Striking Luck at the Lucky HorseshoeI had no interest in going to a strip bar where the featured entertainers can only strip down to their g-string or jock strap, or whatever their personal containment choice might be. But my friend Brant had convinced me to go with him because there was a 24-year-old boy-next-door type named Joey, who Brant was quite fond of. Aparently, he had an interesting story that intregued Brant, and when it comes to Strippers as convesationalists, I'm all over them--so to speak. Now Lucky Horseshoe is quite a contrast to my local haunts back home in Atlanta, Swinging Richards, where a buck gets you scrotal flesh flapping in your face. At the Lucky Horseshoe, a buck gets you scrotal flesh contained in a jock strap *ground* into your face, nipples rubbed on your lips, butt cheeks dropped on your head, and a kiss with about as much passion as a stripper can possibly muster. And if you feel like spanking their bulbous butt while they're kissing you, it makes them smile. While you don't actually see the goods at the Lucky Horseshoe (which is a name just as sophisticated as Swinging Dicks--hung luck) you do get a show that is completely interactive. So Brant and I are discussing stripper strategy--how to get the best show. And we both found we have developed the same strategy over time. (It must be our shared college experience--a liberal arts education.) Lock on the eyes, smile seductively, flitter your dollar around nervously, and never glance at their bulging man flesh until they have stopped performing for everyone else, and their performance is completely dedicated to you. Completely. That is how I met Dave, just moments before he started doing push-ups on my face. And not long before he took my shoe off to give me a foot message with his testicles. Now don't get too excited. I asked him--when he turned conversationalist--if all his customers got service like that. He laughed out loud as he pushed my face between his monster pecs, and said, "Only when they look at me like you have." And then he kissed me. Okay, okay. So maybe I pushed the lines of good taste. But I truely didn't know what I was getting into for a buck. I mean in Atlanta, it's no-touch, just look. There are always a few molecules between you and the entertainer. Then I met Troy. He's going to be featured in the January issue of "Inches" magazine. For obvious reasons. Very obvious. He wasn't into it, though. I got my dollar out, and he immediately squat down for me to give it to him. No show, no working for your money, just kind of fork it over. Now for some reason, when he got off stage, he took a liking to Brant and me. It was real confusing because he didn't give either of us the time of day while dancing on the block, but when he got down, he glanced around real quickly, then proceeded to flop his monster man meat out of his g-string for the two of us. But he wasn't even into that, the way he just threw it at us. Where is the seduction? The faux passion? He was so out of it, he didn't even notice that he walked away without grabbing his stripper pants, the kind with the snaps down both legs for easy access. He just left them on the chair next to me where he threw them. He was an odd sort and I'll remember him for a long time. Not because Brant will be getting me autographed copies of "Inches", but because I'm wearing Troy's stripper pants right now. Yes, I feel horrible. I have stolen a stripper's tool of seduction, the very thing they use to lure you in--their clothing. I have learned from strippers in Atlanta the importance of clothing in seduction. San Francisco Steve wears a hippie motife that hides his raging package, also worthy of "Inches". And my favorite gay-for-pay boy Alex always has something mesh on. Mesh is cool. It somehow helps to create the illusion of buff masculinity, even on baby-fat-blessed Alex. So we left after Dave had cycled through twice. Troy was at the bar eating cheese pizza with all the other strippers lounging in jock straps and g-strings. (Yes, we snagged his pants right in front of him. And yes, I felt horrible about it--last night.) Besides, another dollar and Dave and I would have to start thinking about a commitment ceremony. |
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tim.state@barnesplace.com © Timothy State, 1999 |