On all fours, journal 12/23 2014

 
Ok so I went to a strip club, The Glass Slipper I think was the name of it. First off, strip clubs are not my thing and I have been to maybe 5 in my life. Let’s see, the first was in Montréal as a teenager; second, on my way across the country in 1992 in Vegas, looking for an old girlfriend; third, in Taunton (well it was really just a topless bar and the only reason I was there was that downstairs, Kevin’s sister Gail was running a Karaoke contest) in 1994; once in 1995 in some remote region of Québec where they didn't speak English; and lastly, here and now in 2014. I went because my friends were cold and wanted to go see naked girls. I was dressed for a cold night of walking around Boston— ski pants, two sweatshirts and a Carhart jacket and snow boots. Apparently they weren’t as prepared as me anyway. Okay fuck it I said, I’ll go.

Actually we first tried to get into Centerfolds but they refused us saying they thought one of us looked drunk. However I think it was because we were kind of dressed like hobos with our hats, gloves, big jackets and backpacks so we went next door and had no problem with them at the door. Well, the girls were beautiful and tight and buxom and all that and shit— I’m only a man and I did have my looks although I was more interested in watching the Chargers-Niners game on the TV over the bar as San Diego was making an epic comeback.

Anyway, I understand the girls were making a living and were selling themselves to us, or trying to, for money, I get that part. I just don’t get the nudity and sex for cash. For instance, there was a girl dancing all around the pole, doing her thing and five men up front along the stage were feeding her bills, rolling them up into little green balls and tossing them at her or on the floor; she gets down on a fours, her ass and pussy pointing right into the whites of their eyes and the song ends. She remains on all fours, picking up the bills around her, still shaking her ass, like knocking a tap for the last sip. I mean, is that the kind of living you can live with yourself? It’s kind of sad. And there were other things— back rooms where 30 dollars bought private dances or whatever else they do. Eighteen dollar beers, no thank you. And for what? To get all hard up for girls you are not meant to have? I say, stay home, save your money and just beat off. On top of that, I lost my Bruins hat again (I lost it once in 2010 at a Blue Man Group show. A good friend, at the time, took me there, at the Charles Playhouse I think. I actually recovered it a few days later, although recovery from a strip club may be a tall order indeed). All in all it was great to be with my friends again. I’ve come to realize once again, for some, it is haven, but for me it’s just something to avoid if possible.