There’s something compelling about the idea of sex-for-hire. Let me back up a bit and put in a little context. You’d think I’d be the kind of guy who’d spent a lotta time in strip clubs. Hell, I am the kinda guy who’d spend a lotta time in strip clubs. But I have not. I […]
There’s something compelling about the idea of sex-for-hire.
Let me back up a bit and put in a little context.
You’d think I’d be the kind of guy who’d spent a lotta time in strip clubs. Hell, I am the kinda guy who’d spend a lotta time in strip clubs. But I have not. I don’t even know why; god knows I love strippers. I can’t think of anything not to like about the idea of a strip club.
Yet, I’ve been to very few. It’s a head scratcher.
So Saturday, for a combined birthday, we wound up finishing the evening at a strip club. There’s more to the story earlier, and possibly later, but I’ll stick with this for now. I’ll talk about Teatro ZinZanni in a different entry.
So, at this strip club, a number of lap dances were bought, some by me, some for me. And lots and lots of lap dances, and a lot of ‘private parties’ were offered as well. Evidently I was something of a stripper magnet in my leather utilikilt, shaved head, boots and tattoos. Well, that, and while I might be scary in a good way, at least to these ladies, I wasn’t creepy.