From: John Smith Subject: (ASSC) (AFTSD) Memories of an SCer AFTSD Although I've been semi-active in exploring the wonderful world of strip clubs, I am usually spending more money on other things, which, necessarily, restricts my activities. From the first club in Denver (Shotgun Willie's), which gave me but a taste of the good life, to Tally Ho!, which gave me a strange burning sensation when I urinate (joke), I've been fortunate enough to circumnavigate the country and explore some of the strip clubs that various jurisdictions have to offer. A brief recap... Denver, January 1990 It's a quiet day in the dorms when a couple of buds burst in pumped and ready to go. They're both semi-cowboys and express a strong desire to explore the rodeo in town. Unfortunately, they've been drinking a while and are in no shape to drive, so they tempt me with an offer to explore a strip club after the rodeo in exchange for being a designated driver. Being a curious sort, I agree and off we go to Shotgun Willies. For a first time, it was interesting, although the club consists mostly of air dances, it is a pleasing atmosphere to spend some time, drink a few beers and enjoy naked women. Heartbreaker of the night, Barbie, a gorgeous blonde with nice bolt-ons who treats me right (and how) after a couple of tips from my friends. Denver, July 1990 It's time for a bachelor party, and, after humoring the father-in-law to be with a few games of cards, the pervs in the group slip out and head to Mile High Saloon. The first of many embarassing moments in this strip club journal occur when I walk in the door. Barbie, the blonde from Shotgun's has changed bars, moving a block up the street. During the summer, I encountered her (and her daughter) in the course of my work. Although I knew her to be a dancer, I had the opportunity to chat with her for a while pretending to be totally oblivious to her job. She didn't remember me from the many months earlier at that time, but this time, as I walk into the club, I get a big howdy from one of the stages and she calls me over. It made for a fun night (and some impressed friends). Tampa, Florida, January 1991 In town for the Super Bowl, I end up staying in the Days Inn just behind the Mons. The week starts off with an appetizer, a visit to Thee Dollhouse, another fine air dance emporium where the object is to fleece as many big spenders out of as much money in as short a time as possible. Later in the week, it's time for the visit to the Mons. Totally nude and maximum grinding. Anything goes, for the right price and the challenge (and thrill) are gone. Makes the Denver clubs look like a regular bar. Somehow, degrading in my youthful innocence. Orlando, June 1994 Another visit to Thee Dollhouse chain, this time with remarkable results. It's a slow night, despite the World Cup games being in town, and I end up with not one, but three girls joining me for conversation and the occasional lap dance in a table by the corner. Seems like heaven...a raven haired beauty with long hair cascading down her back, a bubbly natural blonde with short curly hair and beautiful breasts and an older dancer, bleached with bolt-ons. Expensive, but fun. Two nights later, I return, a larger crowd this time, and, for the first time, the hard lesson of "they're only in it for the money" becomes apparent. Retire to hotel room somewhat disappointed but with eyes definitely opened. Baltimore, June 1997 Ah, June, time of weddings and, of course, bachelor parties. This turns out to be a major production, with two nights of strip clubbing, a baseball game and serious alcohol intake. I get involved on the second day as a driver. We cruise up the game, a jovial band of ten guys, bail early and head for the block. It's early, after all, and we want to whet the appitite for the evening's fun. The bachelor of the hour has a buddy who manages a strip club north of Baltimore and promises us a good time. An hour and a half on the block yields us several very overpriced drinks, a number of uninspired performances by overweight dancers and a serious need for something else. Then we meet Devon. A striking young brunette, she proceeds to entertain the bachelor in unusual ways. Finally, it's time to leave and head to the next club on the list. After a short period of perusing the talent, which is covered by pasties and bottoms, it's the ritual humiliation of the groom, with magic markers, ice in the pants and a lot of humiliation. We are bored. We head back to the block. The bachelor finds Devon again, half the gang heads back and we are left in the bar while Devon entertains. Then Heather comes over to me. The guys, realizing that I've been driving around all night, start to buy her drinks for me, which leads to a very enjoyable hour and a half before the bar closes and we head out. Devon offers to meet us outside for some more fun, but we get bad directions and wind up sitting outside the wrong parking garage. Opportunities lost. Las Vegas, June 1998 In town for a meeting and off we go to the Tally Ho. Having previously visited Vegas, I missed an opportunity to enjoy the Tally Ho and have heard the stories for over a year from my buddy who went. After driving all over north, south, east and west Las Vegas trying to find this place, success. It's over there, only we can't turn left at this light and, oh, damn. Finally reaching the palace of poontang, we enter and are comfortably seated in the easy chairs. Not two minutes after we walk in the door, I've got a little blond grinding away like there's no tomorrow. A short while later, I am pursuaded to enjoy the pleasures of the VIP room (at only $170 a half hour). What the heck, it's not like I do this every day, right? Half an hour of grinding later, it's out the door with a smile and a sticky spot. We get back to the hotel and my pals back out the door to explore the Club Paradise. This is one serious strip clubber. He probably spends about 50% of his money on porn or strippers. E. St. Louis, November 1998 Ah, time for the third (of four) holy sites for the serious S.C.'er. The guys I'm with have this down to a science, get into town, get the car, get the hotel (and, most important, the hotel key), head for P.T.'s, watch a rotation. Nice teasing, but not particularly nasty. On to Platinum. Very crowded, looks promising, but it's late and we have an early departure. On to Roxy's. Drive very carefully through the known speed traps and voila, Roxy's. A little island of nastiness in the wilderness. An hour and a half, culminating in a nice lap grind before heading out the door. It's been a blast, even if a short one. The highlights of eight years of strip clubbing. Some places were definitely better than others and some will always bring a wistful smile to my face. PL? Maybe, but so far, I keep it on the road and under control. Maybe one day, I'll open up a bar/restaurant of my own...beer on tap, topless dancers, with a shooting range out back (skeet, the civilized sport). Then you'll have the main attractants for men all in one place...broads, beer, beef and bullets. 'Til then, happy S.C.'ing.