Having wrapped up my visit to Kittens, I decided to turn the day into a mini strip club tour. What better way to wrap up a day at Kittens than to go to discount Kittens. So up the I-5 to Aurora for Sugars I went. And it might have been some low-key fun if I hadn’t run into scammer Barbie.
I got out of Kittens around 5 and made it to that fucking paint store by 5:30. It took half an hour because of my little side detour to an old bikini shack fave Chickalatte Aurora for some shitty coffee and a view. Tats Heather is closing up the place as I swing by. Seattle veterans will recall that she strips on weekday evenings at Pandoras. She’s a class act as long as you’re into tats. Saying she likes tats is like saying that a fish likes water. Understatement of the fucking century.
Duck in. Usual swarm of traffic. Cover is collected and I take a seat. Club is fucking dead. I’m the only patron. No strippers in sight. At a strip club. On a weekend. At 5:30 in the fucking evening. This club gets more dead every time I go. Now in my last irony laden review of this place, I half jokingly noted that the lack of patrons improves the negotiating landscape. In all seriousness, though, there’s no way this is sustainable. Sugars is dying. It generated some interest when it first opened but the mongers have all gone back to their old haunts they knew and loved before Sugars opened. Sugars opened into a already crowded market place and never found the niche it needed. At least Dancing Bare had its ‘thing.’ It might have been the most downmarket club in town but that’s what made it unique. As far as Sugars is concerned, why go to the discount Kittens when you can go to the real one? For the guys out there looking to complete their Seattle club lineup, I’d recommend going now, because one day soon it’ll probably go the way of its predecessor.
The DJ ducks into the stripper room to alert the only stripper in the club a patron has finally showed up. By the looks of it, I’m probably the first guy to have shown up in hours. I’m intrigued by the mystery stripper behind the curtain, but as she comes out I see it’s…Barbie. Fuck. Me. Anyone who read my last review of this place knows I’m not a fan off this bitch. She’s basically the ultimate generic carbon copy stripper. Fake tits, fake laugh, Kittens worthy trademark hustle only without the IG model tier looks, boring lap dances, fake as fuck stripper alias ( yeah, and my name is fucking Casanova…Barbie). Nothing exceptional in a good or bad way from my previous experience but I was about to find out she’s a bitch in her own league. Well, her and few of those other industrious practitioners of the Enron school of business ethics from the lovely establishment I just came from. Allow me to illuminate you.
Let me back up for a second. While inside the only partially remodeled men’s room (did the check for the contractor bounce?), the voice of the DJ blasts out, bombastically announcing an upcoming stage dance will be occurring at Sugars, which is “world famous” apparently. Can barely contain his excitement seeing as, you know, he’s had nothing to do all afternoon. He’s literally talking to himself, as I’m the only patron and am currently…occupied. This is just getting sad.
Heading back to my seat on couch by the stage, Barbie makes her appearance out of the strippers room. Cue the song. She hops on stage. Toss a five just because. I’m planning to make an exit soon. If it was a stripper I was actually interested in I might have thought about sticking around. This is when two things happen. The first is that stripper number two makes an appearance from the stripper room. So there was more than one after all. She’s a thick AA with a fat ass and a nice rack. All natural from what I can see from afar. Settles down on the left hand far side couch. A glance is exchanged but she’s not heading over for the sell…yet. A minute later the second thing happens. Stripper number three makes her appearance through the club entrance. Tall white brunette. Definitely easy on the eyes. Just showing up. Still in the street clothes. One guy. Three strippers. Not bad odds for some quality LDA action. I’ll stay put…for now.
What happened next can mostly be chalked up to bad timing. The song ends and it’s thick AAs turn on stage. Tall brunette is still getting ready. So it’s Barbie who gets to make the first sell. Heads my way and sets her ass down. Makes the standard sales pitch. A little unintended comedy ensues. See, the bitch has forgotten the little fun we had last time. She goes for the trademark opening line (“Hey baby, first time here?”). I was fondling this sluts ass and tits less than a month before. Can’t blame her for not remembering though. I’m sure after twerking on perv monger’s , uh, laps…amongst other places, all day, it all starts to blur together.
Her hustle is straight from the how-to manual for generic strippers. The opening line (“first time?”), the appeal to ego (“you’re so handsome”), the bullshit mid-way act convo (“just working my way through school…got to pay those bills some how so here I am”). Being a 95th SAT percentiler I can’t claim to know much about the go-to destination for high school flunki-I mean our nations esteemed community college system. I’m sure lovely miss Barbie will a great future though scraping plaque off teeth- I mean dental assisting-or whatever career pathway you get at a ‘junior’ college. Final act happens (“dance baby?”). Well what the hell. I’m intrigued by the thick AA but I can go for a forty dollar appetizer I guess. In retrospect I should have just gone for the main course.
Back to the LDA we go. Lights, panty drop, and…action (of the fondling kind). The bra dropped before the song started (that will be an important detail later). It ends up being a whatever dance. A little hand roaming, but she’s checking it harder than before. I’m sensing a little attitude. Again, something that will be important down the road. She’s getting in a little twerking. Yada, yada, yada…you know the drill. Song wraps and it’s time to fork over the dinero. That’s when the scam fest starts. It turns out because of the pre-song bra drop (we agreed to wait for the next song), I “owe” her an additional twenty. Oh, and the hand roaming apparently made this a “special” dance so she needs a twenty tip on top of the (now) sixty. The forty agreed on just doubled to eighty. What a fucking low-rent scamming whore. I move to shut this bitch down (“we agreed on 40. That’s all I’m paying”). She launches into a tirade about how she “owns” the club. She’s using metaphor, obviously. I’m just a “customer” who has to abide by her “rules.” I need to pay what I “owe” her. Yeah bitch, I’ll fork over double what we agreed on when I’m six feet buried in the grave. Now get the fuck off me. Pro-tip to future Sugars patrons:avoid this scamming bitch like the plague.
Haven shaken her off (yeah I didn’t pay a cent more than 40), I decide to head out. Thick AA is sitting on the couch by the LDA stairs and flags me down as I walk by (“hey babe”). The hustle is going hard, as I’m still the only patron in the whole fucking club . Should I? After the bull shit that just went down probably not-oh what the hell. Yeah, let’s fucking go to the LDA honey. An agreement is reached on menu and pricing. Full panty drop and hand roaming. 40. I’m not planning on staying much longer but I need a good lap dance to wipe away the aftertaste of Miss Scammer, who’s retreated to a couch near the stage where stripper three is working pole moves for some reason (it’s not like there’s anyone to watch honey).
Back in the LDA, she does a pre-song bra drop (deja vu, but second times the charm?). Cue the song. Lap twerking with panties on. Shoves the rack in my face. Some nice top goods fondling. Now the panty drop. That fat ass is making this worth it. Free hand roaming. Some of the better fondling action I’ve gotten in awhile. Song ends. Stick around for a second and shove the 40 in her thong. One final ass slap. The perfect antidote to scammer whore.
I hit the exit. It’s 6:20. Almost an hour spent in the nest of vipers. My days of roaming are over for now. I’ll be sticking with the old watering hole. Pandoras might be boring on occasion, but I prefer safety over the two kitten and sugar wild cards I just flipped. I might reevaluate in half a year. I doubt Sugars will be around anymore by then. For the Seattle mongers planning on going while they still can though, a word to the wise: avoid a certain hustler of the barbie variety.
