I’ve been going to strip clubs long enough that there shouldn’t be much mystery left. I know the routines, the pitches, roughly what things cost. But I still get a little charge when I decide I’m going. Then the research starts. Recent reviews, old reviews, DMs with fellow mongers who know the place. I pull into the parking lot and count cars. Walk in and scan the room. Is the girl I researched working? Who looks interesting? Do I go for the hottest girl in the room who probably gets attention all day, or the less obvious choice who might actually get a kick out of mine? Then somebody sits down and another little game starts. Is she funny? Does she get my sarcastic sense of humor? Is she going to hustle me? I’ve realized there’s one thought behind a lot of my club visits: I have to know.
The research makes it even stranger. I’ve walked into Providence clubs and recognized half the dancers even though I’ve never met them. I might know what ten guys think of her, what she supposedly charges, whether she’s friendly or all business, and what people claim happens in VIP. She knows nothing about me. I’m some random guy drinking sparkling water. There’s a slightly dark thrill to that, but the joke is often on me. I spent weeks thinking about Diamond at CD before I ever talked to her. When I finally did, she was great, but not in the same way as the person I’d constructed from the reviews. Other highly recommended dancers have either bored me or intimidated me within two minutes. The research doesn’t tell me what will happen. It just gives me something to be right or wrong about.
Then there’s the edge of the rules. Every club has rules. TUSCL also has twenty guys telling you what supposedly happens despite them. I won’t give the LE crowd heartburn with a menu, but that gap between the official version and reality is part of the excitement. There’s the conversation in the main room, the negotiation, the decision. Then the door or curtain closes and I find out whether I read the situation correctly. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. That’s the point. I don’t know yet.
A few months ago I visited a fairly local club I’d somehow never been inside. Naturally, I researched the hell out of it first. I got there, sat in the car for thirty seconds, went in and opened the door. My eyes took a few seconds to adjust. I couldn’t tell how many dancers were working or whether the place was busy. For maybe three seconds the night could still be anything. Great night. Shitty night. Meet somebody memorable. Leave in forty minutes. Then my eyes adjusted and it became another club with its own culture and rules. I remember those three seconds better than most of the night.
Here’s the part I find really strange. There are more predictable ways to spend money on adult entertainment. Price known in advance. Expectations clearer. Less negotiation. Less chance of wasting time. You knock on a hotel door and pretty much know what you’re there for. On paper that should be better. Yet I’m apparently willing to pay an actual PREMIUM at a strip club for the less predictable version. That makes no sense if all I care about is the final result. It makes perfect sense if uncertainty is part of what I’m buying. Money tells me the same thing. There was a time when $200 was serious money to me. Today $2,000 can be financially meaningless, yet right before I decide to spend it I can still feel a version of the same little charge.
Maybe that’s the darker side of getting experienced at this hobby. When I was new, mystery was free because I knew nothing. Now I know too much, so I keep finding new questions. Maybe someday I’ll walk into a club I’ve never visited and realize I don’t care what’s on the other side. I think that’s when I’ll know I’m done.
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