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.