When I got a text message around 2pm on Saturday from a (hot) friend looking to barhop in Chinatown, I was intrigued. After all, it doesn't seem like a spot with much non-stripper nightlife.
Well, I'll be damned, we hit all seven dive bars along the border of Chinatown and North Beach in three hours. By 1:30 AM, I had only half of our original group still at it, all of us several drinks in, hot girl looking hotter all the time. That meant it was time for the obligatory visit to a North Beach strip club.
Say what you will about strip clubs, strippers. The ones I've met have been nice folks. But we can certainly say that they do the sort of performance one thinks it will be a good idea to observe around 1:30 AM, drunk. It was in this manner that my group of two gay men, my hypersexual self, a "straight girl" and two ladies purportedly of flexible sexuality made our way into this unionized 24-hour peep show at The Lusty Lady. We'd resolved to make a night of it, having traveled so far from home for Chinatown exploits...
I paid a five dollar cover. I take issue with covers from women at strip clubs - we're merely bringing more male customers in to spend money. Still, I paid it, and walked into decor reminiscent of a Tenderloin motel to find that there were no strippers at all. At least, there was no open stage, and at this moment the only entertainment available was a $1 peep show, which one could access by occupying any of the ten port-a-pottie sized booths. Hot girl and the other women packed into the first available show, squealing all the way. I waited with the gay boys for another to open up.
And yet, as we packed in, sardine-esque, and paid our dollar, we were permitted the vision of a Eastern European waif with pockets of cellulite and a repellent, sparsly-haired pussy for but a moment before she stopped and pointed at our window.
"Oh no, not two you! Only one cock! One cock only at a time!"
We looked at each other in the dark, then back at her. "But we already paid," my friend said innocently.
"NO TWO COCKS IN THE BOX!"
I looked at her, falling into laughter, as she covered herself with some sort of green flowery scarf. "No, don't worry," I said, "They're both gay..." I flailed my wrists to accentuate the point.
"NO TWO COCKS IN THE BOX! NO TWO COCKS IN THE BOX!"
And out we went. Thank you, San Francisco.
Well, I'll be damned, we hit all seven dive bars along the border of Chinatown and North Beach in three hours. By 1:30 AM, I had only half of our original group still at it, all of us several drinks in, hot girl looking hotter all the time. That meant it was time for the obligatory visit to a North Beach strip club.
Say what you will about strip clubs, strippers. The ones I've met have been nice folks. But we can certainly say that they do the sort of performance one thinks it will be a good idea to observe around 1:30 AM, drunk. It was in this manner that my group of two gay men, my hypersexual self, a "straight girl" and two ladies purportedly of flexible sexuality made our way into this unionized 24-hour peep show at The Lusty Lady. We'd resolved to make a night of it, having traveled so far from home for Chinatown exploits...
I paid a five dollar cover. I take issue with covers from women at strip clubs - we're merely bringing more male customers in to spend money. Still, I paid it, and walked into decor reminiscent of a Tenderloin motel to find that there were no strippers at all. At least, there was no open stage, and at this moment the only entertainment available was a $1 peep show, which one could access by occupying any of the ten port-a-pottie sized booths. Hot girl and the other women packed into the first available show, squealing all the way. I waited with the gay boys for another to open up.
And yet, as we packed in, sardine-esque, and paid our dollar, we were permitted the vision of a Eastern European waif with pockets of cellulite and a repellent, sparsly-haired pussy for but a moment before she stopped and pointed at our window.
"Oh no, not two you! Only one cock! One cock only at a time!"
We looked at each other in the dark, then back at her. "But we already paid," my friend said innocently.
"NO TWO COCKS IN THE BOX!"
I looked at her, falling into laughter, as she covered herself with some sort of green flowery scarf. "No, don't worry," I said, "They're both gay..." I flailed my wrists to accentuate the point.
"NO TWO COCKS IN THE BOX! NO TWO COCKS IN THE BOX!"
And out we went. Thank you, San Francisco.
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