From: kashmir@work.not (Kashmir)
Subject: ASSC:  AFTSD: The Life of Brian
Date: Tue, 02 Dec 1997 13:03:09 GMT



No, this isn't the Monty Python movie and never have I been confused

with the son of God; however, it is the tale of my SCing life.  



Some of you may recognize me as the writer of occasional, boring

reviews and even more occasional comments to threads that strike me

with interest.  Hopefully, this won't be as boring as the reviews, but

to some it will be.



I remember the first time I almost got to go to a SC.  Twelve or

thirteen years ago, when I was 17 or 18, my Dad was going to take me

to Cassidy's in Amarillo TX.  We got there, but since I didn't have an

ID on me, the door guy wouldn't believe my Dad when he said that I was

his son, so we didn't get to go in.  Ever since then, I always carry

some form of ID.



My next recollection was when I was in the Air Force in Germany.  A

group of us used to go to Frankfurt to make use of the services of the

prostitutes and would sometimes stop in some places similar to strip

clubs.  The things I remember:  NEVER buy the girl a drink (which cost

almost as much as the thirty dollar whores we would later visit but

only bought you conversation) and the dancers usually had been struck

pretty hard by an ugly stick.  Oh yeah, one more thing, that woman and

the banana.



Next, after returning to the states, I remember stopping by the Gold

Rush in Atlanta after a Braves game.  Beautiful nekkid women, beer,

and $5 table side dances.  I thought I was in heaven, that is until I

discovered lapp dances.  We would frequent the club after just about

every game we attended (7 or 8 a year).  



From there, I made my first solo trip--Sammy's in Birmingham  AL.

Good beer and cheap conversation.



My wife and I used to visit Memphis on all the holiday weekends to

visit some friends of her family.  Every Saturday, they would all go

shopping and I would hit the clubs.  I remember the $4.50 warm can of

Budweiser at the club on Mt Moriah.  I also remember the time I

visited a club CMG is familiar with (which shall remain nameless).  I

parked in the lot and noticed the door guy roaming the parking lot.  I

didn't think much of it, entered the club, and got my 2-for-1 beer

special ("No, you have to take both now.").  I sat there drinking my

drink and tipping the ladies.  One dancer approached me and asked it

I'd like a dance.  I always ask "How much?" the first time in a club.

I received the shock of an answer: "Depends on what you want.  X for

handjob, Y for blowjob, and more for more."  



I replied, "No thanks, I'm married and not here for that."  



"Well, then what are you here for?"  



"To look at topless women."  



"Well, we work for tips.  How do you expect us to make any money just

doing $1 stage tips?"



Needless to say, when the next dancer asked me for a dance, I quickly

said no.  Oh, the days of naivete.  Of course, my biggest mistake in

the whole ordeal was telling the complete and unabridged story to my

wife that night.  For the longest time, she would get upset every I

mentioned going to a club.  This incident also kept me out of the VIP

area for a LONG time.  I'll admit it, she scared the shit out of me.



Back to the story.  I remember a dump in Mobile AL.  A friend of mine

from my days in Germany was in town from California.  I recommended we

do some of the things we used to do (nostalgia) and off to this dump

of a club we went.  We opened it at noon or so and were the only

customers the whole time we were there.  After a while, one of the two

dancers got on stage and danced.  We were of course ignoring the

ladies since we were catching up on old times.  Finally, after a

couple sets, one of the dancers went up the other and says "This is

how you tip" very loudly and proceeds to tip the one on stage.  Well,

I felt kinda bad, so I tipped each once their next time on stage.  One

part of the nostalgia came true, they both had been hit with that same

ugly stick mentioned earlier.



In 1995, I got out of the Air Force and we moved to Charlotte NC.  I

visited a couple of the clubs in town before settling in on my current

"home"--Leather n Lace South.  Good beer, $5 lap dances, and a

membership card that gets you into 12 or 13 different clubs.



Continuing, a friend of mine from work and I had to travel to another

North Carolina city for a class and decided to go up a day earlier--to

visit a couple clubs.  Our first stop was one of the first all nude

clubs in North Carolina (which also shall remain nameless), and a

juice bar because of it.  We got in without paying the exhorbitant

membership fee (just the cover) by showing our driver's licenses and

hotel keys.  We sat down and began doing amateur GYN exams, nice.  One

dancer really was getting to me (rubbing her damn nose down mine) and

I decided to take a chance at the VIP--hoping to be over the shock of

Memphis.  When a two-for-one was announced, I tracked her down and off

we went.  She started working me over real good, and damn if I didn't

have an accident.  The shock was back.  I appologied and she said that

that had never happened to her before and asked me to keep that our

little secret.  Damn hard that was going to be, seeing as I was

wearing kacki pants with a big, dark spot growing in the crotch.  I

paid her and ran off to the restroom to attempt to clean up.  We left

soon afterward, me in shock and my buddy saying not to worry about it,

it was no big deal, it could have happened to anyone.  So where do we

go next?  Sure ain't the hotel, it's another club.  Since I was broke,

I let him get the table dances at this more upscale club.



Most of you know the rest of the story, since some time after this

trip, I discovered newsgroups.  Of course, the rest of the story is

just those boring reviews from whenever I take a trip out of town (or

even the latest review of an in-town club).  You've all read about

Columbia SC, Raleigh NC, Washington DC and back to where it all began,

Amarillo TX (where there is this one club that has kleenex in the VIP

area, the dancers sure must get alot of colds).  I've had a couple

more accidents and learned to accept them, failed at trying to have

them (of course, then it wouldn't be an accident, would it?), lost my

naivete (or have I?) and learned alot from you guys.  Hope you enjoyed

the Life of Brian and hopefully this was a post that failed to suck.

------

Kashmir

Charlotte, NC

real address:  kashmir (at) mail (dot) charmeck (dot) nc (dot) us

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