who dat? contest:



"i know!"


previous results:



actress cynthia nixon

first correct answer:

jeff long

some sex in the champagne room

I feel just awful. No, not from the money I lost in Vegas, or the hangover that had me swearing I’d never go near Corona’s with lime ever ever ever again. No, but from the flu/cold that I got over 2 weeks ago which decided to come back yesterday and punish me for staying up gambling/drinking/smoking until 8am on Saturday.

So here I am at work feeling lightheaded and as congested as I’ve been in while, feeling mopey because I lost money and can’t afford lunch and I think I’m going to go home.

But first let’s talk about strippers.

Four old friends from Berkeley, Stee, Jeff (who’s getting married next weekend), Derek (got married a couple weeks ago), Greg, and one outsider friend of Jeff’s from work named Matt who’s nice enough but fancies himself a high roller and is basically the type of guy I’d never be friends with – the type of guy who never wants to wait in line for anything (actually thinks he should be able to go ahead of everyone) and you just feel uneasy talking to – the five of us leave Mandalay Bay (where we sit around watching stars leave the De La Hoya fight – man Kirstie Alley is huge) and exit the cab 10 minutes later at a place called Cheetahs. We each pay our 10 dollar cover and walk through the doors, music pounding around us as we make our way to the bar. My eyes finally adjust to the dark.

The room is filled with half-naked women.

I’d never been to a titty bar before because I was sure that I’d be watching these pale, vaguely attractive but used and blank-looking women sliding down a pole with their butts and feel just yucky and sad for them – sad that they’ll always be known as strippers and probably were abused when they were younger and most likely will shoot up with their abusive boyfriends when they get home. And as I stood near the bar watching women in g-strings crawling across the stage, someone grabbed my head and I turned around and my face was between two huge breasts – rubbing over me. And as the woman on the bar-stage held her g-string out for me to slip a dollar into I felt lightheaded, shocked, and tingly. I knew right then that I was going to like this place.

(It is a bit of a disappointment to realize I am no better than any other heterosexual male, but I don’t suppose it’s my fault, but rather biology or chemistry that makes us want to pay 20 dollars to have a topless woman named Tiffany (real name, Eleanor Wittenstein) rub her butt on your clothed genitals while your friends watch and high five each other.)

After watching from the bar for a bit, we all find an empty table and sit and order drinks. Matt pulls out a wad and starts buying lap dances for Jeff. I’m sitting right next to Jeff so I’m getting ass in my face, big fake breasts in my face. It was pretty surreal to watch and I felt actually embarrassed being six inches away and staring at their breasts as they laid across his lap and pinched their nipples and spread their legs and ran a finger slowly across their crotch while they stared into my eyes. But by Jeff’s 3^rd or 4^th lap dance, the embarrassment was pretty much gone.

Being in a strip club is a little like being in a used car lot – you’re constantly being approached by people who want your money, and until you’re sure you want to buy, you have to find a way to deftly fend them off and without (if you’re a sensitive guy like me) making them feel bad. After a bit a little blonde thing comes and sits on my lap and I realize it’s the blonde who stuck her breasts in my face as I stood at the bar. Her name is Tina. Well, her "name" is Tina. So this naked 20 year-old woman is on my lap and what do I do? I talk to her for 15 minutes. I learn that she’s a dancer (no, really), came from Texas, and plans to move to Seattle by the end of the year. She says that she can earn 1000 dollars a night and is saving all her money like a good girl.

Here are couple things I learned from talking to her and a few of the others:

Strippers don’t understand irony.
Strippers smell very nice.
Strippers have very few friends in the club – there’s lots of resentment and jealousy.
Strippers, despite what you hear, will quite often go home with a client for the right price. (Though all of them denied ever doing that themselves).
Strippers all plan to stop stripping in a couple months.
Strippers won’t call the bouncer over if you touch them.

So the night wears on and Jeff’s now had about 12 lap dances and Derek and Greg both had one and Matt has disappeared for a while into the back room. A beautiful brunette sits on my lap and I figure, OK, what the hell. We talk for a bit as one song ends and then comes my song. She whips her top off, kisses me on the cheek, and begins.

I don’t remember much of the next 3 minutes of my life, other than I enjoyed it. I was very surprised how much intimate touching there is. Without being too graphic, my lady concentrated on a certain part of my anatomy, rubbing with her breasts, her butt, even her lips. I was really shocked. I mean, I actually felt a little guilty, even though I only got one lap dance, didn’t go into the back room with anyone, and am 27 and have only been to a titty bar now a total of once. I mean, M. knew I was going, but still… Jeez.

And I’m curious, what do you women out there feel about your man going to a strip club? Do you know very beautiful women in g-strings and nothing else are basically dry humping your man? Is this OK with you?

As an actor I’ve done many things that you involved, non-acting folk would never get away with. I’ve made out with beautiful women every night right in front of my girlfriend. I’ve held naked breasts in my hands. I’ve pretended to have sex with women. I suppose it doesn’t bother M. as she’s also an actor and has likewise done similar things (except for the naked breasts in hands, though that’s a play I wouldn’t mind seeing – hell I’d direct that sucker). But we actors are weird. But in the grand scheme of things, why does the notion that you’re "acting" somehow make it OK to get busy with someone else? The guise of "character" doesn’t suddenly mean that there’s not someone else’s hot tongue inside your mouth. And then which is worse, dry humping a naked woman because it’s an acceptable practice, or fondling someone’s breast because your director tells you to? I’m sure I don’t know.

By the way, next time you’re in Vegas, go to the Cheetah and ask for Amber. You won’t be sorry.

Elsewhere…

ms. e answered the survey from a few days back. She’s quite amusing.

Finally...

I did not run into Sara in Vegas - but I wonder what she means by "strange young men". I'm not that strange.

The Larry King Happy Song Corner

I’m just a gigolo, and everywhere I go, people know the part I play. Get paid for every dance, selling each romance… speaking of which, at a junior high school mixer I gathered up my moxie and asked Jane Kelsey to dance with me to "Misty". But when she draped those little shiksa arms around me – well, let’s just say that after the dance I wished I had my school books to hold in front of me, if you know what Larry’s saying, and I think you do.


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