The Stripper Experience

I drink a lot of cheap wine on stream. It gets the job done and makes me feel like a true starship admiral. It gets my brain wet and my lips loose. When fully saturated and brimming with courage, I like to tell stories to my viewers. Stories from my damned life. Embarrassing shit from days of old with life lessons buried deep in their guts somewhere. I don't think I've told this one.

I want to take you back. Back to the late 90s when I was 21. Back to when I drove my mom's Jeep and worked in a dairy cooler at the supermarket. Back when I first laid eyes on fake boobs and almost lost my contact lens. 

I worked in the bowels of the store. The place customers were forbidden. Where the stockers, freezer guys, and butchers reign. It was nice and private. It sort of felt like a dark order. Seven or eight workers unloading trucks and hanging out among pallets of food. We were made up of goof balls, nerds, and one scientist who was doing this for a tax break. The scientist, who was actually a marine biologist, was good at roasting people with words. He was a soft spoken black man in his mid 40s. He smiled a lot, gave good advice, and made fun of my pimples.

My manager, Billy, was 2 years younger than me. He was a good looking dude that acted older than his years and he worked hard. The ladies liked him and he was a funny fuck. His boss, Sean, was the less attractive half of management. A sweet guy of about 24 who married an older Mexican girl so she could stay in the country. Maybe it was the job or the marriage but he always looked miserable.

One evening at about 11:30pm, Billy and Sean appeared in my dairy right in front of the milk section. I was getting ready to close. I was on the other side of the dairy wall in the cooler pulling gallon jugs of milk and grape drink from red crates and slinging them on to the shelves with both hands like a god damn machine. I smelled like yogurt all day but I was damn fast at throwing those milk jugs. Billy called me "dairy man", and even printed a custom name tag for me emblazoned with the words in white on a black field. I wore it with honor and felt glee whenever a customer did a double take when reading it. It was a fun job and they were fun people.

"Come on dairy man!" Billy exclaimed through four rows of milk, "Me and Sean are going to a strip club and you're coming." I staggered, milk jug in hand, and thought to myself, "Oh god." I had never been to strip club. I'd seen plenty on TV but never really had the desire to go to one. To me, they were a place where a man's balls went to get blue. Internet porn was just fine for me. My anxiety and my wiener were not ready for this.

Billy and Sean knew I was shy, anxious, and socially awkward. I felt like his offer was half brotherly and half trying to fuck with me. I agreed to go. We left the store in the Jeep and drove south. Way south.

We took the interstate all the way south until the street lights were miles apart. The club was situated between a gas station and another strip club. They all shared a cratered parking lot that might as well have been the surface of the fucking moon. There were no other buildings in sight for miles. We were alone in a swampy, rural area and I was about to enter my first strip joint.

It was just after midnight. Muffled music emanated from a shabby wooden walled building that looked like it used to be a seafood joint. The bouncer checked our IDs to confirm we met the minimum age of 18 then took our ten dollar cover. I entered the dimly lit main room, late 90s music thumping. It was full of round tables and not very many patrons. There were two dancers on stage and they were fully nude. I was expecting topless, thonged ladies at best. Not fully nude. This exceeded my 21 year old brain's expectations. To my young mind, this was awesome. But as a 40 year old, I now know how dirty and sort of illegal this place was.

There was a late 20s guy standing at the edge of the stage with a handful of cash and a fully nude dancer bent over on all fours with her ass facing him. He stood perfectly still as she bounced her bare snatch into his face over and over. Jesus Christ I wasn't ready for this level of public sexuality. The three of us found seats at one of the round tables close to the stage. Sean was visibly nervous and Billy had a big shit eating grin on his face. Both of them were dressed in black suits, complete with ties, a requirement of store managers. I had a blue polo, baggy pipe pants, and I smelled of rice pudding and fear.

Seconds after we sat down, two fully clothed waitresses approached us. One of them made a B-line to Billy, swung her back as if she was winding up to throw a softball, and meat-pawed Billy's crotch. "How's that big ol' dick doin!" she said rhetorically, vigorously shaking Billy's cock and balls through his black cotton dockers. Billy continued to smile unphased by her advance. Sean looked over at me with a half intrigued half horrified expression. He could even turn his head back to center before the second girl swooped down and man handled his junk as well. He jumped in his chair. The girl seemed shocked that he wasn't as into it as she expected.

It all happened so fast. Billy's cock assailant made her way to me, wound up her pitching arm and dove for my bits. I staggered in my chair, much like Sean, half embarrassed. It may have been a combination of the anxiety and the baggy raver pants, but she missed my cock. "It must be cold in here!" she blurted out so everyone could hear. I wanted to tell her she missed, but I didn't want her to try again, so I just took the shame bomb like a man and tried to ignore the girls' giggles. They took our drink orders and left us to wallow in pity. I ordered a Sprite. Billy was still smiling.

When I was 21 I avoided alcohol entirely. This was a time when I was deep into marital arts and avoided all the fun substances. I think this lifestyle saved me some pain. Thinking back, booze might have helped lubricate the strip club situation, but I'm pretty sure I would have gotten myself into more trouble. I watched the flesh show and sipped my Sprite.

The dancer on stage finished up her routine and sashayed off stage. The club announcer shouted something unintelligible from an audio booth and introduced the next dancer. The DJ spun up Suicide Blonde by INXS. A long legged caramel skinned black girl appeared from behind the curtain. We'll call her Suicide Blonde for the sake of this story. She was very athletic with spike heels and a blonde wig. She gracefully approached the pole and went to work. She was fluid and sexy but she had the worst boob job my porn-educated eyes had ever seen. They were high up on her collar bone, almost square, and about to bust at the seams. I quickly forgot about those monstrosities when she sat on the floor to do scissor kicks in front of our table. "When she's done I'm getting a lap dance from her." Billy proclaimed with the confidence of a man twice his age. "How much is that?" I said with anticipation. Billy has been here before and knew the cost of these things. "Twenty bucks." he said without taking his eyes off of the square-boobed goddess.

The Suicide Blonde finished her stage performance and hit the floor, touting her merchandise from table to table. Billy gestured to her. Without hesitation she came over and sat on his knee. I felt like a boy watching a parent do adult things. Trying to understand protocol and behaviors. This was a foreign land and an even more foreign situation. Billy and stood up and took her to a cushy loveseat in the corner of the main room. There was no privacy in the lap dance area. No curtain. No wall. Nothing. It was a voyeur's paradise.

I was alone with Sean while Billy had things done to him. Whatever those things were. Pulling from my Cinemax database I assumed it was a lot of grinding and not much else. Billy returned 10 minutes later with an even bigger grin. Before I could even ask how it was, he said "Dude, she let me finger blast her." "Wait, what?" I said in disbelief. I trusted Billy, but this didn't add up. I didn't know much but I knew for a fact that under legal circumstances strip club patrons can't touch the girls. This joint was shadier than I thought. "She was creaming, dude." he said, quickly reminding me that he was still only 19 years old with a brain as immature as mine. I don't remember what I said next but Billy immediately offered to buy me a lap dance from her. Every warning light in my anxiety lobe lit up. I tried to decline the offer, but he insisted. Fuck it.

After a few minutes of self contained panic, Billy got up and sought out the dancer again. I assume to pay her. Before I could mentally fluff myself I was walking back to the same love seat where the alleged finger blasting occurred, stripper in hand. She pushed me into the seat and sat in my lap, bare ass on my yogurt scented jeans. She was pretty but had a rough complexion that she tried to conceal with makeup. Her boobs were even scarier up close. I felt like they could burst at the slightest breeze. "Are you Jewish or Italian?" she asked sweetly, tapping a long nailed finger on my big nose. "Italian." I said with a sheepish smile. I don't remember what bullshit small talk was said after that but she got to work on me pretty quickly. She muttered something but my ears were muting everything. She stood up in front of me in a stance like Wonder Woman, displaying her glory. She's was perfectly built, unfortunate boob job aside. She danced and gyrated for a few minutes before turning around to display her butt, inching close enough for me to touch, if I wanted.

All I could hear was Billy's voice in my head. "Dude! Fingerblast! Creamin' and screamin'!" I wanted to touch her and I knew it was illegal, but Billy had tested the waters so I'd probably be okay. I went in for the kill. My hands eagle clawing both of SB's bronze ass cheeks. I didn't know what I was doing. I'm pretty sure I wasn't the worst groper she'd ever encountered. I kneaded her butt cheeks like Play-Doh, inching my thumbs closer to her womanhood. But I couldn't do it. Goddamn this didn't feel right. My cock wasn't agreeing with any of it. So, instead of stabbing her with my awful, untrimmed fingers like a fucking brute, I gently brushed my hand over her clam once. To my surprise she let out a quiet, breathy moan which I only assumed was part of the service.

Clearly bored of having her butt cheeks yanked apart, SB spun around, mounted me, and mashed her dangerous tits in my face. I was taken off guard. I'm sure this was part of it all but she was clearly in rush to close the deal and move on to the next client. She pounced on me, kissing my face, rubbing my chest, and grinding on my terrified penis. She moved her hands from my chest to my belt line attempting to gain access to my scared ween. My belt was too tight so she could only get her hand just deep enough under my pants to brush the tip of my dick. The struggle for access continued for what felt like minutes but I know it was much shorter. During the entire struggle, her boobs were assaulting my face and I was forced to focus on them. It was my first time touching fake boobs. They felt exactly how they looked. As the gyrating became more rapid the boobs got angrier and angrier until one of her nipples, by some freak accident, jabbed me right in the eyeball, dislodging my contact lens and essentially blinding me in one eye.

I don't remember much after that. All I could feel is my contact lens bunched up behind my eyelid which a bare assed woman finished the dance my friend and manager paid for. It could have been worse. For a moment when it happened I was scared that my contact lens was still stuck to her tit. I ran through the scenario in my head of having to retrieve it and further shame myself. But it didn't happen like that. She did her duty, gave me a sexy hug and I was on my way back to my table my eye throbbing. I sat down and both Sean and Billy asked me about my experience. I put the most positive spin I could on it avoiding the part about my eyeball. It was Sean's turn and while he was gone and Billy was distracted, I managed to fish my contact lens out of my eye socket with glittery stripper fingers. It was over. I survived.

The evening ended as awkwardly as it began. After 30 more minutes of gawking and juvenile boy discussion, we all paid our tabs and left before the 2am closing time. This night was one of the most sexually awkward experiences of my adolescent life but I'm glad it happened. Every embarrassing experience enriches our lives, even though they're often gut wrenching. Needless to say, I never returned to another strip club.