Subject: ASSC AFTSD: Reflections of an ATF Junkie From: Joe Cthulhu Date: 1997/12/02 Organization: Old Ones Productions The crowd is unruly at first, but quickly comes to order as a man in his early 30s -- with longish hair, a beard, and way too paunchy for his height -- ascends to the podium. "My name is Cthulhu," he says, "and I'm an ATF addict." "Hi, Ka-thoo-loo," the crowd responds, (correctly pronouncing his name). "I'm one of those guys who can't help fixating on one particular dancer, an ATF. And when she disappears, I'll focus on a new ATF. How is that possible? Why does it happen? I suffer from "ATF Syndrome," which I define as the tendency to repeatedly latch onto an ATF with the rationalization that "this time it'll be different." But the plain truth is I'm just an "ATF Junkie." I need to see her -- THE GIRL. I need a hit of that special smile from those luscious lips; the swell of those breasts like no others; the curve of her thigh and no one else's; those particular legs; the butt that brings tears to my eyes. Sure, the other girls are pretty, some even beautiful -- but none of the others is She. "But it isn't quite all sugar and spice and everything nice. These serial relationships have been characterized by me spending tons of greenery on that scenery, and the lady in question suddenly disappearing, ostensibly to get out of dancing completely. "But I'm getting ahead of myself," Cthulhu said. "Let me begin at the beginning": It was my brother's bachelor party about four years that started me down the path to serious SC'ing. It took me over a year to go back to the club. At first, I tried to keep a low profile. I was shy and quiet, getting only a couple of dances from different girls, never staying long or letting others know where I was headed. I wouldn't even consider going twice in the same month, because I was terrified that somebody -- dancer, bartender, doorman -- might recognize me as "that pervert" who had just been in here a couple of weeks ago! Little did I suspect then that I would reach the point of visiting every day of the week! That's because I started to really like it. And I realized that I liked one particular young lady more than the others. I'll call her "L." I preferred to get dances from L, and was disappointed when she wasn't working on the nights of my rare visits. And then, suddenly, L was gone -- I learned much later that she got pregnant and quit dancing. My sojourns into the bar slowly began to increase to twice a month -- I discovered it wasn't such a bad thing if a dancer recognized me! Soon, I was attending on a more regular basis. Not long after, I was thunderstruck to meet my initial ATF. My first ATF, I'll call "D." She was gorgeous, with a voluptuous full figure, but it was her smile that stole my heart. After our second dance together I was smitten. I began coming more and more often, and spending all my time with her. If she was busy, I'd wait. If other women approached me I was always polite, I always tipped them, and sometimes I even got the occasional dance, but always preferred D. I spent what was for me, outrageous sums of cash in a starry-eyed blur. D was always careful not to make it sound like she was interested only in my wallet -- she made it appear that tipping was my idea: "Pay me what you think is fair," she would suggest, knowing that I was never stingy with the green. I was visiting so often that soon everybody knew my name, from the doorman to all the bartenders, and everybody knew whom I was there to see (other girls even stopped hitting me up for dances). Our relationship extended outside the club briefly. I was happy. Then the roof caved in. For reasons that are still not clear to me to this very day, she said she had to leave. She was getting out of dancing, and moving to another, nearby state. She disappeared without a phone call, without an explanation, without a word. Next, as I was suffering through abandonment by D, came "S." Another stunning smile and bright eyes. She was there to console me when I was feeling lost and sorry for myself. She offered a sympathetic ear -- and other parts -- to help me forget about D. Money was even less of an issue with S, who steadfastly refused to ask me for dances, preferring instead that I ask her -- and I always did. I grew very close to S, as she became more of friend than even D was. This time, I knew to keep my eyes open, that this relationship wasn't going to extend outside the club; we had dinners and little outings, but it just wasn't to be. In time, S, too, decided she had to get out of the life -- this business just chews girls up and spits them out. But I knew S was leaving, and I still maintain contact with her. She's still my friend. The chain continued. This time, I saw "C" coming from a mile away. Drop-dead beautiful, but with a mercenary's heart of ice. She briefly dazzled me before I regained my senses. THIS TIME, I was ready. If she's intent on using me, I'll use her -- this walking ATM wants something in exchange for his hard-earned cash. Our relationship was all business, but mutually beneficial. She was sure to collect the dough, I was sure she earned it, never letting my vision be clouded by fantasy. Eventually, C desired more cash than I could cough up, so our relationship has cooled considerably. I guess you could say I'm currently on the prowl for another ATF, with a couple of candidates on the horizon. But have I learned anything? Yes, hard-won, costly knowledge: *Most importantly, with ATFs, it's all about money. No matter what she says, no matter what you tell yourself, it's about the money. Strip clubs are where guys go to pay girls to take off their clothes, and where girls go to be paid to take off their clothes. The reason you first met was money; the reason you met again was money; the reason she decided to keep you coming back was money. No matter how far the relationship ultimately goes, the initial trigger was money. It's a common tactic for her to downplay the money issue. Once she's got you hooked, she knows you'll offer the "tribute" on your own, and it'll seem like your idea, so she doesn't come across as money-grubbing. Of course, this doesn't preclude her from "hinting" that she's "having a slow night" or needs money for some sudden big bill, prompting an offer to help out. Yes, it's sad, but I paid D's phone bill and electric bill, and contributed to the purchase of a number of dresses, etc. *Much has been made around these parts about masochism as it relates to SC'ing. I'd have to admit that there's probably an element of self-flagellation that goes into visiting a strip club in general, and an ATF in particular: Let's face it, the general accepted "rules" of the game are that these girls are fantasy figures, "women that you can never have," thus the "no touch" policies are figurative as well as literal. But maybe there's also something hopeful to be found here; a "never say die" struggle to win the prize, a fantasy girl come to life. Otherwise, why do we keep going back? To paraphrase Woody Allen's summation from ANNIE HALL, we keep going back to the fantasy of strip clubs because "we need the eggs." *It is entirely possible -- but not probable -- for a stripper to become a true friend. As I pointed out, I still stay in touch with S, and I value her friendship. *Lastly, ATFs are not the Alpha and Omega, the be-all and end-all of the strip club. I've learned that it's important to not concentrate exclusively on one dancer. I have an array of very nice girls with whom I can spend an enjoyable evening, without agonizing over one in particular. There are any number of bright, funny, beautiful young women who can soothe my soul and make me forget the Real World, if only for a little while. Does that make me a PL? Well, I may not be able to argue much with the "loser" part, but I certainly don't feel "pathetic." -Cthulhu "I know the night. I live in it. It does strange things to you."