Shake Some Action

I have already managed one stripper story in this short run of incidents from my life. To put in a second so soon is surely saying something about my character. But no, I promise this will practically exhaust my stock of stripper stories before we have barely (Pun intended) begun. And anyway, this is Hazel’s stripper story.

When trying to think of something a little different to treat Hazel for her 30^th birthday, I figured a trip to a lap-dancing club might go down well. Of course, it had to be suitable. A sweaty club stuffed to the gills with machismo and testosterone would suit neither of us. After much research I found a place in Marylebone called SophistiCats which appeared to fit the bill. I called them up and explained what I wanted in detail and they seemed ready and willing to meet our needs. And so I booked.

I was Chief Technology Officer at Fitzpatrick in those days and was earning a decent whack so I pushed the boat out. We had a limousine collect us from the Mill flat in Essex and drive us into town and we booked supper at the adjoining Italian restaurant before-hand. All went very well, both service and food were first class, and around 11pm we were led down private stairs to the club below.

It felt tasteful. There were a few small groups of men in but not heaving stag parties. There were one or two other women too although they appeared to be hanging around with the chaps rather than there on their own account. No doubt this is what most people assumed about Hazel too which is why her presence didn’t raise any eyebrows.

So we took a table in the main area in front of the pole and ordered drinks (Lemonades all round – we know how to rock and roll). The girls were mostly quite young but a pleasing mix of body shapes. They weren’t afraid of curves at SophistiCats. I knew Hazel would appreciate that.

So in due course the girls came over to see if I wanted a lap dance. Yes, they were jumping to conclusions! Their demeanour was pleasant but definitely professional. Until I explained that I wasn’t here for myself but to ensure my partner Hazel had an enjoyable evening out. We were celebrating her birthday and I would be grateful if they could help. With that, I purchased her first dance which the girl delivered with panache.

Now I’m sure Hazel couldn’t have been the first lesbian or bisexual woman to visit the club but it created a stir amongst the girls. A very positive stir though. Before we knew it the girls were coming over to us between dances or spells on the pole. Coming over to chat.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to paint a picture where all the dancers were drooling over Hazel or any such thing. I would say 95% of them were straight. They just really liked the idea of dancing for a woman for a change. Rightly or wrongly it created a different relationship between the dancers and their clients (and happily I was included). Yes, Hazel had her sexy little dances and I even had one or two for myself but in between times we talked to the girls. We found out why they were dancing (Most were from the continent and were dancing to get through college). We shared their dreams with them.

I will admit that my ego, which I try to keep under control, was slightly inflamed by the awareness I was sitting in the middle of a lap dancing club with my gorgeous partner next to me and half a dozen dancers and strippers surrounding us at any one time.

I love people and I love people who in any way strike out from the norm so learning about how and why someone gets into a non-standard industry fascinated me. I know Hazel enjoyed her evening too for both the obvious and less obvious reasons.

It was a very special night and perhaps one that deserves repeating at some future date. It’s such a pity that we are both drooling into our Hot Chocolate come 7pm these days. Perhaps we can catch a matinee somewhere. I suppose there’s always that pub in Kentish Town where we could get the lunchtime rehearsal.