Houses of ill-repute are an endangered species these days. Now that Manhattan has cleaned itself up, there are only small group of sterile clubs to keep your secret smutty side engaged (what, you think we don’t know that side? We’ve seen your Myspace photos, you slut). With the lack of options, its easy to spend your carefully saved “sin fund” entirely at American Girl Place (maybe with a sick, perverted stop at neighboring Build-a-Bear).
Luckily, there are still a few options when you feel like paying for a pseudo-erotic lap dance from a tarted up Eastern European “blonde”. Barfly was recently goaded into a trip to Scores East Side on a night out with a female friend. We had become bored of literally setting money on fire and decided to dispose of it in a more expeditious way. “Let’s go to a strip club,” she said. “I love the smell of baby powder mixed with sexual frustration. It reminds me of the better days . . . ”
She picked up the $30 cover when we arrived. We stopped for a moment to remind ourselves of the rules:
- No touching the merchandise. Merchandise includes but is not limited to asses.
- Everything costs money. Usually what you would expect to pay +$17 “for the girls”.
Well, it turns out that the rules are slightly different when there is a female in tow. We took a booth, and the strippers immediately started running over to us. Well, not so much to us. Their giggles were directed at her.
“Honey, how are you, I love your boots”
“Doll – where did you get your hair done? It’s adorable.”
“That jacket, is like, a great jacket, doncha think?”
One friendly stripper was particularly caught up in the impromptu pajama party. “I’ll be right back,” she said “I have something I have just got to show you.”
“Uh, wasn’t this supposed to be sexy?” we piped in. “I think we just paid $45 for two beers, and the strippers just keep petting your head. Aren’t they supposed to do something, like something smutty?”
She looked around and straightened her hair “Well, it may not be smut, but I do somehow feel violated and deeply unsettled”.
“Looks!” our halter-dress sophisticate squatted down beside the banquette. “I told you I had something to show. Check out this lip gloss – it really makes your lips like, pop, you know? Here – you should try some.” Apparently the “no touching” rule does not apply to makeup sharing with the customers. This service was also free of charge.
The stripper leaned back and admired her handiwork. “See – you look so cutes now. It’s so nice to have a normal person in the club, it doesn’t happen every night, ya know. Thanks for chatting with me – I gotta run”. And run she did – right to the stage where she proceeded to twirl in the flashing lights for the oversized men in the front row.
The lights flashed off of our friend’s newly enhanced lips. “Well – at least your lips are sexed up. That’s kind of worth the cover charge.”
“I think we should go,” she said. “Don’t you feel shameful and dirty?”
”A little bit, but it’s hard to say why.” We stood up and gathered our things. “Look, they’re all waving bye-bye to you”.
She gave a wave as we ushered our way to the door. “They all just want a friend – did you see that? The poor girls. The thought of getting-off on this even for a second makes me feel like a complete sleazebag. They’re too nice! That poor little thing. Look at my lips – they look great. I feel so disgusting.”
As we walked to the next bar, we too felt uneasy about what had just transpired. Good to know– Manhattan hasn’t become completely clinical – there are still a few places that can leave you feeling like you did something naughty. There is just a tiny difference between today’s smut and the sleaze of the past. Before, you would wake up with a mild hangover and a vague feeling of guilt. Now, you wake up the next day, log on, and end up donating money to Romanian orphans. Sinful living sure has become expensive!
Scores East Side – 333 60th Street
Walking out and realizing that the club is tucked under the Manhattan Bridge – 4 olives – It’s strangely validating to feel “under the bridge” seedy after spending $200 on supposed high-end smut. They should spruce it up a bit with a few hobo canister fires.
Visiting a strip club on EAST 60th street – 3 olives – We’re used to seeing whores and sluts on the East side, but professional strippers were a little jarring.
Squandering our rent money on three beers – 3 olives – The alcohol content and the exorbitant price join forces to make that fake blondes’ size 36DD prosthetics look positively classy.
Makeup tips from the dancers – 5 olives – Instead of teaching silly things like the alphabet, the Romanian orphanage left these girls with some killer application techniques.
Unlike the largely reserved 'sasunnach' (English) teachers in our school, all of our Welsh teachers were loud and colourful, larger than life characters. These “bugger all” backwards from the vicinity of Llareggrub were lyrical, smart, eloquent, stubborn and irreverently funny. They were our teachers, but much more they were unashamedly, absolutely, completely who they were. As such, they taught us only to be unashamedly who we were.
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