From: edwallols@aol.comnospam (EdwAllOls)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.strip-clubs

Subject: ASSC: The Evolution of a Pathetic Loser, Part One

Date: 07 Jan 2000

HARMONY THEATRE

There were some local newspapers in New York City that mostly advertised escort

services and phone sex. But they also listed various porn theatres and lap

dancing establishments. I bought a couple one day and looked through the

listings. I saw one that was interesting, and decided to check out the place.

The review described extremely hot dancing in a dark location on 22nd Street.

It took a bit of looking to find the place, considering there was no obvious

sign and the door was recessed from the building front. Once I determined that

I must be in the right place, I went inside. There was a cashier's window on

the right, with a scummy-looking guy behind the glass. He took my entrance fee

($12, as I recall) and instructed me to walk through the exit side of the

turnstile between the front and inner doors. I figured that if I wasn't counted

by the turnstile, the cashier could pocket the cash. I wonder how many time per

day he could get away with doing this.

Upon entering the inner door, I was immediately struck by how run-down the

place was. It seemed as if a minimum of effort had been put into preparing the

location for the business. How many other companies could get away with a

location in such poor condition, with no sign out front, and no formal

advertising? This place didn't seem to be suffering at all-it was quite busy

inside.

The Harmony Theatre was basically a long, rectangular room with a low stage

along the wall to the right as you walked in. There were some old couches on

the left near the exit, and otherwise, the rest of the seating was around the

perimeter of the room. The seats looked like old movie theatre seats. They

weren't specifically comfortable, but I guess comfort wasn't a consideration.

There were also some seats in the middle of the room facing the stage.

The girls would take turns dancing half-heartedly on the stage. It was easy to

tell that the girls didn't want to go onstage. The guys didn't seem to be

interested in watching a show, either-not that any of the girls seemed capable

of putting on a show. They would mostly stand around, sometimes moving

aimlessly back and forth. Quite often, the girl onstage would spend the time

chatting with a friend who sat nearby. The girls taking turns on the stage

seemed to be an excuse to call the place a theatre. But that wasn't what was

drawing in the clientele. It was the private dancing.

If the first thing that struck me upon entering was the dingy decorum, then the

second thing had to be the brisk business going on in the seats along the

walls. Of course, the local paper had mentioned the possibility of 'getting

off' in the place, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. In a city of

millions, I couldn't have been the only guy in search of such entertainment.

There were, perhaps, 25-30 girls around the room-most of them on the laps of

men sitting in the chairs. And this wasn't the lapdancing that I had seen

taking place in the clubs of San Francisco-these girls were sitting astride the

men face-to-face. I couldn't see exactly what was going on between each dancer

and her customer-the paper was correct in its description of the lack of bright

light. Most of the activity, in fact, was going on in the far corners of the

room at the end of the stage and near the restrooms. It later became obvious

why.

As it was my first time in the place and didn't want to go wandering around

right off the bat, I decided it might be a good idea to sit down across from

the stage and watch the dancer there while surreptitiously monitoring the

goings-on of the girls around the room. I wasn't the only one sitting alone,

though. I quickly noticed that there were a fair amount of girls waiting, it

seemed, for a customer to approach them. I wasn't confident enough at that time

to go up to one of them without knowing what to expect, but some of them didn't

seem to have a problem approaching me to ask for my business.

My first dance, as I recall, was with a lovely young girl with reddish-brown

hair and lots of freckles. I'm sure she told me her name, because I would have

asked, but I don't remember it now. She was wearing a blue, one-piece bathing

suit with a wrap around her waist. She led me to one of the couches near the

exit and had me sit down. She then straddled my lap, sitting firmly on my

groin. The cost, she said as she waited for the next song to begin, was $5 per

song-payable in advance. I clumsily fished for the money in my pants pocket,

and had to ask her to shift herself off of me briefly to get it out. I didn't

have a five, so she gave me change for a ten from a small bunch of cash stashed

in her shoe.

When the song started and she started moving, I thought that the whole

situation was pretty strange. Again, I was still a virgin at the time-at the

age of 23-and my experience with a writhing girl sitting on my lap was

ridiculously limited. I wasn't sure exactly what I was permitted to do. There

had been no instructions after the fee schedule was laid out, so some tentative

explorations were in order.

I started out with my hands on her hips-fairly innocuous, and not likely to

draw any complaints. I then moved them up her torso, over her stomach and up

towards her breasts. Still no complaints. I figured that what I was doing was

par for the course in this place. By the end of the song, I had pretty much

caressed every part of her body, with the exception of the parts busy grinding

against my crotch. I had even gone so far as to slide my fingers into the front

of her bathing suit and rub her pubis in a gentle manner. I suppose my soft

touch helped. She didn't make any comments or move in any way that suggested I

should continue or go further, but didn't seem to have a problem with what I

did do.

When the first song ended, I quickly parted with the $5 bill she had given me

as change. She just wrapped the bill around her finger and continued her

gyrations. During the second song, I again put my fingers inside her swimsuit,

pulling back with my hips to allow more access to her crotch. After a moment,

she pressed herself against me again, restricting my movements there. So, at

least, I had discovered her limits. But, I was soon to discover, very few

dancers in the Harmony had such limits.

Within the space of a few songs, I gained enough confidence to begin asking

that dancer to allow me to touch her in different ways. She didn't grant all my

requests (such as to lay on her stomach on the couch and allow me to lay on top

of her and grind against her ass), but it helped me when I found dancers

willing to go further than she would. And that visit was only the beginning.

Soon, I had discovered that quite a few girls there were willing to unzip me

and give me a handjob. It wasn't something I thought of to ask for until the

first time a girl suggested it to me. I don't remember that girl's name either

(I guess I should quit trying to remember-they didn't tell you their real names

anyway), but I do remember exactly what she looked like. She was a very

beautiful black girl, very slender. I was actually surprised that she had made

the offer, considering that I figured she could probably get a job at a more

upscale place and get paid 10 times as much for 1/10th the action. But I sure

as hell didn't turn down the offer.

Unfortunately, though, I hadn't anticipated this and she asked me if I had a

condom to prevent any gushing that may ensue. I didn't. She asked a friend

nearby, but that girl didn't have one to spare. The beautiful dancer in my lap

considered some other options, inclucing briefly holding a napkin I had

produced from my pocket over the end of my cock as she stroked it, but she

finally gave up and told me I'd have to get a condom if I wanted her to finish.

And so, off I went-in search of a condom.

I felt pretty stupid, trying to get a condom in order to obtain a handjob. So I

went around, asking dancers if they had a condom to spare. No dice. Finally, I

found a girl willing to part with one - for a dollar, anyway. But, by then, it

was too late. The girl who had offered me the handjob was nowhere to be seen. I

was too late. But, again, I had learned a very important lesson. Always bring

condoms.

Jesus, Peepland was a dream come true. Girls willing to let me do things to

them, doing things to me I had only dreamed of until then.

Next, Part IIIc -- Club 90