Strip Club Epiphanies III - Final Chapter

The stage is set, the announcement has been made . . ."Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to Legs, . . . . Little Sisters !"

[I know, the place is called 'Legs.' How ironic is that?]

Cue music ". . . He met Marmalade down in old New Orleans . . ."

And onto the stage they strutted. Wow.

Pristine white mini Las Vegas showgirl outfits. It took only an instant for our eyes to travel the whole yard (I may be exagerating) from the tips of their feathered headdresses all the past the g-strings and down to the tiny spike heels, but there's no way you can take it all in.

The crowd around the stage cheered and watch and stared and gave their "O" faces.

Little did most of them know, that "Today individuals with short stature generally prefer to be described as 'Dwarfs' or 'Little People.' However, it is more important to respect the human choice, and ask them their preference, or better yet, just use their name. The term midget is very offensive and no longer used."

So, if you would like more information about this topic visit Little People Online.

Many will ask, so I'll try to relate, there are two categories of Dwarfism: Proportionate and Disproportionate. These women were mostly proportionate but had some difficulty with graceful movement. And though they didn't walk fluidly, boy could they crawl and strut and vibrate around the stage.

Each took a position at opposite ends of the oval stage and worked their respective crowds. One of them (the woman nearest me) would approach those sitting by the stage and indicate you should put your bill in your mouth, then she would push her, um, Little Debbie's together with her hands to take the dollar bill from your face. She'd then move to another person, letting the dollar bill flutter to the stage floor - apparently forgotten.

I had to show my appreciation, so as soon as a chair by the stage opened up, I swooped in and sat down. So there I am watching, spellbound, these women who on a raised platform are only slightly taller than I am with my knees at stage level.

But still, I'm watching their faces and what they do. The little person at my end of the stage really did seem to be enjoying herself. She smiled and moved from person to person and lavished attention on everyone who came to the show and there appeared to be a light of mischief in her eyes.

I get the impression that she is a very nice person.

But of course who knows? When she turned away from the crowd, she could've gone to that mental grocery list place. Yes, she was THAT good. Either she was truly having a wonderful time, OR she was a fantastic actress. More so of an actress than the other woman who simply walked, crawled and jiggled around taking dollar bills.

But as much as I wanted to show my appreciation (and equally as much dreaded the "little debbie" trick), the Little Sister may have sensed that in this meat market, I was a vegetarian. So she never came close enough to take my bill. (Next time I'll wear a hillybilly rock t-shirt!)

But it didn't matter ! It was GAME TIME ! They put their g-strings back on (with only a little difficulty) and wedged a clear plastic Dixie cup down there between string and uhm . . . (how do I put this delicately?) . . . down between string and Brazilian wax and began to gyrate near center stage. Apparently, I was the only one new to this game. Immediately the other patrons began wadding up bills and tried to toss them into the constantly moving Dixie cups. If you got a bill in the cup, you won a picture of the two beauties. So here's my chance to show some appreciation.

Wad, toss then miss. "Okay, I'm done."
(Where for hetero's it's Toss Miss then wad, "Okay I'm done." But I digress.)

One of my friends did make the shot (no pun intended), and she shared her prize photo with the others on the train. They girls looked better in the photo, but unless it's a driver's license, photos - especially promotional - always look better. I mean, heck, look at my Blog photo then look at my haircut photo. Bleh.

Okay, so I'm done. I climbed the mountain - so to speak - and had seen all that I came to see. So back to our table and one more beer.

My apologies for the late arrival of this final missive, but there really was a lot to share. And I do think that if you've never been to a gentleman's club, go. It really was a learning experience - and it gives me a great pool of knowledge from which to draw. It even helps me relate better to some of my commuter friends.

One my earlier epiphanies was that you, the client, mean NOTHING to the jiggling girls. I was talking about this to one of the guys on the train, and he said "Good!" And I'm like, oh. Oh yeah. You're right, it really shouldn't have any sort of emotional commitment or obligation. It's all strictly a mechanically physical thing--pretty much like a video game or pinball.

Insert money, press play = here's money, you jiggle.

ob•jec•ti•fy

Pronunciation: (ub-jek'tu-fī"), [key] —v.t., -fied, -fy•ing.
to present as an object, esp. of sight, touch, or other physical sense; make objective; externalize.

Huh. I guess it really does objectify women. Now, my question is, why do some complain that it's a bad thing? And do we ever here as much about men being objectified? (i.e., sexy firemen calendars, Chippendales, shirtless, chiseled underwear models, and ...wow, is it hot in here?)