Sunday, March 11, 2007

What Happens on the Road.....the 2nd Story

No way I'm telling you the whole story - ever.

But, here's the bottom line of the story: never, ever, ever go to the Champagne Room.

I started out with good intentions. I wandered into the upscale district of the town I was in and found one of my favorite chain restaurants. I treated myself to a really nice meal by myself because it was my birthday that week. Italian. Delicious. Very nice.

And as I wandered outside I noticed the upscale strip club next door. Very upscale.

Here's where temptation stepped in and bit me in the ass. I have behaved lately and havent' been to a club for a year to get dances. Honest. But, high on the lasagna, I started the series of bad choices that night. It went like this: "What's the harm in a couple of dances? It is your birthday this week. Go ahead - treat yourself".

So, I whipped the rental across the street and dropped it off with the valet. By the way, valet parking is my first clue that I shouldn't be there. I'm not a high-roller by any means and this club said high roller all over it. But, foolishly as it turns out, I thought I could control my spending inside. I've done it before in 20 years of going to clubs. I've gone into upscale clubs and kept it to $100. $200 max if I'm having a good night. The trick is to start at the stage, where it costs $1 a dancer, until you know how the club works and who you might want to get a dance or two from.

My thinking: a cover and a beer - $20. Some stage time - $20. A couple of dances @ $20 per song - $40. I'd be out $80 to $100 - I could live with that. No more though, because I've got some heavy expenses right now. Medical stuff. Taxes. Stuff. Keep it in control SCM!

Uh, no. Didn't happen like that. This club totally outmatched me. I was a stone cold rookie in their expert clutches.

Never, ever, ever go to the Champagne Room.

One dancer. One very pretty dancer. Picture Beyonce's identical twin little sister - 21 or so. I'm not talking close to looking like her, I'm talking identical spitting image of her. (the other dancers called her "baby Beyonce" all night.) Picture her sitting on my lap - dancing on my lap. Picture her sexy deep red lipstick in my face. Picture lips that tasted like red velvet and honey.

Okay - stop there. Strippers never kiss you. Never. Never. Okay, maybe a peck or two if she's danced for you before or at the end of a really long time with her. But, generally speaking, strippers do not kiss you.

Except for baby Beyonce. This pretty young sexy dancer kissed me right off the bat. Right on the lips. Oh my God.....

Never, ever, ever go to the Champagne Room. And definitely never ever ever give them your debit card to open a tab there!

But, she kissed me you see. Over and over again. Writhing on my lap, kissing me. (I wont' say where her hands were.....) Kissing me with those luscious tasty lips. Oh my. I lost all my resolve to behave.

"Don't you want to go upstairs with me baby? We can have fun there."

The story stops there, other than to say that 3 hours of delicious kissing and lousy champagne later the debit card made it's way back to me - with the bill.

Not two songs @ $20 each. Not 5 songs. Not 10 songs. 25 songs + the champagne ($150) + big tip for the waitress ($150) plus other stuff I can't even account for:


Crap. Lesson learned. Stay the hell out of the clubs - SCM.

Now, how am I going to cover $1100 gone?

But, even traumatized as I was signing that check, I'm definitely going to remember baby Beyonce. Thank you, dancer.
posted by Semi-Celibate Man @ 5:49 PM | 0 comments


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