Strip Club Experience: Sad Women and Stupid Men

The strip club bouncer speaks quickly in French, explaining the rules and that there is no cover fee. Then he adds that he would “greatly appreciate” a tip for us to enter. I only have a few Canadian $20s, but I offer him one. My friend, Mika, gets us through and to two seats near the stage. Red lights cast a hellish-like essence on the establishment. Mika is the only woman not working. As I peer around nervously, I have to admit she’s also the best looking. She disappears for a moment. I check my watch: 1 am.

On High Alert

On the stage is a woman mid-way through her dance. She’s already popped out her breasts from a white bikini top. Without emotion, she “dances” through the music. My eyes glance from one end of the club to the other, gathering every bit of detail. I am on high alert in this new environment, wondering where Mika went. 

A woman in a black latex one-piece approaches me. She offers a dance, which I politely decline. Two Latino men are in front of me, drinking Coronas at the base of the stage. Further to my right are a few white guys. One has a five o’clock shadow. Another looks like a ginger, but it could just be the lighting. On the opposite end, I see a fellow who looks as though he has a white-collar job.

By the end of the night, he’s paying for two girls to dance with him.

Mika returns, and a waitress arrives. She’s the second most beautiful woman I see, especially when she smiles. We get a couple of gin and tonics. My eyes watch the dances more, bouncing less on the other audience members. I watch the dancers’ faces more than the skin on display. 

“Sad women and stupid men,” Mika says. I nod in agreement.

I had few expectations going to a strip club, but it has been on my bucket list. Just something you do once. Still, I was nervous about venturing in, especially where the primary language is one I’m learning. One thing I assumed was that girls might smile, or at least smirk. They are bored and annoyed, as if their boss has given a very poor inspirational speech to start the night.

Mika and I consider visiting a second club, hoping it may be better than this one. “One more drink,” we agree. She orders two Sex on the Beaches. One woman, finally, seems to be putting in more effort on the stage. She’s not smiling, but I can pick up on the hint of a grin. It’s the best dance so far.

Layla

We have been approached by three girls offering dances. Mika or I decline each one. At some point, Mika heads to the bathroom. A woman comes over and sits next to me. I’ll call her Layla. We exchange pleasantries in French before swapping to English. Mika lights up wickedly at me when she returns. She sits on the otherside of Layla. Soon enough, they’re chatting it up like schoolgirls. I catch none of what they say with the loud music obliterating any chance I have of picking up a few words.

“Want a dance?” Layla asks.

“No, thank you,” I reply, extremely awkwardly.

“Come on, Nick. You have to!” Mika encourages.

Layla smiles.

“I wasn’t planning on one tonight,” I say, attempting to weasel out of it.

“All part of the experience.” Mika pulls out her wallet. She pays the girl. “Treat him good.”

Before I know it, I’m sitting on a stool in a partly enclosed room. 

“I’ll start with the next song,” Layla says. At least she smiles. “You can touch anywhere except between the legs.”

Not sure what to say, I ask her about her favorite pastimes. She enjoys films, sewing, and reading. As the next song begins, Layla begins swaying in front of me. I rest my palms on her legs. She unleashes her small breasts and leans over me. 

“So, what film have you seen recently?” I ask. Should I try French?

Layla thinks. “An Accidental Life was good. It’s, uhm, about a woman who has an accident on a mountain and must recover. What about you?”

“Nothing new, but the classic Glory. Do you know that one?”

She shakes her head.

“C’est un film sur la guerre civile américaine avec le premier régiment d’africains américains.”

Layla understands now. 

As she dances, I look at her face. She has bold teeth and a kind smile. 

At the end, I offer her the last of my cash: $20. Double what the dance costs and way too much. I feel stupid walking back to Mika, having ripped myself off.

That about does it for us. I finish my drink. We leave the strip club.

Part of my Montreal experience