My, my, my Delilah!

I thought about venturing out to some of the other Houston establishments I haven’t been to in a while, but honestly, it’s hard to beat the privacy of the private dance rooms here. For the unfamiliar: they’re basically large walk-in closets, with the dancer blocking the doorway with a chair. I took a friendly, upbeat Colombian for a few songs. She spoke mostly Spanish, but was a pleasant enough conversationalist to where I didn’t mind the supplementary Google Translate. She was thin, with natural b-c boobs. Very nice. Additionally nice, mileage was good with some teasing pecks on the neck and a bit of stick-shifting.

Another reason why this is my club of choice is that it has a unique flavor. A dancer named Delilah came on the main stage and the DJ played, what else but Delilah by Tom Jones. It was a fun, put your drink in the air and sing along kind of moment. One of the more animated regular whales on the rail got up and started jovially shadow dancing along.

Which brings up a downside of Saturday nights at The Church, depending on which side of the socio-economic fence you find yourself on. This was at least the 2nd Saturday I’ve witnessed, where a group of old dogs will come in and book out the rail, bogart the best dancers for each of themselves, and make it rain. I tipped a nice Latina dancer named Faith on a side stage, hoping to get her to come over for some dances afterward. The amount I tipped was laughable, compared to one of those old dogs who came and dropped a brick of singles on her. She spent the rest of the night on his arm. C'est la guerre. Who knows though, I may have been in the presence of his holiness, the great Reverend Horny Bastard himself!?