Las Vegas Weekly

April 2, 2009 · 8:38 AM

Ready for a great stripper story? Duck!

By Justice

Illustration: Justice

I have a male friend who has better strip club stories than I do. There was the time when he bought a lap dance and the stripper took her top off to reveal a boob job so fresh, she still had the surgical bandages on them. Some people are brave enough not to fear infection from rubbing thinly veiled wounds against countless, random, diseased men after undergoing surgery. Anyway, my friend has a great story about being at a strip club during a shooting, and about a stripper he met that night who he later ran into again after she gained 50 pounds. He even has a story about the first time we met, at a strip club, when I was in a devil costume complete with red sequin horns. I’d say my favorite story of his was the one about meeting up with a stripper after her shift ended.

I’d estimate that about 90 percent of customers ask me if they can meet me outside of work. Taking the stripper out of the strip club is the ultimate dream come true. Besides the rare as a unicorn exception, this sort of thing doesn’t happen. I haven’t done extensive research on the topic, though. It could be a lot more common than I suspect. There is that dreaded recession going around after all. Many strippers are expanding their boundaries and orifices to make up for lost cash.

“What time are you off?” customers ask incessantly. “NEVER!” I want to say after the thousandth time I’m asked in a night. Or rather, “It shouldn’t matter to you because I don’t want to go party with you. Ever. This connection you think we have, it’s fake. It’s rehearsed. Let it go.”

So my friend asked this stripper if she wanted to meet up with him after work. Apparently she did, because he soon found himself outside of a nearby casino waiting for her to meet him for breakfast. She actually showed up. He was struck by her drastically different appearance in the harsh morning sunlight. Her feet were the most remarkable thing. She was not just much, much older than he realized. Her feet were mangled. She wore sandals that revealed thick discolored toenails and gnarled toes that he hadn’t noticed when her naked breasts distracted him in the forgiving dimness of the strip club. Diminished standards after a few too many drinks are also partially to blame.

After breakfast, she invited him back to her place. At her squalid apartment there were her two (grand?)children and a pair of stoned adults who hung around as makeshift babysitters. I have to probe my friend hard for descriptions. “What did she look like?” I ask. “I dunno. Like an old white lady.” Nothing about long hair or short hair. Nothing about height or weight. Not a whole lot about the old white lady’s dwelling. I imagine the apartment was furnished with lumpy previously discarded and stained avocado colored couches. Maybe certain parts were damp and sticky from spilled artificial fruit flavored soda. There were dusty orange Cheetos lost in the crevices of this make-believe couch. The air was probably saturated with the smell of pot smoke and unwashed dishes and dirty children’s hair. Stacks of junk mail, cheap children’s toys and DVD’s litter the cramped space in my imagination. I won’t even describe the grimy imaginary bathroom.

He sat on the couch as the kids climbed all over him and called him “Daddy.” The old stripper never made any attempt to stifle their energetic display of excitement and affection for their new momentary daddy. Why he was still in there is beyond me.

There is more.

Being the incredible parent that she is, she decided that it would be fun if she took her kids to the park with my friend and a complete stranger to her, the man of infinite strip club stories. Fully prepared with a loaf of bread, the happy dysfunctional family went to the park and fed the ducks.

I like ducks. I used to ball up pieces of bread and peg them in the head when they congregated at my edge of the pond to be fed. It’s funny how quickly they rush over to you when you have food. Much like strippers to the person with dollar bills.

Anyway, instead of an erotic and passionate escapade, my friend found himself involved in a very strange and uncomfortable situation with a very ugly woman. So remember, inside the club strippers are a hot fantasy eager to fulfill your desires. Outside the club, we are older than your mom, we have truckloads of annoying children, and we’re just plain crazy.

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