I had a conversation with my pal Kris and indulged in some details regarding my adventures in and around Windsor. Kris was so terrified and repulsed by these tales that he immediately initiated steamy cybersex and told me to put the stories in the blog. Well, actually, he told Adam, who repeated it to me very slowly because I'm Serbian and words hurt my thinking place. So anyways, here I am now, about to take a verbal shit on the front page for you all to enjoy.
All this shit started last Halloween. My friend and I were ridiculously fucked up on a bottle of vodka, after which we proceeded to terrorize my campus and whip out our balls while yelling at the girls' dormitory, hoping to attract an audience and maybe get laid because everyone knows public nudity inspires nymphomaniac tendencies in stressed out, tired university chicks. After that failed miserably, we decided to lay our asses down on the pedestrian overpass on Huron and figure out a plan b. After some consideration - but mostly talking about how "awesome" it was to whip out our "shit" in public - I spotted a purplish neon sign in the distance. Instantly I remembered that I live on the rim of Windsor's asshole and that the vicinity is filled with seedy joints, so I suggested what any hot-blooded eighteen-year-old foreigner would: strip club. I have to admit, the actual walk to the strip club was crazier than the place itself. Seriously, it's a fucking straight path, you don't even need to cross the street, and we still got lost three times. My friend took a sudden turn right into this tiny, tiny wooded park area, stopped dead in his tracks, got freaked out and started yelling "WHERE THE FUCK DID THESE WOODS COME FROM!?" I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him approximately three feet back before he realized the "woods" were four trees along a semi-truck infested highway. Sweet. Anyways, we finally made it to the parking lot of the strip club, where we went to the front entrance, only to find out it wasn't an actual door. This doesn't make sense sober, let alone drunk, so you can imagine that we spent about twenty minutes trying to figure out this mystery while grunting and pawing the door with our monkey knuckles, like a scene out of
2001: A Space Odyssey. Finally, we decided there MUST be a door SOMEWHERE, so we went around. Sure enough, we found a door and a bench right beside it. We decided to sit down and have a smoke, you know, pull our shit together before entering a strip club and risk getting thrown out and looking like a bunch of douchebags in front of naked women.
Not THIS time, Jack, I thought to myself. So, somehow, this "planning" turned into "just smoking" with a side of "shutting the hell up" when suddenly, the door burst open and five people walked out. I remember one individual, a lanky black guy with a red hoody and ridiculously baggy pants, and two girls, both wearing flamboyant colors. The other two I don't recall. The black guy spun in the spot and viciously dug into his pocket. I'm assuming he was spazzing out, trying to find his lighter because he was experiencing nicotine withdrawal. Finally, he gave up and walked over to me. "Hey, yo, you got a light, man?" Yeah bro, I said. He lit the cigarette, calmed waaaay the fuck down, took like 4 puffs and threw the thing away. Meanwhile, my friend was talking to one of the girls. "So, uhh," he stalled, checking out her suggestive attire, "are you a dancer?" "No," she said, "I just like to dress this way." In retrospect, I think she might've been sarcastic. "Hey, yo, you guys from 'round here?" the black guy chimed and I said yeah, just up the street. So he goes "hey, yo man, cool, but hey, Imma go back inside, come on." My friend and I know an opportunity when we see one, regardless of our stupor. Immediately, we merged into this pack of five and walked right past the bouncer, who assumed we too just came out for a smoke. We were in. We didn't even pay attention to the stage until we sat down. When we checked out the dancer, we were pleasantly surprised. The joint we were at that night was not one with a particularly renowned reputation, so we didn't expect much. The dancer was a petite black girl with full breasts and an ok ass. A bartender walked up behind us and leaned in to talk to us over the music. I only noticed her after she was an inch from us and immediately saw that she was topless. It was topless waitress night, and this lady had knockers like Mt. Everest, so I was a little giddy to see them. But I knew better: eye contact over breast contact, don't look like a dickhead or they'll weed you out. My friend and I ordered two Buds and when she left, we totally high-fived. A new dancer came up, and her dancing was very bland. She looked like she was forced to be up there, but she didn't look too bad. When she came up to us, I gave her a sympathetic smile and nodded my head to say hi. She smiled back and that was it. I started soaking up the atmosphere, when suddenly someone grabbed my shoulder. It was the girl that was just dancing. Apparently, I was her best friend at that moment and she offered a lapdance. By that I mean she offered a lapdance for 20 dollars, obviously. So I went to the VIP room and, not knowing the rules, when the dance kicked in I pulled a few "foul" moves such as feeling her up and exploring further south. I had no idea at the time, but when we were done, she told me she has been working there for three days. Tip number one: the newer they are, the more you can get away with. I'm not condoning rape or anything, it's just that older strippers are grumpier and cockier. Really, if they're already rubbing their moist crotch on your bulge, how bad can it be to touch their tits? Anyways, considering this was an unplanned trip, we were out of money in a matter of minutes, so we called it a night. But we came back very soon, with more confidence and less vodka, and we started chatting with the ladies during smoke breaks. I was talking with one about a problem I had with a certain employee the last time (a whole different story, totally not in the mood to type it) and asked her if she thinks 20 dollars would be enough to make the bitch happy for whatever inconvenience I might have caused. The girl went "fuck her, man, for 20 bucks I'll give you the best fucking dance ever." We shook on it. I met up with her inside and she took me to the VIP room. There was no one there, since it was the after-after hours (1 am to 2 am), so she pulled me off to a secluded corner and sat me down. She started stripping and suddenly did something I call the "leap of faith". Basically, what this is is a dancer falling on top of you, pretending it was an accident, just to hint to you that touching is allowed. The principle basically lies in the fact that she already made full contact with you by squirming on top of you. You know they did this because, generally, they will say "oooops" in a sarcastic tone. Showtime. My hands were like fucking sex spiders for the next ten minutes, and when we finally finished, we were back to platonic acquaintances. I love strip clubs for this reason alone. I fucking hate romance.
The Cassanova Syndrome
Guys love being smooth. They love it because it gets them sex. What they don't take into account is the long-term process called dating, so they're inadvertently drawn into it unbeknownst of the consequences that are to follow. To truly be a lover, you have to love. Cassanova was an asshole, just like me. I oppose dating because it's a social structure built on bullshit, so if I wanna get laid, I have to butter that shit like it's Thanksgiving. And trust me, it's better this way. Unlike most assholes, I refuse to date to protect
your feelings. I don't really love you, so I don't want to pretend I do just to break your heart two or three months later. Sure you're hot, sure you're funny, yeah we can be friends. But do I want to cuddle with you and whisper sweet nothings into your ear? Probably not.
Anyways, I'm back in the main room and my friends Pooner and E are hanging out at the stageside, with my other friend from last time missing. "Where is he," I go, and Pooner points to the VIP. I swear I didn't see him come in...so we waited for 45 FUCKING MINUTES before he came strolling out. I walk up to him and go "Bro, what the hell, did you get a blowjob or something?" His eyes widen and he goes "Shht!!" Oh...he did. Oops.
The Shit List
- Feeling up: slap on the wrist, usually from the stripper.
- Kissing: same, unless the stripper DIDN'T want to, in which case it warrants an ass-beating from the bouncer.
- Fingering: emergency procedure; sanitizing gel must be applied on hands as soon as the bouncer is seen approaching.
- Blowjob: how the FUCK did you manage that?
It turns out that not only did my friend finger her, but he fingered her butthole as well. (To the people I know personally: don't try to guess which friend I'm talking about, as I'm sure who your first pick would be. Trust me, you may well be wrong.)
On the way home, it turns out that my buddy paid the stripper with joints...three to be exact. A joint is five dollars, a lapdance is 20. Three joints are 15 dollars all together...a lapdance is 20! Do you see the genius? Weed is more valuable than 20 dollars because weed is weed. Even with five bucks a piece, it still saves you the trouble of buying it yourself, according to the strippers, which means my friend got 45 minutes worth of lapdances for 3 joints. Math time: let's say the average song is 5 minutes. That's actually fairly long for a normal dance song, but let's say it's like that. A dance goes as long as the song, so 45 divided by 5 is 9 lapdances. NINE. FUCKING. LAPDANCES. FOR 15 DOLLARS. My friend is officially a genius. This was a good night, as all of us got sweet lapdances. Well, not Pooner, but I bought one for E and it was a GORGEOUS black girl with AMAZING tatters. I swear, I pulled out the money to get a lapdance for myself until I saw E salivating, so I took one for the team and got my hombre some grade A beef. I was totally proud of that, by the way.
Anyways, we ended up frequenting this place with different people. Over time, my friend made friends with his favorite dancers, I made friends with mine. One night, my friend went into the VIP room again, and again stayed for a good half hour. This time, I think he paid for most of it, but it was cool because the lady was a MILF, exotic, and as far as dancers go, very liberal with the touchy feely. She wasn't new either, she was just nice. In fact, she was a veteran in that place. My buddy spoke nothing but praises of her, so one day when I went there with another friend, I saw her walking around. She was fully clothed and looked like she was about to leave. Now, seeing a sexy woman with her clothes on is more natural than the dancers - more flirty, less I-want-your-money - so I was more aroused by her than the lady on stage, plus she had a good reputation. God, you know you're a fucking horndog when you actually REMEMBER the strippers. What's even worse, I know her name is Georgette. If it makes you happy, she'll call you Papi. She will do everything to you. It's actually scary unless you're drunk. She'll make out with you, let you feel up, dry-fuck (which is awkward, but if it's after-after hours and the room is empty, it doesn't phase you that you're looking at yourself in the mirror dry-fucking this lady from the back) and even discuss a "price".
The Price
- 50 dollars for a blowjob. The sooner you cum, the more money you get back.
- Sex is not an option. It's an upgrade, and the cost is your skill. If they like you they'll fuck you.
- If sex IS an option, the price is custom.
- Georgette will fuck you if you have nice eyes and/or a nice ass. I have both. Score.
-None of this happens in the actual club itself. Bring a car.
I should probably mention something. If you're American or just don't know Canada well, "prostitution" is not illegal here, or at least Windsor. In fact we can have up to 9 rub-n-tugs, but they cost up the ass. (Circa 300 dollars for a "release")
In the long run, 50 bucks is not bad for a blowjob and possible sex, especially if you're from small towns where dating is mandatory for sex. Fortunately, I have enough hookups that I've gathered over the years who will suck my chode for free, so if The Price is discussed, I always try to smarm the dancers into a favour fuck because I'm cool like that. The dancers are probably no dirtier than any other girl in Windsor/Detroit since my uni is notorious for harboring adult starlets who will make a PORNO for 50 bucks. Talk about irony. Anyways, eventually, we decided to try out new clubs. There was one that had a cover charge. No thanks. Another was big and shiny, but we came too late and there was literally no one there but us, a few pigly dancers, a dickhead bartender and a stanky bouncer. So I ended up stealing a large mug and gave it to my friend as a thank you for spotting me a twenty-fiver. Then there was the granddaddy of strip clubs. In here, the girls were topnotch, plus they went around giving free table dances and a shot to everyone in the room. The only drawback was the less-than-private VIP room which you get used to after a while. My friend and I met a really cool dancer who gave us free dances because "we were funny." Really, she just asked to dance on both of us at the same time (something my friend and I have done before...no homo) because she's never done it and I guess she had so much fun that she didn't charge us. But she's a bright, energetic girl and definitely our favorite. Awesome belly dancer, too, and she had good taste in music. (She got pissed off at all the Soulja Boy and started shouting System of a Down.) She put a bra on my head and I fell in love. In fact, my friend and I are going back there on the 24th to say bye cuz she's moving away, which breaks my heart. Anyways, that was the last time I visited a strip joint, because I haven't had time to so much as enjoy a beer, let alone spend upwards to a 150 bucks on girls. But soon, my exams will be done and I'm off to prowl again. Anyone wanna tag along?
Point of the story: Enjoy your fucking life people. And guys, if girls are giving you trouble and asking too much while giving to little, remember, you can get the same deal for 20 bucks that you usually get for a pearl necklace. Consequently, girls, if your boyfriends are fat, disgusting slobs who eat pizza and jack off into socks all the time, you can always go to Danny's. Or my house, yeah?
Love,
The Windsor Crew
Busy P- Chop SueyMickey Avalon- Mr. RightAdam Sky & Mark Stewart- We
Are All Prostitutes (Crookers Remix)
