|But isn't it rude to stare?|
She seemed less than pleased with my order, as if my order made me even more out of place than I already was wearing a long skirt and a headband with a bow. It was about fifteen minutes before my drink came and it didn't quite taste right. I was never asked if I wanted a refill.
I spent them trying to listen to a conversation at the next table over the bad club remixes of rap and hip hop. I futilely tried to look anywhere but the stage. Problem is, there are mirrors everywhere so I eventually gave up and watched the dancers. I will readily admit they are very skilled and unusually flexible women, but I would get just about as much enjoyment out of them if they left their clothes on. Don't get me wrong, I'm totally comfortable with the human figure. I'm an art student and have to draw nude figures nearly every week. What bothers me is the way the men stare blankly at the women dancing closely enough to them to feel the heat emanating from their perfectly waxed genitalia.
In all honesty, I spent most of the night pointing out which of the dancers had fake boobs against those who had the real deal. It was at this time we also realized there was a TV showing Star Trek: The Next Generation across the room.
|no seriously, they'll probably be checking his ID until he's 40. He's really a sweet guy though, he's the one who gave me a ride home that night.|
Eventually I got
|she was literally wearing ONLY leg warmers and a pair of ginormous heels with a bumper sticker on one.|
|Note to self: Don't buy drinks at a strip club. It's expensive.|
|. . .|
|I wasn't really sure what to think in the end.|
In conclusion, it's an interesting experience to visit a strip club. Something worth trying once I suppose. It's just like taking a trip to a museum: look but don't touch (or the security will kick you out).