. . . Us girls we are so magical
Soft skin, red lips, so kissable
Hard to resist so touchable
Too good to deny it
Ain't no big deal, it's innocent
I kissed a girl and I liked it
The taste of her cherry chap stick
I kissed a girl just to try it
I hope my boyfriend don't mind it . . .
Ok, Katy Perry kissed a girl. I didn't. Ok, if you want to pretend I did, that's fine. Use your imagination.
I just happened to hear this song for the first time today . . . seemed appropriate since I was about to write about my version of the fabled Spearmint Rhino trip. Although F-Train nailed it pretty well. But that was the guys version.
I'll cover the blogger games, the poker, and the rest of Vegas some other time. But the readership voted. It's girl-on-girl. So for now, I take you to the brave, intrepid souls that headed to the Rhino Friday night. I have to thank Falstaff, of course. Not only was he willing to fund a portion of the amusement, but he actually scheduled it just so the Dr. and I could join.
GETTING TO THE RHINO
So we show up late . . . almost 1 a.m. The place was PACKED. Couldn't believe how full it was. I tried to do the math on the cover alone and I didn't have enough RAM in my poker addled brain. I was still trying to process the Stud hand where my husband laid down his aces to Falstaff's bluff with the pair of sixes. Go figure.
So we wandered through the packed lounge, trying to find a place for the five of us to sit down and indulge in copious amounts of skin, silicone, and perfume. After my husband parted with a few bills, the bouncers found us a nice couch. Where we could nicely be ignored for a while.
I'm guessing, from an economic perspective, they assumed the five of us were negative EV. Three men, two women. Obviously two couples. So if I'm a stripper, I'm thinking a few things.
(a) 7 inch platform heels are ridiculous
(b) Girls probably aren't desperate for lap dances
(c) Men with girls probably aren't desperate for lap dances
(d) I wonder if I should have gone with the 600 cc implants
While we were being ignored, we formulated a plan. Got everyone's preferences nailed down. Not a one of us had a similar preference. Except we all thought that if the girl had no butt, it decreased her attractiveness factor. So now we had to find at least five different women to perform for us. The search was on.
- I hate watching dancers who look bored. Either on stage or on someone. I'm sure you are bored, ladies. But this is your job. Just like the guy who has to wear the big giant Mickey Mouse suit in Disneyland all day and still has to shake hands with and hug a hundred whiny kids . . . you gotta make us believe you're into it.
- I hate watching guys get lap dances who look bored and uninspired. At least look like you are liking it. Why else are you paying the $20 for it?
- I hate watching the girls who walk around with their arms crossed. Does this scream "I don't want to interact with you" or what?
- I hate tube socks and legwarmers. But for some reason, multiple girls had them. Somewhere along the way, someone said "black fishnet is out; Flashdance is in" - it wasn't me.
- I love watching the girls on stage who are good actors. Who can pretend there is nothing hotter than performing for that guy right down in front of them. And girls who can bring that out to the room. Act like there is no one that they could imagine being with (for that 3 minutes and 10 seconds) than you.
- I love girls who are good at pretending they love girls. It definitely makes it worth my husband's money. She lives the fantasy for three minutes; I live the fantasy for three minutes . . . he's happy for days.
- I realize I love dancers with nice curvy bodies. If I was a lesbian, I would want the same thing in my woman that I want in my man - intelligence, sense of humor, strong work ethic. Looks would be some secondary component. Since I'm not, and I'm only at the club for the visual/asthetic/tactile aspect of things, women with curves are infinitely more attractive. They look and feel like women.
- I realize why men are fascinated by naked women. We have very pretty curves. Very soft skin. We smell good (as a rule). We fit nicely into hands. We don't weigh that much (on a relative basis). We tend to be bendy and flexible.
- I realize why guys like to see girl-on-girl stuff, even if its pretend. See point above . . . x2.
- I don't realize why guys fall in love with strippers in the club. Even the ones who are good actors. You are a gig to them. A gig with a wallet. The deeper your wallet, the more they can pretend they are interested in you. But don't fool yourself. They are thinking the same things they were thinking for the last guy . . . "Can I get him to buy another?" . . . "Did I fill the cat's water dish?" . . . I think I like the 'Not A Waitress' color nail polish better than the 'My Chihuahua Bites' color" . . . "That girl I dance for last dance smelled way better than this guy and her female Asian friend is pretty hot too" . . . "I think I'll wear legwarmers next time."
- I don't realize how guys can come here all the time. I would think at some point, if you do it too much, it just becomes passe. I mean, by 4 in the morning, even I was oblivious to the massive breasts I kept bumping into on the way to the bathroom, or the copious amounts of T&A I had to wade through to wash my hands at the sink in the ladies room.
After 13 years of marriage (and 16 years together), I understand the importance of infusing your relationship with new and exciting things now and then. Indulging the fantasy. This is clearly one of my husband's little fantasies. It's pretty much all the visual thing. I was apprehensive the first time I did it, years ago. But I was an actress in high school and college. I could pretend for three minutes. So, now and then, I indulge him.
After we started narrowing down choices, we tried attacting attention. I think Falstaff managed to secure the first dance. His requirements were far less narrow than ours (pretty much "must be a girl - no bony asses"). And once F-Train and CK traded seats, so that CK and I were in the middle, flanked by our respective significant others, it was clear Falstaff could be singled out. These girls are like lionesses . . . separate the weak ones from the herd and then pounce.
We found a girl for CK that fit her requirements. She was not as enthusiastic as she could have been about it. But then, she wasn't watching F-Train's face. His appreciation exceeded the average bear's. So net-net, they were good. Then the Dr. managed to snag a curvy brunette for me. She was willing, and took her job very seriously. DrChako even paid for a second dance. I definitely got my money's worth out of that one . . . and the beauty is that being a woman, I am afforded more liberties in the "where I can place my hands" arena. Needless to say, I think the men in our party were appreciative. And the man across the aisle watching was about to pop an eyeball. Or something. Falstaff apparently had the benefit of receiving a dance and watching mine this time . . . clearly a double bonus.
We finally found girls for F-Train and DrChako . . . who enjoyed their dances, and then when the same girls offered to perform for us girls, they ponied up again. My girl was, again, totally into it. The girls were good at pretending, and they adjusted their moves to appeal to a woman. In fact, I think I had the best dances all night At least judging by the face on the guy across the way. Although when F-Train's little Asian dancer switched to dancing with CK . . . well, you can imagine the faces of the men watching the two waterfalls of jet black hair intermingling. Hell, even I had to admit it looked sexy. But that's only because I think CK's hair is totally beautiful. I should know - I had it draped all over me while she gave me a massage at the MGM. Eat your heart out boys (girls?).
CK was exhausted by this time, so we called it a night. Not before the last dancer the Dr. and I shared tried to convince us to take her home. "I get off in half an hour . . . yeah, I'm almost done for the night . . . only like half an hour to go . . . " I guess they technically can't ask us for anything. But by the time I left, I was clear that she had less than half and hour left on her shift. We compared notes and determined that had been our (missed) cue to say "why don't we pay you to come with us . . . " Wonder what that price tag runs. Guess we'll never know.
It was a night of hedonistic pleasures . . . maybe the best was actually watching my husband's face. It was like taking a kid to Disneyland, telling them that Christmas comes 365 days per year, telling them that dessert always comes before dinner, and that they don't have to brush their teeth afterwards. I'm guessing the only other thing that will make his face look like that is if I ever cave and let him put a Ferrari in the driveway . . .
And next time, I'm thinking I'm going to charge the guy across the room for every dance CK or I get. He got more out of those than any dance he paid for himself . . .
So who's buying my first dance in December?
. . . No, I don’t even know your name
It doesn’t matter
Your my experimental game
Just human nature
It’s not what, good girls do
Not how they should behave . . .
Respectfully (sort of) submitted,