The Roy’s:Episode Eighteen
May 10th, 2008
Episode Eighteen
… strip club.
Yes, you heard me correctly. Right there in the greater Wausau area. Yes, girls with little to no clothes, dancing on poles while doing unspeakable things to their body for money.
Um, okay you talked me into it.
Like I said, I had never been in or ever had a desire to be in a strip club before. Corralling concubines had never been a real problem of mine, I hadn’t known anyone who had gotten married, and quite simply it was not high on my things I must see in the near future list. But there I was, in ‘the booth’ with absolutely no clue on what was about to transpire. The ‘proprietor’ was a big man in his fifties. I could go on with a tirade of adjectives, but to save time just imagine what the stereotypical owner of a sleaze saloon might look like and I guarantee you’ll be pretty close. He gave me about a thirty minute overview of my duties.
Then the naked girls came.
Now by no stretch of the imagination were naked girls new to me. However, naked girls just standing there talking to me while other naked girls poked and prodded every inch of my personal space was an entirely different story. In fact, it was downright uncomfortable. I mean seriously, how can you not look? It was extremely hard to keep focused; I equate it to winning the lottery after taking a work boot to the nuts, full force.
Hurray!
For the most part it was a sink or swim situation. Like I said before, I was good in ‘the booth’ and this time would be no different. Besides hot, (well most of the time) naked women roaming around everywhere, this club, from a disc jockey’s standpoint anyway, was a little non-traditional. I was more of a glorified MC than anything else; dancers are very particular about what they want to dance to. Although they gave me some leeway eventually, at first they pretty much determined their own set lists and my job was to talk them up as much as possible. You learn quickly not to argue with a dancer. It is a super bad idea.
So talk them up I did.
They must have been awfully surprised that first night. Since I had never been in this situation before, I was also naïve to the often degrading phrases used by the majority of strip club jocks. I am sure they expected to hear something like…
“Gentleman, put your hands together for the rack with the back, and the bod that treats the rod. Please welcome to the stage Miss Brandy Boom Boom and her Triple F treasure chest. Get your wallet out guys; she’s working hard up here to keep you hard down there.”
Instead, I introduced them with a little class. Except for one isolated spray painting incident, if there is one thing I am not, it is disrespectful to women, and this instance was no different. I talked about how beautiful they were, how well they danced, and how their smile lit up the darkness. They raked it in that first night. They loved the new baby faced blued eyed DJ.
Then the real fun began.
The list of girls that became a part of life that winter is long and clouded. Girls with names like Dakota, and Torii, Amy and Sweet Pea, Miss Kitty and Mercedes revolved the door on a weekly basis, each girl with a different act, a different personality, and a different story to tell. I can’t count the number of times I have received a rogue lap dance when I least expected it. They loved having me around and I loved having them. Dancers are a breed of their own; there are a few bad apples as there are anywhere else. But on the whole, most of them are intelligent, hard working, and in my personal opinion usually quite lonely. I feel comfortable making that last statement as I have spent many an hour talking with dancers one on one, the most memorable being early in the summer of what was nineteen-ninety-four when three of them decided to pack me in their car and take me on the road as their personal disc jockey.
I am not worthy.
Now if you’re expecting an orgy story with assorted objects and other substances I will apologize in advance. Although surreal in every aspect, it was one of the most enjoyable two week vacations I have ever taken. These three girls treated me like a prince. They paid for everything. The paid for my hotel, my meals, my travel, and even forced me to go shopping so they could buy me the appropriate outfits. In turn, I talked them up from club to club in what turned out to be a stream of money the likes of which I had never seen before. These girls were pros and it showed. Throw in a guy who owns his booth and everyone goes home happy. I have the fondest memories of these three women. It was an unforgettable experience and although it wasn’t a scene from Caligula, for historical purposes, I will mention that they never wore a thing in the hotel.
Except a smile.
As with many things previous, I eventually started to get bored with the entire venture. I continued to live in Merrill and had not seen ‘the girl’ or the ‘the baby’ for many months. I started feeling an enormous amount of guilt, pain, and general self hatred. One day it got to be too much for me to handle. I couldn’t function, depression had won. So I ran.
I ran so far away.
I went to my Mother’s house, stole her gas card, and hit the road back to cities for a minute, eventually taking a detour that would end up on the border of …
(Stay tuned for Episode Nineteen)
bozz_2006 said:
i bet the girls bought you bitchin’ Members Only jacket. Do you still have it?
May 10th, 2008 at 1:44 pm #
Insert Name said:
How appropriate the word ‘member’ is.
May 10th, 2008 at 1:49 pm #
Zombieslayer said:
A good read.
One of my best friends has been a DJ for several years in Houston’s clubs. Got to know a lot of the girls, and yes, they don’t seem to like wearing clothes. But like anything, it gets old and boring. You’d think at first you’d never get sick of it though.
May 16th, 2008 at 12:06 pm #
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September 3rd, 2008 at 3:05 pm #