Lessons from a Strip Club

I visited a Russian strip club.

Every girl should visit one and visit once.

The streets outside the club were lit with neon loud signs; the noise decibel level hit 7
with bawdy tourists staggering around.

There were open bars with girls in skimpy shorts, low cut tops and boots gravitating on poles on narrow bar counters. They weren’t very pretty, bodies punctured with cellulite, rolls of fat spilling.

Still, backpackers and holiday merry makers both male and female sit around the bar counters. More for the boisterous atmosphere rather than for the visual enjoyment as the girls half halfheartedly rub against the pole.

You did not need to pay to enter as it is open air with no entrances. Multiple bars operate within this big sheltered compound; it resembles rows of jackpot machines in a casino. You could almost hear the cash register ringing like the jackpot machines.

Out on the streets, male touts wave menu cards in your face while the female touts gently tug at your sleeves. They all want you to visit their bar for the sleazy acts.

Some of the 2 storey shop houses have window displays where Caucasians wearing masquerade masks swinging around a pole. One hand clenched around the pole, dressed in lingerie and standing on a plate that rotates automatically, they are moving signboards for the strip clubs on second floor. Most of them aren’t sucking in enough.

The boys knew where to go. They had done a site recee the night before and they’re back again tonight with a nosy female in tow.

We ascended a spiraling stone staircase and Moulin Rouge greeted me. The bouncers were straight faced and in black suits. Stepping into the club, the decibel levels immediately dropped to 3. Classy, quiet, sexy, a rectangular stage took center with 2 poles erected (pun not intended) and 2 Russians hanging upside down, topless and legs spread wide.

Counter stools occupied the circumference of the stage, that’s where I first sat. Propped on my elbows, my eye level was at their ridiculously 10 inch stripper heels.

Surprisingly and ironically, such heels are one of the weapons of a beauty queen.

I looked up in awe and admiration as they do the spins, twirls and acrobatic moves. Their bodies were extremely fit and toned, putting most women and even men to shame. I felt a tinge of pity. These girls could be super models instead of hawking their bits.

The stripper’s bra fell to the stage floor in front of me; I almost caught a whiff of it as it swooshed down. The boys started nudging me and signaled me to move to the plush velvet cushion seats with tables behind. “The girls wouldn’t come if you’re seated here,” they whispered.

I gather they are regulars at strip clubs.

I did a quick sweep around the club that is a little bigger than a classroom for 50. Mostly Caucasian men, we were the only Asian customers. There was one couple at a corner, the girlfriend was sulking away. Drinks are reasonably priced, starting at SGD 8 with soda water at $4. You can sit as long as you want and watch the pole dancers. Sit at the stage however, if that’s all you want to pay. If you move to the plush seats, the strippers will come to you in a steady flow and shimmy 30 seconds each, hoping to get a private client. It is polite to then tip a standard $4 each time.

I watch my friends’ pupils dilate as the strippers nudge their legs open and placed one knee in between. They placed their cold hands on their shoulders and do sensual body waves, tantalizing the men. The men are not allowed to touch.

We then started discussing about the girls, out loud. Compliments like their smooth skin, good shape and sensual moves, some girls smiled in acknowledgement, some remained expressionless. Bitchy comments like cellulite, cold fish, pushy, and rough skin were whispered behind their backs. On hindsight, I felt guilty participating in an activity that degrades women.

However, at that moment, i didn't feel so. I reeled in the atmosphere, observed the environment and participated in slapping those butt cheeks, squeezing those soft silicon breasts and slipping money notes in bras.

The girls started making their rounds. A younger Victoria Beckham look-alike sauntered towards our booth.

 The boys excitedly pointed their finger towards me with a large grin. She smiled and i shyly waved "hello". She nudged my legs open, knelt one knee in between and started her dance moves. I laughed awkwardly, i didn't know what to do or where to place my hands! So my friend helped me out. He whispered to the performer and asked if i could touch her (men are not allowed to touch in the public area). She shrugged and said ok, and i giggled some more, still unsure.

Perhaps X wanted to touch her but because he couldn't, i became his puppet. While she was continually undulating her hips and dancing erotically, i had my hands touching her body, slowly drawing my fingers up and down her spine. I thought that would be nice for her.

Her skin felt AMAZING. An olive bronze skin, there were no bumps but only smooth skin. I got a little bolder with my friends egging me on, i cupped her breasts that were at my eye-level and gently squeezed.

A nice cup B, it was soft yet i could feel the tear shape of a silicon bag inside.

We discussed about her out loud, from the reports i gave (as i was the only one allowed to touch her). We said she was flawless, we said she was gorgeous, i blurted out "She could be a SUPERMODEL!" countless times.

On hindsight, that was insensitive of me reminding her of her plight (or is it a choice? we really don't know.) We did treat her like a piece of meat.

Lesson один
We named Beckham lookalike Yvet Lana, which my Asian tongue would have difficulty pronouncing, calling her Sweat Lana.

I profusely exclaimed out loud how smooth and incredible her skin is to my friends who can see but not touch. X animatedly nods and said, "This is what you girls feel like to us!"

I self consciously stroked my arm and made a mental note to moisturize religiously.

I stuffed the 100 baht into her padded bra and gave her perky ass a light smack as she walked away, i behaved like a man would.

The subsequent girls who came did not have skin as smooth as Lana. I could feel the dimples of cellulite on some, one felt clammy.

Lesson два 
Lana was the prettiest of the lot, also one of the most easy-going (allowing me to touch in public whilst the others didn't, requesting me to book them private) but she was a cold fish. Entered the Israeli who looked like a Brazilian supermodel who didn't look quite as hot as Lana (an 8/10 nonetheless) but her enthusiasm in conversing with you, making sure you have a sensual time made her a winner. I learnt that a face may launch a thousand ships but a character as cold as a fish turns away a thousand fleets.


Lesson три

All had pretty much the same sensual dance moves, but 1 in particular made all of us stand up (figuratively for the men). She wore a fitting neon green bikini that when she came close enough for me to whiff her stickily sweet strawberry scent, my eyes swim with psychedelic effect. She moved her body like a snake and what took us by surprise was she suddenly lifted one leg up and rested it above my shoulder! We all went "whoa..."

Heels like that could have blinded me.

She had Cup A breasts, an uncommon trait of a stripper. Yet despite not having melons, her body work was skillful enough to make you captivated.

She pushed her cup cakes close to my face (anything this close to your face suddenly looks big) before doing a slow body roll.

This is a body roll by the way, except this girl is jerking too much like she has spasm. Most videos found on Youtube are nothing like what's in the strip club.

Small is big. An important lesson learnt was girls shouldn't need to feel inadequate even if a cup A. Too many girls these days are going for plastic surgery because its affordable, easily available and on an increasing trend to acceptance. Echoed by many men, they all too agree that a natural A is better than a fake C. If you have it, flaunt it. Whether it's A, B or C.


Lesson четыре
We all got a private dance at the stroke of twelve. Curious to know what's it like, i chose Svet Lana.

Entering a small booth drawn by curtains, a Madam entered the room demanding payment before Lana would come dance. The Madam was a blonde petite mature woman with sharp features. She was pretty and dressed like a dominatrix. A pressed smart long sleeved fitted white shirt with a high waisted leather skirt. She too, reeks of sex but was very hard nosed and business driven. She bossed the girls
around and held a clipboard of a wait list.


It was a transactional experience. The Madam came in and demanded payment with outstretched hands. There was no "making sure you're comfortable, seat you down, serve you drinks" treatment. Every minute was money. I nervously asked, "what can i do or not do?" She curtly stopped me in mid-question pursed her lips and said fiercely, "Don't ask me OK. I don't know, ask the girl!"

She danced like she did outside except i had full reign of her body.

Everyone can make out with the dancers they chose and perhaps could have asked for more if you paid more. We came out giving minority reports.

I made small talk with Lana and found out she is 20. I told her i am straight, but i doubt she understood me. I found my answer to the laws of attraction that night; once a woman gives herself so easily and freely, one would very quickly lose interest.

We left the Russian strip club the moment the song to the private dance faded.