My Experience at Nob Hill Theatre

I did mention I kept a copy of my old AOL blog at work. The following is an entry I did some time after my ex and I broke up the first time. I guess it showed and my coworker wanted to cheer me up.

Dated 8/7/2007 11:01 AM
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So Tuesday of last week my coworker invites me to go with him to the Nob Hill Theater in the city after work. Nob Hill is a district east of the Tenderloin. If you don't know, it's an all male strip club...fully nude...except socks...on their feet...otherwise, where would you put the money. My coworker convinces me to go with him because he knows my "situation." We bought our tickets during our coffee break on Tuesday because the entrance fee is $20 before noon as opposed to $30 and it's good all day. So we meet up later that night at his house and my coworker drives. We parked across the street from the theater and him, his bf, and his bf's bff decided to drink in the car. Being this was my first time, I thought there was going to be a bar inside; unfortunately, I guess that theory only exist in straight strip joints. There was nothing there but the video arcades, a voyeuristic shower, a PSE (public sex environment), and the theater where they show porn between each dancer's performance.

So the first guy comes on, and this kid was not a day older than 17. I'm guessing he was still in high school and working to get into college (a typical scenario amongst heterosexual strippers). [btw. remember this kid]. So I sit behind my coworker as we watched this adolescent strip down to his birthday suit. He was an "item" so it was much to my amazement that he packed a raisin before he left for school today. He gave my coworker, whom expressed more than once that he's not into "items", a lap dance so eerie it made me feel like I was abiding a criminal act for not helping my coworker get out of there. After my coworker pays him, he [my coworker] turns to me and says that boy had the worse B.O. stripper money can buy. Now I feared for the worse as this pubescent bloke makes his rounds. He faces me and straddles what now has become my vagina. The smell was sour and pungent. As I reach for some money with the intention of paying this kid to leave me, I start to gag with disbelief since I thought I lost my gag reflex a long time ago. I slip the money in his sock...situation abated. But my plan back fires. Apparently, it's stripper etiquette that you're paying for the dance. The payment that I just put in his sock made him aggressive. There was more wiggling, more grinding, and you guessed it...more B.O.

As I gain consciousness from what has now become an episode from Making the Band, the MC introduces the next dancer, which at this time happens to be the only Asian in the line up; a Filipino. As the curtain opens, I recognize the clothes from earlier. It was the first stripper’s friend. I saw them hanging out in the lobby. Perhaps they go to school together. A spot light shines on the back of the dancer, casting a shadow on the wall. The dancer dances with his own shadow for a good a good moment then turns around and takes his jacket off. DAMN! It's my friend's little brother. I stand up and run out of the theater. My coworker follows me with a smile and a I-know-what's-going-on look on his face. He asked me if I knew him. I didn't know him, persay, but I know his older brother...and that this kid has a gf. But hey...gay for pay, that's what I always say.

I go to the Japanese restaurant next door and text my coworker to let me know when his set is over. I realized and came to terms that I can't be in there sober. I decided to guzzle down sake as if I was a Hummer going cross-country (no pun intended). My coworker and the bff came next door to tell me they left the bf there with my friend's little brother. Nice.

After coming back to the theatre, tippsy in all my glory, I'm relieved to see that the next act is up. An inshape alpha-male type who was doing hand-stand push-ups. He made his round around the theater gyrating to early 90's pop/slowjams. As he straddled my worn out vagina, my coworker uses his ID'er on his V-Cast phone to ID the music. PM Dawn - I'd Die Without You. As the alpha male sings in my ear, thinking I was into his vocal talent, I lean forward to whisper to my coworker, "I think we're the only 3 people in here who knows who PM Dawn is." And as if there was a mic hidden in his hooded manhood, he leans down and says, that's cuz we're the youngest ones here. I paid the man his dues and he gets on stage. He tells my coworker to tell the DJ to play his James Brown CD. He b-boys for a bit then does a mean head spin. That's right...2 rows of Asian boppers (as we are) cheered him on as he did a naked head spin to his James Brown compilation cd. You really just want him to be your friend.

The night goes on with a number of disappointments. Given that it was a work night we leave around 12:30 and kept talking about the naked head spin.