Afternoon Chill

Goldrush Showbar is a nude club with AA dancers near the ATL airport. For some reason the spot doesn’t get many TUSCL reviews (five in all of 2018, none so far in 2019) but, noting that the great Shadowcat had written about it recently, I decided to take a chance and stop in on my way to the airport. The club is just South of I-85 on Metropolitan Parkway, but if you’re not a local I advise letting Siri guide you—the lane changes coming from downtown are not obvious and the surroundings are sketchy. Plenty of parking during the day; quick pat-down and ID check by the doorman prior to entry. At 3:30 pm, no cover and no charge to park. I tipped the door guy mainly because he was watching the parking lot.

Once inside, the club seemed larger than it looked from the outside and dark enough (or, maybe, with enough dark corners) that the crowd seemed sparse compared to the number of cars outside. Walked to the right past the front bar and followed the sign to the Men’s Room. During the first walk-by, I noted a few dancers congregated at the front and back bars, DJ playing hip-hop, with an empty stage. I’d guess there were 7-10 dancers around the club, all AA, mainly curvy and attractive, but it was hard to pin down the range with few of them circulating.

Proceeded to the back bar, and a dancer pointed to the open barstool next to her and said, “sit here, it’s much better.” She was right—after being ignored previously at Tattletale, a little customer service was appreciated. The girl who had reeled me in was a mahogany-skinned beauty with bleached blonde hair and a great smile. Told me she emigrated to the U.S. from Nigeria at age 6, but personality-wise she was 100% Georgia Peach. Bought drinks for both of us. My new blond friend was funny and charming, accentuated by skilled use of hands. At her suggestion, we moved to a high-top table near the bar and she began to dance. Goldrush table dances are $10/song, and she provided good contact (not quite Follies-style, but way better than an air dance at Cheetah). Thanks to Shadowcat’s advice I asked Blondie to count songs as we went along—there was no way I could tell when one track of hip-hop crap ended and another began. Her high-value dances and our conversation ended with an exchange of digits and my appreciation for a fine first visit.