I’m going to Europe for eighteen days in September of this year. Before you say “Oh look at money bags over here,” I’ve been saving up for this trip since I graduated college. I’m going by myself which is nice because I don’t have to cater to what anyone else wants to do. I plan on a good mix of history nerd shit and downright partying.
I’ve booked a tour of Versailles, a dinner cruise on the Thames, a viewing of the Sistine Chapel, gondola rides in Venice, and a trip up to the Swiss Alps. I’ve also made a list of the oldest bars I want drink in, the coolest food to eat, and clubs to party at. Which brings me to Paris.
I’m going to tackle Moulin Rougue. Or one of those cabaret shows, for the culture. But to be honest I’m not sure what they are or how to act in them. My knowledge of these performances boils down to short scenes in prohibition era movies. I think they’re just French strip clubs?
I live in an area with a conspicuous amount of strip clubs. There definitely are “strip club guys” out there but I’m certainly not one of them. With that being said, I’m no stranger either.
I have thirty-six cousins on one side of my family. Irish Catholic. Turning eighteen and going to the strip club with your older cousins is a right of passage in my family. My first time stepping foot into one went as expected. Deer caught in headlights. I was overwhelmed and too shy and awkward to buy a dance so I spent most of the time at the stage wasting dollar bills. My cousins waited until, how do I say this, the most tenured performer got to the stage to embarrass the shit out of me. She didn’t look a day over fifty-seven. She came out in pigtails and a little cheerleader outfit. My cousin called her down to earshot and said “It’s my baby cousin’s 18th birthday, can you do something special for him?” Then dropped a stack of money on the stage. Candy strutted over to me and shoved my face under her varsity skirt. She pulled her panties to the side and slimed my face up and down. Her pussy smelled like cigarettes and Japanese cherry blossom. I didn’t move a muscle or utter a word as she rode my face off in front of a bunch of strangers. Completely stone-faced despite overhearing my cousins suppressing laughter and whispering “Stick your tongue out.”
That was just my first encounter.
Through the years random nights the boys and sometimes girls would find ourselves at the local establishment. It’s BYOB and stays open three hours after the bars closed. One time we lost a friend to the VIP section to what felt like an eternity. He walked out like a puppy dog who had just been kicked. When I laughed and asked him how much money he’d lost he kept answering “Leave me alone.” The stripper he went in with came out of the back laughing and pointing him out to other strippers. The entire roster wouldn’t leave him alone for the rest of the night. I’m aware that guys have paid for “extras” before but I never have. My buddy didn’t get any extras that night either, he sure paid for a lesson though.
I’ve also literally lost a friend in a strip club after he got kicked out unbeknownst to us. We were seconds away from calling the cops to see if he got locked up before we found him passed out in a random car with the doors locked. It was a Rumple Minze night. Another time I got punched in the face for going with a dirty old man who slapped a woman’s behind and blamed it on me. Then there was the time my cousin knew a stripper from high school despite being an hour away from where they grew up. I spent the whole night making over/under bets with her about how much money she could get off dudes.
Point being, I know what to expect and how to act in a strip club.
But what of a French cabaret club? Normally I don’t pay much attention to what people think of me but there’s just something about the French. I don’t want to be the reason they have more ammo to prick their noses up and snort at Americans.
Like, can I make it rain? Is it skin or strictly those funny tassels they twirl around with no hands? Should I golf clap or hoot and holler? Can I pull the sweatpants move or is it business men in suits? Can I act like like I’m at the Bada Bing or will Shi Shen have me murdered? I guess there’s really only one way to find out.
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