Deep in the heart of the Yucatan Peninsula, Dirk and three of his friends were living it up. The crew was cruising around on motor scooters, with their unbuttoned shirts blowing around like capes on super heroes. The four of them certainly felt like super heroes. They were invincible ... and also pretty drunk. Maxwell had been to this part of Latin America before and decided that the best place to go at this time of night was the lone titty bar.
Maxwell led the way with Dirk sitting haphazardly on the back of the small blue motor scooter. On a separate scooter, Clint and Adolph rode wobbly behind them; a bit like a spinning top right before it collapses to the ground. The three new-comers were convinced that Maxwell had no clue where he was going. In truth he didn't. He asked the guy at the previous bar where the strip club was and was gifted with the most specific directions one gives in this steamy jungle paradise, "Go straight down the road. It's on the right." How far down the road? Which way down the road? Apparently the locals thought that it would be obvious. It wasn't. The four slightly drunk gringos headed south. They reached a concrete processing plant and Maxwell decided that they had gone too far. They turned around and headed back over the dimly lit streets.
The guys were looking for bright neon signs that would glow and point towards a building exclaiming things like "Live Nudes. Dancers. XXX". Anything that would tip them off to the idea that erotic dancing is happening somewhere nearby. They would find no such signs.
"This is it" Maxwell called out over his right shoulder to Clint and Adolph. Clint looked excited. Adolph's expression screamed "Looks like a place television taught me to avoid". Dirk seemed indifferent. In truth he was just happy to get off of the motor scooter. The soft cushy chairs, the rum and cokes and some dancing hotties seemed much safer. The small concrete edifice hid behind a huge wall of bushes which blocked out all light from the club. This is why it was so easy to miss. There was no lighted sign. In fact there was really no front entrance at all. The four men parked their two motor scooters around the side of the building in the dirt and stone parking lot among the blooming weeds and smashed beer bottles. Since there was no front entrance, the boys walked around back under the glowing fluorescent lights that let out an eerie bluish-green glow.
Nobody could hear the thumping bass of dance music that is typically associated with an erotic "dance" club. The only noise that could be heard was the slow buzz of the dilapidated light fixtures giving every effort to keep the "this is where you die" ambiance alive. No women. No music. Just three mean ass Mexican's standing against the wall giving Dirk and the others the stare down that they've always craved. Clint and Adolph became hesitant. Their fear spread to Dirk, who was next in line. Just as the three stragglers' anxiety was about to creep over Maxwell, he crossed the threshold. Dancers.
Maxwell hadn't actually got a glimpse into the club just yet. He actually saw into the ladies' changing room. Unlike most American establishments which provide a safe and secure changing room for their many dancers, the Mexican's feel that this courtesy is unnecessary. In order to get into the club, you must walk past the women's changing room. You can see directly into this room because there is no door on the doorway. I guess it should be called an entryway if it has no door. To Maxwell's right were numerous dancers changing and picking out outfits for their next performance. As the rest of the gang walked by, they were relieved to know that they hadn't walked into a shady drug house. The men standing at the wall saw our fear diminish and dropped their tough guy looks and put on their best "Welcome to the club" faces.
Dirk should have known there would be no fancy chairs nestled down low next to a beautiful raised stage. Fist of all, the buildings are all open with no doors or windows or air conditioning. Those squishy chairs would be a sweaty fucking mess. Also, Dirk hasn't sat in anything but shitty plastic lawn chairs since he arrived in Mexico. The strip club was no exception. The four man crew plopped down in their red plastic Coca-Cola patio furniture and soaked in the scene. In the back corner was a DJ booth minus the DJ. Next to it was the bar which ran all the way across the back wall. Snuggled up closely to all of the surrounding walls were about a dozen Mexican men. It was as if the stripper pole was covered in syphilis and getting within a 15 foot radius would ensure that you have it too (this might be true). It could also be because the dance floor is an elevated 8 foot by 4 foot piece of plywood. It sits about six inches off the ground with a pole bolted dead center.
One of the reasons that nobody attempts to get front row seats is because the dancers are terrible. They have some of the worst dancing talent that any of our four gentlemen have ever seen. That is when Dirk starts to realize that the reason that they are terrible dancers is because Mexico doesn't have live nude dancers. Mexico has strippers. This changes the entire dynamic of the titty bar. For the uninitiated we are going to do a little side by side comparison.
In the more upscale locales of the world a strip club looks like this. You go to the bar and buy expensive drinks. From there you can watch women dance on a stage while enticing the men and women of the club. They will dance seductively, often with a pole, for 3 to 4 songs depending on where you are and if full nudity is allowed. After each song, they lose another layer of clothing. If you choose to hug the bar, you save some cash, but don't get the close up shots of butts shaking or boobs in your face. If you choose to sit up close, you dole out a little extra cash and get the essence of stripper on you (cheap perfume and glitter). There is no touching the women or making any kind of advances. After their dance, these ladies will collect the piles of bills that clutter the dance floor and then walk around to milk more money from you by inviting you to a lap dance in the back room (usually $20). Got it? Good.
Lets go to Mexico, or any other seedy location in the world. You walk into the titty bar. Sit down and buy a very over priced drink. Your drink is over priced because it is basically a titty tax. The dancer on the pole doesn't dance. Why should she? Nobody throws money at her like they do in first world countries. She strips. She is on that dance floor so you can get a good look at her for the real money making. In two or three songs our oscillating beauty will pick up the two or three dollars that some crazy foreigner threw at her and put her clothes back on. Then she will walk around the club and up the auntie of her American counterparts. When a stripper finds a guy she thinks has money she will sit down on his lap and ask if he can buy her a drink. That is when the patron agrees to buy her and himself a drink that is twice the price. This is where she makes her money. She is now your companion for the night. Do you have to pay $20 for a lapdance? No. As long as you keep buying a drink for her and you keep drinking too, you will get all the lap dances you want right there. No backroom. Can you touch her? Yup. Can she touch you? Yup. She will let you suck on her boobs, reach down your pants and grab your junk. Anything goes ... almost.
Back to our story.
Our adventurous fellas did not know these intricacies at first, but they caught on quickly. Dirk had a sexy little fireball sitting on his lap. Maxwell had a different woman every ten minutes. In truth he couldn't really decide which stripper he truly wanted. I think because Clint and Dirk already had the two hottest strippers in the club. Adolph sat quietly in the back sipping his Dos Equis and doing his best to avoid stripper contact as much as possible. Dirk, Maxwell and Adolph are feeling like the night should be winding down and get ready to end their adventure before they piss away an entire ATM withdrawal of pesos in one night, when Clint asks for 750 pesos. Dirk looks furious and eyeballs Adolph. He knows Adolph isn't pissing through cash since he is laying off the Mexican puss like a true refined gentleman. Adolph, retorts with "Fuck you Dirk, I just gave him 500!" Dirk grudgingly forks over 750 bones to Clint. Frustrated with Clint's antics, the gang goes back to focusing on their own ladies. What seems like mere moments later, Clint asks for another 750 and swears that this is the last little bit he needs. Maxwell and Adolph claim to be out of Cash. Dirk explains that this is the last of his money and hands it over to Clint but not without giving him the, "I fucking hate you look."
Clint smiles back with a grin from ear to ear and gets up with his tall and gorgeous stripper and heads to the fuck room.
To be continued ...