Well, that was interesting. Last night on a whim, Rudder and I decided to
visit what Houstonians, whose city is apparently famous for theirs, refer to as
"titty bars". Actually, it was more like a whim and a lot of wine.
had dinner at the Roaring Fork in
Scottsdale, which I'd been wanting to try for some time; they always end up in
articles about the best places to eat in town, and the Western theme sounded
interesting. We started with salmon nachos, with fennel chips, bits of cucumber,
and what they called caviar, but which looked more like the tobiko used in sushi.
(Flying fish eggs, so I suppose it's the same thing.) I had the best salmon I've
had since we were in Alaska, surrounded by chunks of beet (why beets?) and yummy
grilled asparagus. Rudder had a beef tenderloin with whiskey "shellac". The nice
thing was that portions, while not small, were reasonably sized enough to allow
for dessert, respectively creme brulee and pecan pie with toffee and chocolate
toppings. We split a recommended Cabernet Sauvignon, which was entirely to blame
for what happened next.
There's this odd thing about Scottsdale.
It's one of our local high-rent districts, catering to golfing tourists, and has
most of the fancier hotels and restaurants in town. Oddly, the south end of town,
right by the car dealerships (ones like Hummer, BMW, and Jaguar, naturally) and
just noth of ASU, has a lot of strip joints and associated businesses. (Massage
parlors, head shops, lingerie stores...) I've never been in a strip place, and
Rudder, who goes only as part of a bachelor party, has been roughly once in the
seven years we've lived here. On the way home, we decided it was time to satisfy
We went to a new place that was part of the chain he'd
been to once before. To Rudder's surprise, the place was not, technically, a titty
bar. It was instead an all-nude place, which disappointed Rudder (really!) because
he'd gotten his taste buds all set for a rum and coke, and had to settle instead
for plain coke. They can't serve alcohol at the all-nude places.
place was not what I expected. For one thing, the lights were so low it was hard
to see details -- intentionally, I assume. There were ribbons of light sliding
over the girls on stage, dimness everywhere else. There were comfortable club
chairs grouped around (thankfully) widely separated tables. The cover charge
wasn't too high, so I assume they make their money on the drinks, which were
priced as though they had contrained alcohol. There were at least two other
couples present, and two young women sitting together who looked like they might
be doing research for a career change.
The girls all had more or less
the same body type, thin and not too muscular. They all had medium to long hair.
The only variation was in their breasts, which ran from small and natural to
medium and natural to large and silicone-ish. No real gazongas. They all looked to
be in their early twenties, all were entirely clean shaven, and all had no visible
blemishes, razor bumps, stubble, or uneven skin color. Rudder has remarked on this
before. I'd guess uniform use of self-tanners and body makeup -- no idea how they
all get such clean shaves and perfect skin.
There were two girls on
stage at a time, one with some little clothes or an open robe and one mostly
naked, and they staggered entrances and exits. The naked one would exit, the one
with clothes would drop them, and then take a new girl's hand and walk her out
front. They didn't so much dance as squirm to music and several were
impressively flexible. Every one was wearing four-inch platform shoes with
stiletto heels, so even walking gracefully took some ability.
one came up to us, which surprised Rudder. He accepted her "offer" of a lap dance,
which surprised me -- The lap dance was the only time all night I was
uncomfortable, though the girl did her best. (I think he wanted to make sure I got
the *ahem* full experience.) She spoke to both of us and was really quite nice.
She led us to a couch a bit back from the stage (after asking if we wanted to go
there) and proceeded to wiggle all over Rudder. She touched me once or twice with
her shoe, but that was it. Again, impressive flexibility -- I try to stretch a lot
and I can't do some of what she did. She really was nice and seemed to be happy
with her job, as far as I could tell. I commented on her flexibility and she joked
that most of the girls there had been in dance or gymnastics from early ages "so
parents should watch where they send their daughters!" Moms, steer those kids to
soccer instead. Then you'll only have to worry about them stripping to a sports
bra after a big win.
The announcer did keep referring to this girl or
that as "Your toy," but he was a bit hokey anyway. So yeah, they were being
objectified, but it did seem to be a matter of choice at least. Rudder keeps
claiming it's the men in those clubs who are degraded, but I don't know if I
agree. I do suspect the girls regard the men as objects at least as much as the
converse. Not sure the whole thing is a good thing, but the club was about as un-
sleazy as it could manage.
I believe we have now formally established
that I'm not bisexual, or possibly just not visually oriented. The whole thing was
pretty interesting though, from sort of an anthropological perspective. For some
reason, my reaction keeps reminding me of my one trip to a rodeo; it was more
interesting than I expected in some ways but I doubt I'll be going regularly any