Human Sex Strip Club

Strip club

The all-nude strip club: a symbolism of further social progression into man hood. Many guys my age does it and many make it appoint to make a memory of it. When I first was presented the opportunity to go to a "titty-bar", I couldn't necessarily turn it down right away. See, my friends had already been well familiar with the idea, being that everyone was always couple years older than me, so I personally didn't know what to expect out of the situation. I am not known to be the least bit of a shy person, but the idea of being in an environment in which every women persistently tries to seduce every stinky sweaty Mexican that walks passed them, makes me uncomfortable. On top of that, I wasn't aware of the unwritten rules of this so called "sanction", or how to even pick up these dancers and talk to them. But against all my morality and integrity, I still acted like I was more than willing to go.

When I first walked into the Jaguars Strip Club I was definitely out of my element. At first, bombarded by pounding electro music and bright lights was expected, but it was as if all social construct and mannerisms were obliged. A stereo typical "horn dog" male, could act out just as the name suited to them. When I notice one of my friends leaves for a private dance, it really hits me as I absorb that I am actually in a strip club. Drinking my beer I observe my setting and slowly adjust to all the naked women around me; throwing dollar bills here and there at the dancers feet. Fifteen minutes later my friend comes back, giving a facial gesture implying only that he got more than a simple seductive dance. I look over to feel a hot girl dressed in a school girl uniform sit on my lap and ask me for a dance. I nod my head, and trail behind her to the dark corner of a huge back room. As the song plays on she continues to tell me the prices for dances. I, having the seemingly only response of shock and objection in the room interrupt and for reassurance ask if dances are the only thing she is implying. Chuckling and rubbing my chest as if just flattered by a firm breasted super hero, she casually replies, "Of course, 130 for oral and 250 for everything." I pay for my dance, and exit the room. Giving the same face my friend gave me, I enter back to the dance floor and take my seat. Staring into my 7th or 8th empty bottle of Dos Equis Light Beer, I find