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gSteph

The view from the other side of the room

(No, not that kind. Though I was later than most, being a few months out of my teens.)

No, I speak of the (presumed) record time between 1st going through the doors of a strip club and getting a lap dance. Along the way I’ll touch on my ‘origin story’, a bit of local SC history, and why I think I’m lucky to have this historical gap. In August of 1977 I walked into a strip club in Fairbanks, Alaska and fell in love with topless stage dancing. In February 2017 I got a lap dance.

Summer of ’77, early July. I’m 23, unemployed, between shit jobs, no real prospects. I decide to take a chance and follow some friends to Fairbanks, AK, hoping to make some money before the pipeline boom completely fades. I get on my 1st airliner and fly north to where evening doesn’t quite fade to dark, but simply hangs out till dawn takes over. “You made it! Welcome to the wild North”. “Let’s show him the hookers on 2nd street” my friends greet me.

One afternoon someone suggests a trip outside of town to the countries farthest north strip club, ‘The Bare Affair’ (Bear or Bare, I forget, it had a faded sign with a polar bear dancing in a tutu). I like this idea, I love seeing boobs and scantily clad women. Though I had modest sexual experience at this point in my life, I’d seen a lot of nakedness. Skinny dipping is my preferred way to swim and at our nearby forested hot springs I’d soaked with hundreds of unclad humans. I presumed I knew how to look without staring, how to admire without leering. I’d followed nude nubile perfection up a steep trail, I’d lost log rolling contests to a fleet footed tanned goddess.

But the nudity in the club was not the casual nudity of a hippie hot spring. It was nudity with a purpose, provocative nudity, meant to get a reaction. It was titillating, enticing. And it was interactive. A smile and an admiring look got you direct eye contact, a smile back, maybe a wink. And then, seeing others tip, the realization that you should too. And at this club that meant walking up to the stage, and putting bill(s) in her bikini string, (or sometimes garter) with shaking fingers. A smile and a thank you. No, thank you. Back to the table with my laughing friends.

I’m hooked. I liked this. The alternate reality of it. It was ok here to be openly wowed, to stare in amazement at women’s beauty, to imagine. Across all these years, three dancers still stick in my memory; a thick AA with huge areolas, a freckled, friendly little spinner from Boston, and a perfectly titted long haired California blond beauty dancing in a foot cast and bikini bottom.

Back in Oregon, a few years pass, filled with work, too much beer, lots of rafting. Then meeting my other, then marriage, and baby. And the realization we need to make more $. I work, she goes to RN school, then she works, I go to accounting school. By this time (mid to late 80s) strip clubs have come to Eugene / Springfield. A variable school schedule gave me time to check them out. Today there are 2 clubs in Eugene, back then, for a while, there were six.

‘Jiggles’ was the main place during my school years, definitely the busiest, with lots of pretty dancers, 2 stages, occasional amateur nights; it could have a real party vibe. More than once I saw college age M/F couples stand and dance to the music. They advertised regularly in the college papers and I recognized a few dancers from school; one was in a couple of my accounting classes.

Favorite memories: two tall, leggy, shapely assed lasses (who clearly had been hi-school cheerleaders) doing a duo dance with pom poms, then just leaning forward on the mirrored back wall and swaying their (near) identical perfect buns to the crowd. And the girl who only worked barefoot and could hypnotize with her eyes as she walked s-l-o-w-l-y toward you until kneeling and bringing her breasts within breathing distance. And ‘Hope’, a slim beauty with an allover tan, and the ability to dance so close without touching. Because there was no touching in those days – a bold fellow might graze a knee during a table dance ($5 then, soon changed to $10), but that was about it. And the table dance I bought from a complete newbie, her first, teeth were chattering from nerves. 2 weeks later when I saw her she was a confident, sexy, seductive pro. I went there with my younger brother a time or two, discovered he was a pushover for the beauties with the bigger (biggest?) butts.

Several blocks farther west was/is the ‘Silver Dollar Club’, which looks basically unchanged since then. Quite dark, too loud with giant speakers hanging from rafters, annoying flashing lights. On the plus side, (after Jiggles closed) it was closest to my work place(s) and became my occasional long lunch break visit place. I stage tipped lots of pretty dancers there. Also, I saw my first full body tattoo (of a crazy looking woman jumping a horse over fire!?). Then and there I formed my judgmental opinions about large tattoos.

On the north side of town was the ‘Great Alaska Bush Company’ (now the Nile). I liked the name, since my clubbing started in Alaska – but never really liked the place, the interior lay out was weird, and it seemed somehow a bit ‘dark and unwelcoming’ for my tastes.

There was also a tiny club attached to the adult book store out River Road on the north side. I only went there once, tipped a couple, got a table dance from one, and never returned.

More fun, on the south end of town, across the freeway from the community college, was a club in the former ‘College Side Inn’ building (forget the SC name). It had an odd 3-level layout that seemed too big and spread out. But it had cheap beer and $3 table dances (!! for a while anyway). I splurged once and got a double table dance, learned I didn’t like such (I prefer to focus on one). Best memory there was an Arabic lass who did quite good belly dancing while stripping down to not much and some finger cymbals.

The ‘Good Times Bar’ on the edge of downtown (still exists as a regular bar) was the locale for my only group visit, when friend ‘Scott’ decided to have his bachelor party there. There were 8-10 of us; some mostly played pool, or sat together drinking beer. I spent most of the time at the stage, dolling out dollars to dancers. Scott asked me why the dancers seemed to spend more time dancing in front of me. “You’re not the putting down the most money, I don’t get it”. But I was the one giving the most attention, saying ‘thank you’ and ‘that was beautiful’ as they picked up tips. Instead of tipping only some and using their money for more (and more) beer (and a pin-ball machine?!?) and leering from a distance.

Once out of school my clubbing dwindled to maybe 2-3 times a year, sometimes nothing for a year or two, but never quite stopped. I always liked the ‘buzz’ from this ‘illicit’ pleasure. I became a stage tipper only when table dances went to $10, my relative poverty put that out of my range. And then the ‘Silver Dollar’ discontinued table dances, made them ‘private’, and $20 (!), and off in some ‘VIP’ room or something. I wondered why some would want to spend $20 in 3-4 minutes. (Clueless me.) For twenty dollars you could see every boob on shift.

About 2010 my clubbing discontinued. My workplace had moved farther away, dwindling attendance (especially during early afternoons) made the club less fun. Other funs/hobbies (contra dancing, camping, astronomy, travel to visit ‘found’ bio-dad) were filling my ‘play’ time.

Fast forward to Feb 2017. My ‘2nd’ dad died some months ago, it had been raining all week, I’m feeling a bit depressed and decide to leave work a little early, and stop in Sweet Illusions in Springfield. (I’d visited a couple of Springfield’s (4) clubs once or twice, but not Sweet Illusions.)

First impression: yeah, I remember this, dang, she’s pretty.
Second impression: thongs got even smaller somehow.
Third impression: “Would you like a dollar dance?” “What’s a dollar dance?” I replied - though I'd just seen her do one at the table in front of me. "You give me a dollar, and I do a short dance just for you". (Love a straight answer) I put $2 on the table (like the guy before me did).


She opens her top, spreads my legs, and shakes her breasts within inches of my face, then turns and sits on my lap!! wiggles around, stands up, shows me her boobs again (did one bump me?!), says thanks, picks up my $2 and walks off.


And I'm like, what just happened, something has changed since I was last in a strip club.

A week later I’m back. Tip the stage a bit. Get a couple of dollar dances. Then up on stage was Amoura, dark haired, dark eyed, a slow sensuous dancer, with a shape I couldn’t look away from. I found her stunning. Coming off stage she walked right up to me. “A dollar dance, sure” I stammered. “Would you like a private dance?” she asked after. I’d said no to a couple others about a ‘private dance’, hadn’t wrapped my head around spending $20 so quickly. The light bulb went on. “Yes, please, thank you.”

And I sat there, (hands at my side) mesmerized, hardly believing it, how she danced so close, boobs bumping me now and then, her eyes holding mine. And then sitting, wiggling on my lap, and leaning back. (What a view!) Late in the dance I dared touch her hips, warm and firm. Then she ended the dance running her breasts down my front and turning into my hand and pausing. Song over. But for two wonderful seconds I was holding one of Amoura’s areolas. And I’m thinking (besides, here’s a 20, here’s a tip) “I’m going to do this different next time”.

Slowest learner ever? Maybe. A 39 year gap certainly suggests so. But I’m ok with it. In my younger days, I might not have figured out/known it’s basically all an illusion (tuscl helped here), just entertainment for the moment - and the memories. Once I had a couple lap dances I realized I needed to have a talk with my conscience, and then, with my wife. Which was a difficult conversation to have (though not as bad as I’d feared), but it’s all good now. Looking forward to getting my 2nd shot and resuming this manner of fun.

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