Curiouser and Curiouser
When I was trying to learn how to do a strip tease, I’d contemplated going to a strip club to see how the professionals put on a show.
Although I wasn’t able to get to a club before my strip tease, I still wanted to go. I was curious about strip clubs in the same way that I’m curious about what happens during a fraternity initiation. What is a lap dance? Do all of the girls have fake boobies? How do the girls groom their nethers? Why do the girls do it?
Would all of their perky breasts and tiny waists make me feel like less than a woman?
Would any of my girlfriends agree to go with me?
As it turned out, four of my girlfriends were just as curious as I was.
So THAT’S What Happens at a Strip Club
So we all met on a Friday night, piled into a car and drove to Erv’s Ladies and Gentlemen’s Club in Allentown, Pa., where porn star Victoria Valentina would be the featured act.
We walked in to a dark, smoky room, one that was populated mostly by men—men with long grey beards and motorcycle get ups, men in suits, and men dressed like college frat boys.
I’d expected leering and cat calling. Instead? With the exception of the loud thump, thump, thump of the music, the room was silent. The men? Their faces were expressionless. They didn’t smile. They didn’t frown.
They didn’t even look entranced.
They had the same expressions that I’d seen on men’s faces at the mall, when one of them is standing in the middle of the women’s clothing department, waiting for his woman to emerge from the dressing room.
But how could that be? There was a naked woman with humongous ta-tas sitting on the catwalk with her legs spread wide open and a shot glass right in front of her cooter.
I looked away, as one woman does not stare at another woman’s ta-tas or cooter.
My eyes went to floor. Then the wall. And then, just a glance, to the stage.
“Um, uh, um, I need some cash,” I told my friends.
I powerwalked my way to the ATM. I was so nervous that I kept pressing the wrong buttons and canceling out of the transaction.
By the time I walked back, the porn star was making her way around the bar, hanging her boobies in front of the patrons’ faces. Periodically, a guy would insert his face deep between her boobies. She’d grab the sides of her breasts and jiggle them back and forth, smacking them against his cheeks.
I soon learned that this face-in-the-boobies thing was called a “motorboat.”
“And guys like this?” I asked a nearby patron.
“Yeah,” he said. “Have you ever had one before? You should try it. Go ahead. She’s waiting.”
I turned to face the catwalk.
Victoria was there, leaning toward me and smiling. Her hands were on either sides of her humongous ta-tas, and she was jiggling them back and forth.
She reached her right hand toward me, extended her index finger and gave me the “come here my sexy little love kitten” signal.
I leaned in. She put her hand behind my head and pulled my face into her bosom. Warm, soft double Ds pelted my cheeks, chin and forehead.
I had two thoughts.
1. Wow, boobies are a lot softer than I’d expected.
2. Am I doing this right?
She pulled away.
My face was hot. My heart was beating about 180 times a minute. My eyes were at my feet.
And, then, something really strange happened. In the pit of my stomach, I felt a craving for more.
Would it be different to bury my face in real boobies? Small boobies? Medium boobies? Old boobies? Young boobies?
I spent much of the rest of the night pressing my face into different sets of boobies.
In between motorboats, I chatted with Amy (not her real name), a stripper who was waiting for her time on the catwalk.
She’d only been stripping for two months, using her earnings to pay her college tuition.
Well, if you know nothing else about me, you ought to know this: I am the biggest bleeding heart on the planet. Once I learned that she was stripping to put herself through college, I just had to give Amy my money.
I asked for a lap dance.
She led me and my friends into a private room. The next thing I knew, her bare ass was grinding its way into my crotch.
My face was hot and, obviously, beat red. I was laughing, too. I mean, what else could I do? A naked woman was sitting on top of me.
She was grinding her rear end against my privates with such force that I had to grip onto the seat of the chair to prevent myself from sliding off.
She stood and jiggled her boobies in my face.
“Do guys try to suck on your nipples when you do this?” I asked. “What do you do when that happens?”
“I do this,” she said as she firmly shoved my face to the side.
“Okay, so what if I tried to touch you?” I asked.
“I’d do this,” she said as she grabbed my hands and pushed them back, away from her.
She sat on my lap. She jiggled her boobies in my face some more, and she ground her ass into my crotch some more, too.
Soon, I heard a beep, beep, beep. It was the buzzer. My time was up.
I emerged from that experience a changed woman, but not in the tawdry ways you might expect.
I walked out of that club a little wiser and a hell of a lot more at home in my hot body.
I did because I realized that all naked women’s bodies are beautiful, even mine. Some of the girls at the club were taller than others. Some were older. Some had more heft to their bones. Some had tummy bumps. Some even had cellulite.
Some breasts were perkier. Others were jigglier. Some were smaller. Others were huger than huge.
But they all had something in common. They were all soft, all beautiful, and all just right.
Just as all women are, I realized. We all have an inner stripper, and she’s hot just the way she is.