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misterorange

Kamala, you're FIRED!

I started this as a reply to AlBundy1966’s question about clubbing back in the day, but it became too long and I decided to submit it as an article instead. I’ve been on the Pay for Pleasure circuit over 35 years, and I found the thread interesting for the diverse experiences reported from times long ago. Some describe a tame environment where “extras” were nearly non-existent while others talk about waitresses under the bar giving blowjobs to whoever steps up next. I presume that shopping for adult fun back then wasn’t much different than today. It all depends on where you go - and how you play the game.

My very first strip club visit was to a place in Hackensack, NJ called Riviera Lounge. (It's still in existence today.) It was a block away from the Middle School I attended. As a youngster I passed it a thousand times on my bike. It was a place the older kids would tell stories about, albeit highly embellished, if not totally made up. And we’d tried a few times to get a “peek” inside, but the way the entrance was designed you couldn’t see anything even if the door was wide open, which only added to the mystique. The first time I had the balls to actually walk inside, I think I was a junior in high school, around 1983, so maybe 16 years old. The drinking age back then was 18, but if you looked somewhat mature and didn't act like a jerk, most bars would let you in without checking ID. Shit, you could show them a library card and they'd let you in.

So the first time there, it's me and my best bud, and it was a typical bikini stage show followed by a trip around the bar to collect the dollars. You could buy a drink for the ladies if you wanted some company, but there was no lap dance in the picture. (I'm not sure the term "lap dance" had even been invented yet.) At best, you caught a flash of nipple when she tugged her bikini top inviting a tip, felt the warm touch of her hand on your thigh while sipping your drink, or maybe some "dirty talk" which was no more than that - just talk. But for two underage teenagers with raging hormones, it was paradise and we made more than a few visits there.

It wasn't long, maybe a year or two later, before we expanded our horizons by taking our first trip to the mecca of all debauchery: Times Square, NYC. If you've only seen it within the last couple of decades, you could never imagine the atmosphere back then. 42nd Street between 7th and 8th was the center of it all, but the seedy neighborhood covered several square blocks. Drug dealers and sellers of obviously "hot" merchandise probably made up 10% of the people on the street, and the sidewalks were so packed you couldn't walk at a normal pace. Sometimes you couldn’t move at all while the crowd bunched up. And the pimps, oh yes, there were pimps-a-plenty. Not quite as flamboyant as the movies from the 70's, but well-dressed with scantily clad hookers on each arm. They would openly solicit sex to teenage preppies from the suburbs or 60-year-old bums who lived in a cardboard box down at the corner. If you had a few dollars on you, they didn't discriminate. If I remember correctly, it was 20 a blow, 40 a fuck, and 50 for "half-and-half," which never made sense to me because if a fuck is worth more than a blow, then half blow / half fuck should be somewhere in between. But I digress.

The area was jam packed with one sleazy storefront establishment after another. Head shops, dirty bookstores that also sold sex toys and porn movies on VHS, electronics stores that sold "boom boxes" but were mostly fronts for core businesses like prostitution, drugs, fake ID, gambling, etc. But the big draw was the several "live entertainment" spots like Show World and Peep-O-Rama. At Show World girls would stand outside their assigned booth and try to entice you to see their “performance.” Once agreed, she stepped into her side of the booth and you went in the other side. There was glass in between, but it was covered by a kind of board on the other side from you. You put your token (purchased at the front entrance) into the slot and the board mechanically lifted so you could see the girl for some period of time, I think about 10 minutes. A telephone system, like in prison, was available to communicate with her. For tips, which you could feed through another slot, she'd do anything from strip down naked to fuck herself with a dildo, even anally if you tipped enough. You could jack off all over the window while she was on her knees with her mouth wide open. A full time janitor with a mop bucket and cleaning supplies was always on duty, and if you made a mess he’d say something like, “Damn boy, now I gotta clean up after you.,” indicating that any halfway-decent human being would provide a tip for the poor bastard that has to wipe up your jizz. You could also make an appointment to meet the girl down in the basement. She'd meet you down there later, and in the basement, anything goes. Blowjob, full service, whatever you wanted. There were booths, without the detriment of window barriers, where your lover would provide any pleasure imaginable. But you had to be careful down there because there were drag queen faggots who would try sell their own services before she showed up.

A few blocks to the southwest, the area between 12th and 10th Avenues and roughly 27th Street to 30th, was a streetwalker haven. There were so many hookers that even at 2 or 3 o’clock in the morning, cars would be lined up on 12th Avenue just waiting to make the turn onto 30th Street. Once you got around the corner, and maybe four or five car lengths in, the girls would start approaching. If you only wanted a blowjob, she’d sit in the passenger seat and get right to work. You’d only make it about halfway down the block before she finished you off because the traffic was moving so slowly. You’d get a quick, “thanks honey, come back and see me” and be left sitting there with the rubber still on. There were so many dicks to be sucked, you could see her in your rear-view mirror getting into the next car, and it made me a little sad because for the last 10 minutes she had been “my girl.” NOTE: this was the mid-80’s and AIDS was scarier than the coronavirus is today, so condoms were standard with a professional whore in Manhattan. Maybe not as much in the South Bronx, but that’s a story for another day.

Now if you wanted to fuck it was a little more involved because you had to pull over to the side, and the curb was pretty much full of parked cars with hookers and Johns doing their thing. The pimps would act like traffic cops, ordering guys who were finished to move out quickly while waving the next car into a parking spot. It was really quite an operation. There were probably two dozen girls on the block (that weren't already in cars) and I’d bet that on a given night each one of them could service 20 or 30 clients. Just my guess.

There was a third option. If you wanted to spend some quality time with a lady who rocked your world, you could visit the Liberty Motel, down around West 14th Street. She’d have to let her boss know where she was going and you paid him directly for her time. Down at the Liberty, the desk clerk behind the bulletproof window knew the girls by name. You paid for the room through one of those drawers like at the bank drive-up lane, and he’d give you the room key the same way. And of course, if you wanted to have a good time, a tip to the girl was expected. (Required actually.) I only took this option a few times because it got pretty expensive when you add it all up, but if you wanted to do stuff like DFK, suck her tits, eat her pussy, fuck her ass, it was all on the table.

Well enough about straight up hookers. Strip clubs were somewhat different back in the late 80’s / early 90’s. Many (I’d say most) were very traditional as I described my in first experience at the Riviera Lounge. I don’t remember any clubs in New Jersey that were “officially” nude or even topless, but if you knew where to go, the rules didn’t really apply. One such place was After Dark in Newark. A pretty large club with high ceilings and two fully stocked liquor and tap beer bars. It was one of the first places I ever went that had a cover charge. What a dump. But you’d see everyone from college kids, to street thugs, to suit-and-tie executives in that place. One bar surrounded the stage which had two tall stripper poles and a swing. The other bar was off to the side to help accommodate the probably 150 or more customers who were shoulder to shoulder watching the show - standing room only. In between sets, the girls would bump and grind their way through the crowd, usually topless, soliciting tips, and you could get jacked off while sitting at the bar or get a standing blowjob in any dark corner of the place.

If you were lucky enough to know somebody, you might be invited to the private room in back. This wasn’t something you could simply pay extra for, you literally had to “know somebody.” I experienced it once as the guest of a guy who was well connected in the city of Newark. First of all, only the hottest girls performed back there, and they would cycle through between sets on the main stage, so there was always new talent coming in every half hour or so. Mostly Russians or Eastern Europeans, and the very sexiest Latinas and AA’s. The room had a small stage, separate bar, comfortable easy chairs, and couches positioned discreetly in the corner where girls offered a full menu of anything you wanted. The girls were fully nude whether they were grinding or sitting at the bar enjoying a drink with you. The space was only large enough to hold about 15 mongers and maybe a half dozen girls at a time. But even if you never made it to the back room, After Dark was a real hoot.

Nearby was another spot called Buns. The sign said, “Buns - It Ain’t No Bakery!” Sure as shit, that was a true statement. Kind of like After Dark, but smaller, and the girls were more “ghetto” which I enjoyed quite a lot. And then there was Hunts Point Triangle. Any of you NYC guys remember that South Bronx place? My many experiences there were in the mid-90’s. On the left was a long bar that maybe sat 30 across and it had a stage behind the bar where the girls (50/50 Latina and AA) would not really dance but show off their bodies to entice customers, and brother, they were sexy. No fatties there. The other side of the place was a very dark room that had armless chairs that were literally pushed right up against each other, lining the walls. If you liked a girl on stage, you’d buy her a drink and the bartender would give you a ticket. Then you’d go find a seat along the wall. After a while the girl you wanted would come over with her drink, fully naked, and sit on your lap. While you were waiting, guys who were right next to you were getting blowjobs or had a naked girl on their lap while their pants were down around their ankles. You know what came next. Sadly, HPT closed up about 20 years ago.

There were also other places in the Bronx where FS was the norm. Private clubs, but unlike After Dark, “knowing somebody” only meant knowing somebody who knew the place was there. These places served alcohol, but I don’t think they had a license. They were more like abandoned warehouses with parties that had booze and pussy for sale.

There used to be a "legitimate" strip joint in Brooklyn called “Mom’s” and after my bachelor party my father took about 10 of us there in his van. To his credit, he stayed sober all night and got us back home safely. It was 1991 and I was 24, two weeks before my first marriage. Never knew this before, but apparently my dad had been there quite a few times. (My parents were still married, but had been separated for about a year.) Man, he knew everyone in the place, including “Mom” who was the owner. She sent us to the back room that was a lot like the back room at After Dark (described earlier.)

Well, to wrap up a long story… back in the day there were “strip clubs,” and then there were "strip clubs." And then there were street hookers. It was like a regular part of life back then… if you knew where to look for it.

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