After an otherwise wholesome weekend (going to the zoo, blowing bubbles in the backyard, hangin' at the mall), Mr. Wonderful and I went to a strip club.

We went to the seediest club in town. I'm afraid of strip club owners, so I won't name it here, and only say that it rhymes with "Tits Me Raven". Hm.

I was so excited to go. I appreciate strip clubs on an intellectual level, as well as the more lusty, tits and ass level. I enjoy people watching in strip clubs, and not just the people on stage.

We entered the dark bar, and I was disappointed to see I was the only non-stripper female in the place. We took a seat at the foot of the stage, near a greasy looking man I will refer to as "Elliot". He looked at me lecherously and it made me uncomfortable to be sitting near him. Was he expecting me to jump on stage?

The chairs were uncomfortable, so we moved to a table - still close to the stage, but far enough way that I didn't feel like a lesbian (does that make sense? Is that offensive?). Elliot would still look behind at us and I did my best to avoid contact, though I kept looking at him, trying to figure him out.

For the most part, the dancers were awful. Most of them avoided any sort of eye contact, and seemed extremely bored to be there.

And then there was Stephanie.

There was a presence about her. I noticed her right away. She was wearing cow-hide chaps and halter top, and wore a cowboy hat. She danced while mingling with the other patrons. I could tell right away she liked to dance, and was there to enjoy herself. She was tall and lean, not skinny, but toned and well built. I was smitten.

(As a side note, the other stripper I had a crush on, Tyler, also wore chaps and cowgirl gear. Is this a fetish?)

I knew how clubs worked, but the strippers in this club really did not try to have any illusion of romance or flirtation. The strippers sought out men to buy them drinks and pay for lapdances. Mr. Wonderful laughed at the fact that I acted as Stripper Repellent (tm). None of the girls approached us all night (until the end, but I'm getting to that). I left for the bathroom a few times, partly because I had to pee, but I also wondered if a stripper would be in my seat when I returned. It never happened though.

I drank all night. I needed something to focus on besides the thinly covered vulvas gyrating in front of me. I realize that that's what I'm there for, but a few times a dance would look at me, and I'd feel myself blush and sheepishly look down, not wanting her to know I was looking at her boobies.

So, by the time I was on my 4th or 5th drink, I was ready for Stephanie. We had watched her working the room all night, so I had high expectations of her performance. She did not disappoint. Both songs she danced to were high-energy rave type tunes. Her costumes were great. They always had some kind of 'theme', and weren't just your typical mini skirts and bikinies. Under her hat was long, dark, thick hair. She worked the pole like a true athlete, and made fun of the stoic men watching her. She was spunky. But the most sexy part was that I could tell she was having fun. The biggest turn off for me when I watch strippers (which, granted, isn't very often) is that I always wonder about their backstory. Do they have a drug problem? Were they forced into it somehow? Why do they look so unhappy? With her, though, she seemed to be there for the pure enjoyment of it.

Throughout the night, I told Mr. Wonderful that I'd treat him to a lap dance (not a lap dance by me, but I would pay for one). Stephanie had since left the stage, and a new girl was up. We looked around for her, but she soon left with another patron to the back. Damn. We waited for her to return, but she never came.

Then, another girl came over to us and asked us to sit down. She introduced herself, and I knew what was coming. I went to the cash machine to take out $40 to pay for the drink I just ordered (which was a very bad idea, as by this point, I was beyond the point of rational thought), and to have some extra cash for the rest of the weekend. As I came back to the table, Mr. Wonderful told me I was invited to the lap dance if I wanted to come. Well, duh.

The girl (whose name completely escapes me) was the opposite of everything I like about the female body. She was short, thin, with short, stringy, blond hair and a rat like face. Okay, I'm being a bit tough on her, but her personality felt ugly to me, and I can't help but remember her that way. She told us it was $20. EACH. Jesus. I don't mind telling you that I've had lap dances before, and that's pretty steep, especially considering the merchandise. Nonetheless, there's a point of no return in these social circumstances, and we were well beyond it. So, off we went.

We walked into a back room, beside the DJ booth. Now, I am the most sex-positive person I know, but this place was horrible. I felt like I walked into the darkest recesses of the male brain. The room was over-saturated with black light, giving and eyes and smiles a sick, radioactive glow. The worst part, though, were the stalls. They were made of simple plywood, and look like large bathroom stalls (about the size of handicap washrooms). The doors, however, were about 3 feet off the ground, so as I looked around (there were about 6 stalls), I could see men's legs sticking out, with stripper shoes and legs over them in one position or another. It was disorienting.

We were led into our stall, and we sat on a couch with a cover overtop. Mr. Wonderful took the typical male stance, his legs slightly open, perfect for grinding, but what do I do? I clumsily tucked a leg underneath me, then sat sort of indian-like, constantly changing positions during her dance. I felt awkward. She started her 'dance' and announced that she was 'so drunk'. Nice. She put her tits in my face, and rubbed herself in front me. Uhm, okay. She grinded with Mr. Wonderful, and that was it. He asked about her back tattoo, and she said it was her real name, Tara. Hm, funny how I remember her real name but not her stage one.

And so we went back to our table. Within a minute, she was seeking out more dances by other men, some men who were drunk beyond reason. I finished my drink, and off we went. Mr. Wonderful told me afterwards that back in his hometown, you can get a lap dance for $10, and you're allowed to touch. I think it's time for a road trip.