Wednesday, 23 July 2008

Dirty Dancing II: Return of the shyness

When we'd first arrived at the club there was a small stag party there clustered around the edge of the main pole-dancing area. They were all early- to mid-twenties, quite drunk and obviously quite immature. The stag himself was on the 'stage' with his trousers down and the two girls dancing around him. At one point I heard the DJ make a comment that mentioned "...blow job on the stage." but it sounded more like a joke than a commentary on the action. The DJ also had to tell the boys more than once to put their cameras away - everyone wants a record of their stag night but the girls don't like to be photographed! I only looked in their direction twice more; once to see the stag on all fours being ridden around the stage like a horse by one of the girls, and again to see him try to pull up his trousers when one of the girls was still on his back, which dumped her unceremoniously on the floor and clearly wasn't her high point of the night.

Later on, after my VIP session, the club was filling up quite rapidly and was beginning to be almost as busy as a 'normal' nightclub would be on a quiet night. I had a very brief chat to the lovely brunette who'd danced for me earlier and asked her what she thought of stag parties. Her answer wasn't a surprise: "They're a nightmare! Sometimes you get them chipping in a pound each so the stag can have a dance and they all want to watch." With that she disappeared off to the outdoor terrace which I hadn't even noticed and then Lee and I left. As we wandered back towards his place I asked if we were going to the other place too as that had been the original plan but he pointed out that we were both skint. I said I'd be happy to get some more cash with my credit card so we did that and went back to Union Street and to the second club, which is the one he'd been taken to before.

The second club was smaller and less plush than the first and their security was much more obvious. The head bouncer (who at one point when I was trying to txt a friend politely asked me to keep my phone in my pocket whilst in the club) had a physique, demeanour and facial expression that said "I'm a nice guy who enjoys weight-training, snorting coke and hurting people." which, let's face it, is what you want for security in a lap-dancing club. Actually, you want polite well-spoken gentlemen who're more than happy to crack skulls if the need arises working as security no matter what the venue! This place had two poles at the back and one on the bar, which was faced by a giant mirror. There were nearly always two girls dancing on the poles and when we first walked in the one on the bar pole easily had the best physique of any of the women we'd seen that night. She was one of the very few without any visible tattoos or piercings and she also had nothing in the way of unnecessary wobbly bits, which all the rest had. That's not to say the others weren't in good shape: let's face it their job is to look sexy so although they're not all to everyone's taste (There was one in the first club with an ok body but a face like a boxer) they're all obviously good at looking good.

Despite having been to the other, larger, club and therefore having seen more than a dozen attractive, scantily-clad women (and had 2 lap-dances and a VIP), I was transfixed by this girl's body. She had the smooth, firm look of a swimwear model, which is an awful cliché but is also accurate in this case. Here's where it gets funny. She climbed down off the bar about a metre from where I was stood nursing a bottle of lager and then she hung around there chatting disinterestedly with the barman for a few minutes. If there ever was a stranger's body I wanted to see naked, it was hers. But.... I had an unexplainable attack of shyness, probably my true nature asserting itself, and I couldn't even muster up the courage to talk to her. My internal dialogue at the time pretty much sums it up: "This is ridiculous: she's paid to dance for people, you won't need to chat her up or impress her in any way at all, you just need to ask her to dance for you. She even has her large purse right next to her so all you have to do is get a £20 note out and it'll go from there!" But no, I stood there dumbfounded and could barely look at her. What a sad case.

Then something rather ironic happened. Another one of the dancers had caught my eye because she was not only the oldest one I'd seen (early 40's I reckon) but also because she reminded me of one of the women who worked in the same building as me in my last job. She came over and chatted to me for a bit, pointing out a group of about a dozen men who she said were Polish and were a pain because they wouldn't pay for a dance and kept asking for sex. They obviously weren't being rowdy or obnoxious with it or security would have had them out the door in double-quick time but even so the girls weren't making any money out of them. Anyway, this older lady, who said she was a qualified pole-dancing teacher trying to set up her own studio, took me for a dance. It was quite good but rather spoiled by the fact that none of the private cubicles had any doors on them and the view from ours appeared to look out on the cubby hole where the cleaners kept all their equipment. Add to that the fact that a bouncer was patrolling the area and walked into view at least 3 times during the dance and the atmosphere just wasn't there. During the dance, the lovely lady spent enough time sat on my lap and bent over that I got to read the tattoo on her lower back. There were three large letters: DJM and smaller letters in between which, when the dim light caught them right so I could see them, spelled out the words "Don't Judge Me".

Anyway, after one dance each and a brief chat over a drink we wandered through town towards Lee's place. We popped into a bar on the way as Sarah and one of her friends were in there so we met up with them, had one final drink and shared a cab home. There I got to witness the girls making 'mega-bed', which is all the cushions from both of the sofas spread onto the floor and covered with two duvets. There were only two of them sharing but apparently they've managed to get three in there very comfortably. It basically means they can have the post-clubbing tea and toast in 'bed' while watching some late-night trash on the huge TV. Naturally it's a girls-only affair but Lee and I were happy enough to have a real bed each upstairs, even though mine was designed for a small child and therefore prohibited certain activity as perfectly expressed by Lee at the end of my previous post.

Now, of course, I'm going to have to visit the lap-dancing club in Exeter to see if there's any difference. I'm also going to have to pop back to Plymouth - the next time I see little Miss Fit-Body she'll be dancing for me. And I may well have to see Candy again, just for that ear-lobe nibble.

Sunday, 20 July 2008

Dirty Dancing. No, not the film...

It all began on a muggy summer evening in Exeter. I met Lee at St Davids station and we strolled languidly through town to Wagamama for a pleasant pseudo-Japanese dinner to begin the planned 2 nights of partying for his pre-birthday celebrations. One boot-filling plate of food and giant Tiger beer each and we hopped over to Exe Shed for a couple of drinks before wandering down to Hotel Barcelona for a quick cocktail. After that it was straight to Timepiece where we had a very quick chat to Viet, who was in there with some friends after having seen Wall-E, and then up to the club proper to partake of the Indie music. We continued in our alcoholic theme which meant I had bottles of beer and an occasional diet coke, whilst Lee knocked back JD & coke like it was water. At one point Lee decided to add a couple of sambuca shots to the round, which was a nice interlude, and I think he had another just for himself later on. Meanwhile, there was plenty of dancing going on. Well, Lee was dancing, as he can, and I was doing the sad Indie-boy 'bouncing up an down in time to the music' dance with an occasional bout of head-banging when something heavier came on.

My spaz-boy dancing, however bad, was eclipsed by my general social ineptitude. Lee pointed out a girl who'd apparently been eyeing me up (BUT before I carry on I ought to mention that she seemed to look in my direction ONLY WHEN I WAS LOOKING ELSEWHERE - VERY HELPFUL!) and who at one point danced past me in a way that was, so Lee said, designed to attract my attention. As I hadn't noticed her looking at me at all I thought her 'parade' was merely drunken antics and paid no attention to it. At that point, Lee'd had enough of my obvious oblivion and slapped me in the face, so I was pleased I had 4 days of stubble to cushion the blow. He slapped me again at another point too but I forget what that was for - I suspect after the first one he just got a taste for slapping me. As I said later on during our walk home: had she simply got within 3 feet of me and made eye contact for a second or two I'd have said hello and things would have progressed, but if someone's not even willing to look you in the eye how can you tell if they're interested in you? Answers on a postcard please... Anyway, 2:00 rolled around relatively quickly and we wandered home for a cup of tea and some water before crashing into a drunken stupor which lasted almost until lunchtime on Saturday. That is my current favoured method of avoiding a hangover: if you feel rough when you wake up, just go back to sleep - repeat until you feel ok.

After a relatively pleasant fry-up at the Living Room we lazed about for another couple of hours then strolled very slowly through town to St Davids to catch the next train to Plymouth. That was a slow one and we both wanted to sleep but couldn't. Never mind; on arrival at Plymouth we met Sarah at the station and shared a taxi back to their place where more tea was drunk and more lazing about was done - this is much easier at Lee's place as he has two comfy sofas in his living room and I only have a bed. (Not in the living room - I'm living in a shared house and there's no lounge so I only have a bedroom). After a nice bbq dinner and having watched a pointlessly violent Chinese gangster flick we left the house at 21:30 for part 2 of Lee's pre-birthday celebration. This one was also done as a reconnaissance mission to check out Plymouth's lap-dancing clubs as a favour to one of Lee's self-employed friends. Long story short - we had a good excuse to check the clubs out rather than just actually wanting to go.

Background: Lee's been taken to one of the clubs a couple of times by his boss, who's a bit of a Jack-the-lad sort and therefore does enjoy his lewd entertainment. Lee had mentioned these outings to me and, very cagily as I soon discovered, had not fully described the goings-on. During one webchat I said "I don't see the attraction of having some woman waving her naked vagina 3 inches from your face if you're not allowed to touch anything!" and Lee said "They get closer than that!" which is actually the case and made complete sense at my first dance when I realised I'd misconstrued the rules. I'll get to that later.

A deliberately slow stroll down to the Barbican and into a pub immediately displayed the difference between the Exeter and Plymouth party-goers. In Plymouth, everything was louder and more raucous and the people were more drunk. They were also less physically attractive (on average) and behaved more crassly. It seemed like a chicken and egg situation: did they get more drunk because they were generally so unattractive you had to be pissed to fancy anyone or were they unattractive because they got so drunk? Either way, however much fun some of the people were having, there were plenty who seemed to be bored, depressed or just annoyed for no apparent reason and despite the fact it was relatively quiet in terms of the number of people it was an awful lot louder than Exeter. In the first pub there was a bloke so drunk he could barely stand and when he did he bumped into everything like a human pinball, in the second we stood outside and marvelled at the sullen, drunken hordes ambling past, in the third, which was the Blues Bar (£2 entry as there was a live singer who did more country & western than blues) the average age made us both feel young and prompted Lee to make a joke about us having discovered the elephant's graveyard... After that we popped straight down to the first of the two lapdancing clubs where Lee had promised to pay for my first ever dance.

We went into the first place (£5 to get in £3.50 for a bottle of Becks), which was new to Lee as he'd only been to the other one, and I marvelled at the immediate experience: a very plushly decorated club with a 'dance floor' that was really a performance area for the girls so two poles and a floor that lit up as well as plenty of mirrors. We were there early (before midnight) so it was very quiet and when I returned from a pit-stop an artfully tattooed and pierced blonde girl in the standard costume of shoes, knickers and bra had cornered Lee before he'd even managed to buy a drink. During the brief chat she suggested we came into the VIP area together and she'd do a lesbian show with one of the other girls. All that for the bargain price of £80 each. I very nearly said "EIGHTY FUCKING QUID - EACH?!?!" but managed to keep my trap shut. We declined that offer but we carried on chatting and when she asked what we did for a living Lee kindly jumped in and told her I was a journalist - good thing too as I was going to be honest and say 'unemployed'. The following day Lee suggested I always say I'm a freelance journalist who's 'between articles' and I like that idea so I think I'll use it! He then handed 'Candy' (for 'twas her assumed name) a £20 note and told her to take me for my first dance, which she did. Oh My God, in that few minutes my eyes were opened. I also discovered exactly how calculating Lee had been in the amount of information he'd given me.

In the private booth there was a comfy upholstered bench seat where I initially sat on my hands to ensure I adhered to the 'no touching' rule but then just put my hands flat on the seat by my legs instead. After she'd danced for a little while and removed her bra, I got a serious shock. I thought the 'no touching' rule meant no physical contact. No it doesn't: YOU are not allowed to put your hands on the girl, SHE can do whatever the hell she wants to you. Did I say Oh My God? I meant: Oh. My. GOD! With her bra off she started by putting her head between my thighs and just 'nudging' me and then raised herself straight up, pressing her naked torso all along mine from hips to shoulders, pausing just briefly to nibble one of my ears. I was so shocked by this that when she straddled me, naked apart from very brief knickers and a pair of high-heels, I instinctively put my hands on her backside. She very nicely grabbed my wrists and put my hands back on the seat, saying "No, if you want to touch you'll have to do a VIP", so I apologised and sat still for the rest of the dance. The remainder included her removing her knickers and alternating between sitting briefly on my lap, bumping and grinding on the floor so I could see absolutely everything in its well-trimmed glory, and rubbing her clitoris quite vigorously. She had such a smouldering stare I was so transfixed by her gaze that a couple of times I had to remind myself she was naked and rubbing her vagina for my viewing pleasure - even so I barely gave the eager beaver more than a quick (and hopefully admiring) glance before looking up at her face again. A few minutes later when it was over I was actually trembling and had a dazed 'rabbit in the headlights' look about me.

When we got back to the bar, where Lee was looking suspiciously pleased with himself (almost as though the sneaky sod had planned it all out...) he went off with her for what I thought was just a lapdance and I sat in a comfy seat and finished off the drinks while trying to control my trembling. Within a few minutes an utterly gorgeous brunette had wandered over and was talking to me. There was a little chit-chat where we introduced ourselves and I explained I was waiting for my friend to emerge from a lapdance. She then said "Would you like to see me naked?" and, still being in shock from my first dance and having absolutely no clue how to answer a question like that, I just replied "Well that's a silly question, of course I would." and off we went. She asked if I wanted to do a VIP and I said no, then she said that as it's a quiet night I could tip her if I wanted. I handed over the obligatory £20 and she said "That's not a tip!" to which I shrugged. Then began the few minutes of naked writhing during which I managed to keep my hands to myself and which, although thoroughly enjoyable, wasn't quite as good as the first one. However, as I was still in shock and she had such an adorable face I did give her another £10 for which Lee later scolded me but hey ho - us lapdance virgins are allowed to be silly!

I got back to the comfy seats and had been chatting to another blonde for a minute or two when Lee finally returned from his suspiciously long lapdance which, I soon discovered, had been a VIP. The 'new' blonde suggested I did a VIP with her but the original one said I ought to go with her as I'd said I would. Lee said I had promised (I think it was more of a polite 'perhaps later' rebuffal than an actual promise but I was in no condition to argue) and gave me the additional £20 needed to bolster my funds so off I went with Candy to one of the VIP rooms. That £80 bought me 15 minutes of more of the same with a few bonus features. First of all, even though I had to stay sat down I was allowed to touch her whenever she came within reach. At one point, when she was naked and straddling me but facing away, her back arched so I could see her rubbing herself, I asked "How much am I allowed to join in?" and got a very succinct reply: "Anywhere except 'down there'". So everything from neck to thighs was gently caressed apart from the no-go zone. I got her lovely boobs pressed into my face, her nails gently scratched down my torso, that wonderfully practised earlobe nibble and, right at the end, a very brief kiss. She also spent a good couple of minutes sat on my lap writhing away in a way that was very obviously meant to cause a minor trouser explosion but that didn't actually happen. I was still somewhat overawed with the whole experience and my body was having real trouble trying to keep up. At one point, when she was naked apart from her shoes, she straddled me, lifted up the front of my shirt and pressed herself in her bare and slightly bristly glory against my stomach. That got my heart pounding and also highlighted one very obvious fact: despite all the incredibly lascivious positions she got herself into and the amount of time she spent rubbing her clit and vagina, she wasn't actually wet. She did a great job of looking like she was enjoying herself but she wasn't excited at all, it really was just a job she did. When the time was up she put on her knickers and then sat next to me with her legs across my lap so I could put a hand on her thigh while she put her bra on. We had a brief chat during which I learned a bit about her nice back tattoo and the fact that in her 'day job' she's a teacher. (A teacher! Imagine!) As before, the dim lighting and her utterly absorbing gaze meant I spent most of the time she was facing me looking at her eyes. One of the songs that was played was Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game" and when that started I was floating on an unexpected cloud of bliss for almost a minute. From now on when I hear that song I'll think of a dimly lit room and a smouldering look from a naked lapdancer...

There are more details about the club and their clientèle, the brief half-hour we spent at the other lapdancing club and popping into another place before going back to Lee's for tea and toast, but those can all wait. The important details are in this entry and I just want to finish with the quote of the weekend. I was sleeping in Lee's 3-year-old son's room (Harry was at his Mum's of course so I was on my own) and just as I went to bed Lee made me giggle so much I think I laughed myself to sleep. He said "If you're going to pull your pud, don't get it all over the dinosaur duvet!"