The Archive

Strip teaser

Ok, so I'm not going to do a concluding post today because since I've been back, the one question everyone has asked me is 'what happened on the date with the stripper?'.

So here it is.


It’s funny, though, how the decision of what information to share can make such a difference. If I’d have said I had a date with an accountancy student, it would have been just as true but I suspect would not have generated the same level of interest.

Anyway, before we begin, I’d just like to point out that I generally do not go to strip clubs. Not through any misplaced sense of propriety you understand, simply that they seem like places where you can spent an appalling amount of money very quickly and still come out feeling more frustrated than you went in.

That doesn’t sound like a good use of cash to me.

However, it was early afternoon and I was tired and cold after a day of walking the mean streets of New York. So I tried going to a bar, but it was pretty empty and there was nothing to do but sit and drink and what I really wanted to do was listen to good music and talk to someone.

Then it struck me. If I went to strip bar I’d noticed the previous day, the drinks were the same price as the bar I was in, there was no cover charge and I was guaranteed to have someone talk to me because that’s what they’re paid to do (well, that and take their clothes off obviously). Genius.

So I figured I’d need to kill about an hour before the bars livened up. Thus twenty bucks to pay for a dance (just to ensure the girl talking to me was not out of pocket) was a small price to pay for an hour’s entertainment, so in I went.

Oh, and the prospect of looking at naked women was not unpleasant to me either, I’ll admit.

Sure enough, as promised, drinks were seven dollars, the music was good and there were slinky ladies lounging around the place, at least one of whom was bound to talk to me.

It wasn’t long before the first girl approached. “Do you want a dance?” she said. Hmm, that wasn’t exactly the nice chat I was hoping for, so I declined.

A couple more came next, with fairly similar results, although a bit more in the way of conversation. Then a Dutch girl who was actually quite nice.

And then her.

‘Timothy’ (not her real name) was a tall, slim-but-curvy, beautiful woman who joined me for a short chat.

Right away we hit it off, soon moving away from the usual ‘where are you from’ bullshit into just random banter about, well, nothing.

But I didn’t want to spend my one dance so early, so she moved on. It was only later, when I told her I wanted a dance from her that it emerged that the women are not allowed to drink with customers who aren’t buying dances. But once I’d told her I’d be buying one, she could bring her drink over.

And then she said the coolest thing. “Do you want your dance now or would you rather talk for a while?”

That seemed pretty neat to me, because she wasn’t getting paid to talk and if she did her dance, she could move on to another customer and make more money.

So I told her I’d rather talk. And so we did, laughing and joking like she wasn’t actually getting paid to pretend to like me.

Score!

Eventually, though, I figured we had to do the dance thing. Now normally lap dances leave me cold if it’s just me (but they’re pretty good if you get one as a couple), but I have to say, ‘Timothy’ looked great, smelled even better and, for the first time ever, I found myself asking for another.

Only one more though, I’m not an idiot.

Anyway, after the dance we talked some more and suddenly she says “You know, I get out of here in half an hour, do you fancy going for a drink?”

What? I couldn’t believe it. Was this deeply attractive woman really asking me out for a drink?

Naturally, my first instinct was to think ‘No, of course not. She’s going to meet you and offer you an hour for three hundred bucks or something’.

Nevertheless, I had to find out right? Now as the bar didn’t allow the staff to meet up with customers, we had to arrange to meet at a distant location (adding another ‘sure to go wrong’ element to the mix).

So I dutifully scampered off to the rendezvous (which, by a miracle, I found without mishap) and, would you believe it, she showed up.

Even better, when she arrived, one of the first things she said was, “Actually, the name’s Alphonse” (again, not her real name. But this is a not-real version of her real name. The other one was a false version of her false name. Got it?). This was excellent news as I figured this meant that she really truly just wanted to have a drink with me.

And so it was. We had dinner and a few drinks (ie ate a bit and got totally wankered) and, when I walked her home, agreed to meet up again the next night.

The second night was a proper date, with drinking and dancing and everything and, I must say, I had an absolutely wonderful time.

So that’s how I managed to end up with a date with an incredibly hot accountancy student and part-time exotic dancer, simultaneously shattering both my stripper and accountant stereotypes in a single night.

So, thanks Alphonse for a couple of fantastic evenings of entertainment. I truly and thoroughly enjoyed it and ‘the running man’ will never be the same for me again.

And whilst I’m dishing out the thanks, Tae and Mark, THANK YOU for letting me stay in your apartment and showing me an awesome, fabulous, excellent time.

And thanks to Clan Vartan for letting me be a member of your family for a couple of weeks. What larks!

Fucking hell, I am so unbelievably lucky.

Right, that's bought me a day or two before I have to do a conclusion post. Phew.

posted by Peter The Great @ 11:30 AM