Lap Dance for Lunch

I could have a lap dance for lunch, I thought, as I headed out for a sandwich. The Gold Club is right there. There's a mountain of a white dude standing out front. I could even go a few doors down to the XYZ and have a drink first, but then I would have to downshift.

Truth time: I've never had a lap dance. I could say I've maybe kind of given one before, but I didn't get any money for it, so I guess that doesn't really count. I've noticed that LDs are kind of a right of passage for the modern woman. It's an interesting social phenomenon because it's kind of part of that whole genre of feminist thinking that says, "Men do this. I can do it too, even though I don't really want to . . . but it does make me feel kind of macho and I like that."

Ah, but what a wonderful thing it is to be a woman and to be able to conceal arousal in public. There are no unruly erections to deal with, and women are better at avoiding something men seem programmed for: the obvious stare.

So I'm wondering now how long the lap dance lasts, how to tip, etc. I know about the no touching rule. Would the big white dude throw me out if I pointed out to my dancer that her spaghetti strap is twisted, or if I tuck in a tag for her? I guess, for now, I won't try that.

Note to self: I'm gonna dress like a man for Halloween. A hump-backed man (because I know how to do this people) and I'll go get an LD and maybe instead of throwing me out, the security guys will take pity on me, and then we'll have beers, and before you know it I've got some new poker buddies. And then they find out I'm a woman masquerading as a humpbacked man and they'll feel let down, but oh well, it'll be fun until that happens.