In a teeny bit of a depression, and anxiety laden self-indulged delusions of egotism, I accept the invitation of a friend to embark upon a journey into Washington D.C.
I am not a fan of watching drunken frat boys, or drunken college students or well, drunken idiots of any type, but hey, what the hell, you only live once and my time is almost up.
My well-meaning, and exasperated friends decided to drag me to a male strip club down in Washington D.C. it was called the 500 club in N.E http://www.superpages.com/bp/Washington-DC/500-Club-L2387140995.htm
The neighborhood has also just undergone a major gentrification in an area known as NOMA, North of Massachusetts Avenue. This used to be a ghetto but D.C. has finally wised up and rebuilt and reshaped the neighborhoods which are comprised of high standard, expensive condos with many upscale shops within walking distance to keep the yuppies in and push the homeless out.
I notice the difference in property value when I get lost driving around the city Saturday early morning. I come across a neighborhood in S.E. D.C. that completely reminds me of New Orleans in the sense that it is low income property with trash strewn everywhere and people standing around on street corners not doing anything but talking. Am I allowed to say that I do not see one white person in sight? It is only a glance for me through a neighborhood I rarely get a glimpse of on any normal day, so it is with that in mind that I describe these conditions. No Anthropologist could give a scientific opinion of what they see without experiencing the same conditions more than once.
Back to those strippers…it is my absolute first time venturing into the world of male strip clubs; by the way, all these strippers end up being all or mostly African American. (Translation, they are all huge) God, I hope my Mother isn’t reading this-go back to your book about Ozzy Osbourne, mom.
At one point in this dark room of about 30 women, of which maybe three are white including myself, A very attractive, young man lands on my lap and all I can do is stare at his chest and smell his freshly washed skin while I think of another emotionally unavailable man who is a million miles away.
The main event is a man they call Static. Static has arranged this secret strip club that goes against traditional rules of strip clubs. These guys pull women out of the audience and simulate things with them that are more hardcore than some porn movies I have never seen. They seem to obey very few limits and at one point this stripper attempts to put a vibrator into the pants of one of the girls he has singled out from the crowd.
I have no idea if any of the events at this club are you know, legal, but I no longer live in the future or the past. I only live in the moment these days so I really don’t know if I care.