bourbon St in New Orleans, LA. This is not a verbatim transcript, but pretty close.
My 2 friends and I walk into the club and quickly make our way to the bar in the back. After ordering some heavy drinks, my friends are assailed by 2 strippers. Soon afterward I’m approached by stripper #1 (S1).
My 2 friends and I walk into the club and quickly make our way to the bar in the back. After ordering some heavy drinks, my friends are assailed by 2 strippers. Soon afterward I’m approached by stripper #1 (S1).
S1:What are you doing here all by yourself while your friends are busy with those girls?
Then she did that stripper trick where she blows in your ear lightly.
Me:I just wanted a drink.
Drinking heavily at this point and trying to not look like I only have $20 in my wallet.
S1:You have really nice eyes.
I’m not sure how she could’ve noticed given the paucity of light and intense saturation of cigarette smoke in the room.
Me:You’re quite striking yourself.
I didn’t really mean this statement. I guess I just felt I needed to validate her feelings of self-worth. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings is the bottom line. At the end of the day is there really that much I could say to hurt a stripper’s feelings? Read on!
S1:How old are you, sweetie?
And then she kissed my neck.
Me:I’m 29.
S1:Wow, I thought you were a lot younger.
Me:Thanks, I guess.
S1:I’m 38, what I wouldn’t give to be 29 again.
At this point any sexual connection I might’ve felt for her was greatly reduced. It’s not so much that she’s 38, but as she made note of the age discrepancy. Plus she did look a little old after she revealed her age to me, albeit her candor was original.
Me:It’s not so great. There’s a lot of pressure at this stage to kind of.. well, procreate. I’m not sure I even want to go down that road.
S1:I know another road we could go down.
Yes she really did say this and was straddling me to the point where her body partially obstructed t
he path from my drink to my mouth. This fact didn’t help my mood, either.
Me:You know, I think I’m ok for now. I can get you a drink if you want to sit and relax for a song or two.
I wasn’t trying to be that weird guy at the strip club who “just wants to talk” but I didn’t want a $40 lap dance and I didn’t want to tell her to FOD, so I thought this “buy a drink for a hoe” thing was a comfortable alternative. I was wrong.
S1:Well that was pretty direct. You don’t like me?
Me:No, you’re very pretty. $40 for a dance though? If a song is 5 minutes that’s like $480 an hour and I just can’t justify that wage. I have friends who are brain surgeons who don’t get paid that well.
That was a lie. I know one neurosurgery resident, but no actual licensed brain surgeons. I think I was throwing around the doctor thing out of insecurity.
Then she did that stripper trick where she blows in your ear lightly.
Me:I just wanted a drink.
Drinking heavily at this point and trying to not look like I only have $20 in my wallet.
S1:You have really nice eyes.
I’m not sure how she could’ve noticed given the paucity of light and intense saturation of cigarette smoke in the room.
Me:You’re quite striking yourself.
I didn’t really mean this statement. I guess I just felt I needed to validate her feelings of self-worth. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings is the bottom line. At the end of the day is there really that much I could say to hurt a stripper’s feelings? Read on!
S1:How old are you, sweetie?
And then she kissed my neck.
Me:I’m 29.
S1:Wow, I thought you were a lot younger.
Me:Thanks, I guess.
S1:I’m 38, what I wouldn’t give to be 29 again.
At this point any sexual connection I might’ve felt for her was greatly reduced. It’s not so much that she’s 38, but as she made note of the age discrepancy. Plus she did look a little old after she revealed her age to me, albeit her candor was original.
Me:It’s not so great. There’s a lot of pressure at this stage to kind of.. well, procreate. I’m not sure I even want to go down that road.
S1:I know another road we could go down.
Yes she really did say this and was straddling me to the point where her body partially obstructed t
he path from my drink to my mouth. This fact didn’t help my mood, either.Me:You know, I think I’m ok for now. I can get you a drink if you want to sit and relax for a song or two.
I wasn’t trying to be that weird guy at the strip club who “just wants to talk” but I didn’t want a $40 lap dance and I didn’t want to tell her to FOD, so I thought this “buy a drink for a hoe” thing was a comfortable alternative. I was wrong.
S1:Well that was pretty direct. You don’t like me?
Me:No, you’re very pretty. $40 for a dance though? If a song is 5 minutes that’s like $480 an hour and I just can’t justify that wage. I have friends who are brain surgeons who don’t get paid that well.
That was a lie. I know one neurosurgery resident, but no actual licensed brain surgeons. I think I was throwing around the doctor thing out of insecurity.
Anyhow, she proceeded to sit down and have 3 drinks with me, which is apparently her limit. She talked about her “asshole boyfriend” who won’t pay child support and about how nice I was because I wasn’t one of the creeps offering money to finger bang her under the table. All these backhanded compliments and pity traps are standard fare at strip clubs to get more money from stupid men. And although I have made plenty of stupid decisions in my life, and would certainly feel stupid under certain conditions where I felt unfamiliar or out of place, a strip club is not one of these places.
As S1 got progressively inebriated she told me about the epidural she had with her most recent (just 3 months ago, goodie!!!) pregnancy and the painful episiotomy she had endured as result of her macrosomic baby. She didn’t use the term macrosomic, but you get my point. So now I had regressed to the point of at least 24 hr guaranteed flaccidity. She made some comment to my friend about “thinking of her” when he went home that night as a masturbatory allusion. Other than a flaccid penis, she provided me with decent mental material to use if I ever need to not get aroused. She’s like the anti-Viagra. Who would’ve thought the origin of anti-Viagra was a strip club on Bourbon St?
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