The lapdance is the true “coin of the realm” in the modern stripclub world, and lapdances often bear the psychological weight of their participants.

My inability these days to spend with relative freedom on a favorite dancer, Lily, or any other dancer for that matter, makes me feel almost as if I have been unmanned, money being an important signifier of masculinity in our society, most particularly and savagely in New York City. My slender wallet also makes me feel like an exile from the inner circle of dreams, fantasies, and playfulness in the Grove of Ecdysia, the Goddess of Exotic Dancers; as if I have gone from satyr-like participant to a ragged beggar staring forlornly through wrought-iron gates at the grove’s festivities.

It is all a scene out of the works of Alma-Tadema or Bougereau, those nineteenth century Victorian-era artists whose brushes had a way with gamboling mythological beauties in groves, gardens, and grottos.

Anyway...

Similar to the weight of a lapdance on Sir Cranky’s heart and mind, a lapdance has a symbolic importance for a dancer beyond its monetary value. If we put aside post-feminist blather, which casts stripping as an almost Amazonian “empowerment” activity performed in icy condescension by contemporary young women who “control” leering men and triumphantly extract money from them, we can remind ourselves that dancers are human beings subject to emotion just like anybody else. While the twenty dollar bill a stripper gets for a lapdance may well translate into the ability to pay for her dry cleaning bill, she may also see it as a token of the affection and admiration of the man who slips that picture of Andrew Jackson into her garter...an affection and admiration that is not always to be sneered at.

Even if a dancer accepts intellectually the fact that a particular customer has a limited budget, she may be dismayed by the fear that customer may be rejecting her on a personal basis that has nothing to do with dough. Doesn't he find me attractive anymore? Isn't my dance still hot? Did I put on weight? Does he hate my shoes? Does he think my conversation is lame? Does he finally understand that although I like him in the club and he’s fun to talk with, I would never go to bed with him because he’s not my type and besides he's too damn old?

A dancer’s nipples may harden when she dances for a longtime customer either because she is chilly or because she is aroused (among the various reasons), and she may also want to dance for a certain man because on some level she actually likes him, even if it is only because he is well-spoken, humorous, gentlemanly, erotically curious, and empathetic. And so, when necessity forces this kind-hearted customer to go from purchasing six dances to only buying one, the dancer may fear and feel some genuine personal loss.

I would even hypothesize that there are some women who dance more for the ego gratification than the money, but that would take a lot of legwork and interviewing to prove.

Does money buy happiness? It buys certain kinds of happiness undoubtedly, such as lapdances--lapdances, and the interplay that goes with them.

For those of you who haven’t read my blog before, or haven’t been following it regularly, Lily is a stripper I got friendly with in November 2005 and became a regular customer of until the early spring of this year.

If you’re curious about this whole story, below is a link to the first post where I wrote about her. I wrote many entries about my encounters and feelings about her.

I stopped going to her particular club in March for several reasons. One was that my financial situation changed and I couldn’t afford to spend money on Lily without counting my pennies. I’m not a big spender like some customers, I don’t go into champagne rooms or charge huge sums on plastic, but I was spending generously enough in cash. In March, after telling her that I would have to spend less, I asked her to have dinner with me and she agreed, but said she was “very busy” and didn’t know when she could meet me. Knowing this is a euphemism people employ when they don’t want to reject you outright, I left the ball in her court. She had explicitly asked for my email address, which I gave her, and so I told her if she wanted to get together for that dinner, to drop me a line. I never heard from her, and figured that was that. Some dancers string along customers by implying they will meet them on the outside sometime, and I decided this seemed to be the case with Lily.

Throughout the spring and summer I was preoccupied with other matters, and to save dough, I avoided the stripclubs. But in the last couple of weeks I’ve realized that total avoidance is no answer for me. I like stripclubs, I like dancers, I need some nightlife; so I returned, however in a more financially cautious manner.

Smaller portions of fun, in other words. You’ve heard of Weight Watchers? I am a one-man organization: Wiggle Watchers. I can only spend so much money now on those sexy wiggles.

Now we come to last night...

I went to the club where Lily worked. I had no idea if she were there, and in fact, for some reason, I didn’t expect her to be. I guess I stuck my head in the sand like a metaphorical ostrich, and then presumed the world would conform to my expectations when again I opened my eyes.

I got into the club free with a coupon I found in an alternative newspaper, which saved me ten dollars right off the top. Nice feeling. Then I was greeted by a very friendly waitress there--let’s call her Roxy--who had been surprised by my long, unexplained absence, and asked if I’d been all right. I assured her I was.

I sat down and ordered a beer and watched the dancers onstage. A few girls came over pitching lapdances, but I politely declined. My plan was to just watch the show, tip the girls onstage, drink my beer, and have a diverting but inexpensive night.

For a few moments, my mind seemed to go blank and I looked down at the floor. I don’t remember what I was thinking about, but it was probably that it’s not that easy sitting in a stripclub nowadays when you don’t want to get lapdances. Saying “no thanks” to pretty women, even if it’s my cash for their dancing, is stressful. But I had done it the previous night and I was determined to do it again. (Please understand, I don’t consider these earth-shattering problems, but “happy” problems in the great daunting spectrum of what we as human beings must deal with.)

Anyway, when I looked up from my reverie, Lily was standing in front of me.

“How are you??” she said. I half-stood up from my chair and we hugged, then she sat down at my table. “Where have you been??”

I had so NOT expected to see her that it was surreal that she was beside me now. I don’t know why I thought she wouldn’t be there; maybe because she’s Asian, only here in New York as a temporary visitor, and has traveled back to her home country a few times. Maybe I thought she had gone back again for the holidays.

Her hairstyle was slightly changed, but she looked essentially the same. When I mentioned that her ‘do looked different, she nervously asked if I still liked it; I assured her I did, but said that her bangs just looked longer. She started to push her bangs out of her eyes, but I repeated that her bangs looked fine, just different. She let the bangs fall back to where they were.

She asked why I hadn’t been around. I told her of the various problems I’ve been dealing with, like my sister’s health situation and my own financial squeeze, and said I’d stayed away from the clubs completely for awhile. “I wondered what happened to you!” she said. She asked why I didn’t email her. I told her I didn’t have her address, but she said she had given it to me. That wasn’t true, but I didn’t debate the point; instead I said that I recalled she had MY email and if she had written me, I would have written her back. She seemed genuinely puzzled at this. Maybe she DID forget that I gave her my email. Anyway, she now said she would give me her email and after I wrote her, she would write me back.

She was called to the stage and I tipped her a couple of times, but the whole situation felt strange. I knew I couldn’t recapture the fun of the past without the money of the past. When Lily sat down again at my table, Roxy the waitress came over and asked if I wanted to buy Lily a drink. I declined. In the past, I’d always bought her one of the ten-to-twelve dollar dancer’s cocktails, but not last night. I think Lily was surprised, but tried not to show it. Now came the big question: did I want to have a dance? I knew I couldn’t refuse her. I did want a dance, although just one--mostly to show that although my money situation is tighter, it doesn’t mean I don’t still like and desire her.

We left my table and went over to the banquettes where the dances are done. It was a very nice dance indeed, and it went by too quickly. Was she glad to see me? Her nipples were extremely hard. Maybe it was cold in the room. Still, I was getting aroused, but I really need two or three dances to really get into it. The dance was quickly over. In the past, Lily had always asked if I wanted to continue, but now she just went right into the second song. But that would have meant forty dollars spent instead of just twenty, so I had to speak up. I told her the one dance was fine.

I could tell she was startled, but I hastened to add that although I could go for a hundred dances with her, it was just that I didn’t want to spend a lot of dough. After she put her outfit back on, she said she’d come back a little later. She kissed me on my cheek and left.

I returned to my table and sat there drinking my beer, now feeling totally distracted and bored by all the other girls. Maybe if a really stunning gal had gotten onstage, I would have been able to feel interest, but there were just average performers. Across the room, Lily went over to a guy probably a few years older than myself, and after chatting, gave him a couple of dances. I realized I had almost never seen her dance for anybody else, because I always used to come to the club at the beginning of her shift and she would sit with me for a couple of hours until I finally left.

Other strippers came up to me but I didn’t want to spend any more money on dances. If I did, I would have spent it on Lily. Yes, the memory of the lively erotic dances and talk that Lily and I shared months ago kept her allure intact for me; it lay dormant in my mind, needing only her presence to be awakened. Her perfume; the touch of her skin; her movements; her smile; her sensual dancing style; her lovely hair, her naughty mind: these are the things that attract me to Lily.

After she danced for the other customer, she went to the ladies room for awhile, and then went back onstage. I tipped her there, and afterward she came down to my table. I slipped another dollar into her garter; I think the smallness of the tribute, when I used to give her several dollars per stage set, surprised her yet again.

We made small talk for awhile, as I finished my beer. She asked if I wanted another dance, even though only fifteen minutes previously I had turned that second one down. I begged off again. “Let’s just keep it low-key tonight,” I said. “I’m going to leave now anyway.”

“But it’s early!” Lily said.

“I know, but I just don’t want to spend more money.” So she kissed me goodbye and I said I’d see her again.

Damn this economizing!!

Roxy the waitress was also startled that I was leaving so soon, but I told her I’d come back. She said I should check out their Christmas party coming up, and I said I would. Now, Roxy has probably made only a total of fifty dollars from me in all the time I’ve known her, but she seemed genuinely concerned and curious about my long-time absence. She put her hand on my shoulder and asked if I was okay. I suddenly realized that these young women must sometimes wonder if us older regulars are okay if we don’t show up; they must see us as more vulnerable--as older people often are. I got a warm feeling from Roxy. I almost want to go to the Christmas party not to disappoint her.

Lily didn’t give me her email address last night, nor did I ask for it. I felt indifferent about it when I was in the club, but as I walked home and went to bed and woke up this morning, my thoughts were constantly on her. I know I have a tendency to ruminate on whatever topic is important to me at the moment, and while I was ruminating about my work on Friday morning, and about my blog on Saturday morning, on Sunday morning before breakfast and the distractions of the newspapers, I ruminated on Lily.

As I got dressed this morning, I asked myself, “Why didn’t I just tell Lily the exact and fully truthful reason that I didn’t come back to the club for all these months?” I didn’t have to disagree about whether or not she’d given me her email address to let her know that I remembered giving her mine, and was waiting to see if she would email me and want to have dinner; and when I never heard from her--not even to ask what had happened to me--I didn’t feel like seeing her anymore.

I believe I didn’t tell her this because I didn’t want to let her know how much it she mattered to me; that if she knew, I would be at a disadvantage, that she would use the knowledge of my affection to control me--to tempt me--to get money out of me that I don’t want to spend anymore. Yes, I was afraid that she would see in the clearest terms just how much I liked her.

I guess little things on her part like moving her bangs out of her eyes for me, or her nipples getting so hard when she danced for me, lead me back to the tormenting question at the bottom of all these mysterious and screwy dancer-customer interactions: Does she like me as anything more than a customer? Or basically, will she go out with me and can we be friendly in the world outside the club?

I could certainly ask her this bluntly now. I don’t have anything in particular to lose, since I don’t intend to be her lapdance patron to any large extent anymore. And she’s not going to make much money off me with what I tip her when she’s onstage.

However, now that I’ve seen her again, it might be harder to stay away. Harder not to spend money. This is a kind of suffering, but it also makes me feel connected to somebody. I have been feeling emotionally numb of late...living too much within my head. I think this numbness is a reaction to feeling threatened on two primal aspects of my own survival. One, my kid sister’s health crisis (which she has been weathering well, knock wood) has made me fear for my own mortality; and two, my suddenly shakier situation as a freelance worker has made me feel vulnerable financially. So even if Lily sets off questions and problems in my mind, she also makes me feel alive again.

Now I can learn if she likes me at all as a friend, or just as a customer. I’m not sure if I’m going to do this--but it feels right, I’m going to ask her to dinner and try to make a definite date.

But I must keep in mind the wise words of Zorita, a genuine old-time burlesque queen. I read these words only yesterday afternoon, scant hours before I ran into Lily. They were quoted in a new and fascinating book about the vintage burlesque scene called Pretty Things, by Liz Goldwyn. Zorita was talking about her attitude towards customers:

“You like them because they’re customers, because they admire you, because they applaud, because they spend their money to see you.”

Just roll that around in your mind, Sir Cranky...they like you BECAUSE you’re a customer...

So what happens when you’re not?

I like Zorita's plain-spoken words, but they are hard to accept when you’re sweet on a stripper.

HowCrankyMetLily

I was re-reading some of my old posts just now, and I could see how my tone has changed over the last several months. I sounded more optimistic and engaged last spring, even though of course my kid sister had just started cancer treatments, my freelancer’s bank account had been wiped out by income taxes, and my cherished interactions with Lily, my favorite dancer of last winter, had petered out as these “stripper-customer” friendships usually and unhappily do.

In fact, reading those earlier posts, I almost don’t recognize the writerly voice as my own, in that I sound much more reasonable and upbeat than I must have actually felt at the time. I mean, the voice was obviously mine, but it is a voice modified by what the act of writing does to me: gives me a feeling of control, of balance, of attractiveness, and even occasionally a dignity I do not generally feel.

Still, maybe it’s not such a good idea to re-read my own blog. Sometimes I don’t like the person who’s writing it. I don’t know if I judge myself too harshly, but sometimes I feel that I come across as rather vapid and self-absorbed. Strippers and movies and books...these are my main topics. This is the stuff I prefer to focus on and that I understand best, although I am aware of the world and read about many other things. Or perhaps it's that I refrain from other topics because I don’t feel sharp enough to discuss them, such as politics. I have a hard time making sense of the jumble that the world is and when I do try to write about other things, I can see how much I rely on emotion ballasted by faulty thinking. There's enough b.s. in the world, so I figure, why add to it? But I do feel capable of telling people about films and books, and in analyzing the microcosm of feeling and sexuality that is represented by the world of stripclubs.

In short, writing this blog, and re-reading it, seems to have revealed to me in stark relief my limitations as a writer, as a thinker, and as a person. It's unsettling sometimes...

Sometimes this blog seems like a mirror; but I'm not sure if it's an accurate one, or of the funhouse variety...

After all, a guy who names himself Sir Cranky is one step away from the greasepaint, no?

I performed a little experiment yesterday evening. Around five-thirty I stopped off at the stripclub where I knew Lily, my favorite dancer from several months back. I didn't expect her to be there, and she wasn't, since she always worked the night shift. Anyway, I wasn't going to see her, I just wanted to stop in at this more relaxed, low-key club. I hadn’t been there since late March, around the time I had to pay my freelancer’s income taxes, which basically knocked me out of the free-spending mode. Yesterday I got in for free before seven o’clock with a flyer I picked up from a guy on the street, and I didn’t have to check my coat since the coat check girl doesn’t go on duty until closer to eight o’clock.

So I sat down, feeling as if I’d already saved money.

I got a beer, which cost me nine bucks plus a dollar tip. Okay, then I sat there watching the girls dance onstage. One girl whom I knew slightly from months ago was there, and she came up and gave me a kiss and told me she’d come back after she finished her set on the stage. She sure looked cute up there. I wondered what I would say when she came back and asked for the inevitable twenty dollar dance. Would I spring for it?

Remember, folks, when it comes to Sir Cranky, one dance is too many, and a thousand is not enough...and all I had was fifty dollars in my pocket.

I watched her dance and tipped her a couple of dollars. When I find a dancer very attractive, I can find it erotic just to approach the stage and give her a tip, and so I got a little thrill doing that and then went back to my table. So far all I’d spent was twelve dollars. Nice! Finally my acquaintance got offstage and came back to my table. Small talk ensued, and then she asked if I wanted a dance. Sure, I wanted one; but I decided to see if I could exist without one. “No, I just want to hang out tonight,” I said in a friendly way, “maybe another time.” I could momentarily see in her eyes that she was disappointed that she wouldn't be making more money off me, but she tried to hide that. She pleasantly told me to enjoy myself and then she went over to another customer.

It was okay, and I felt like I’d just saved twenty bucks.

Two new dancers were onstage, and they were good-looking and somewhat energetic performers too. I tipped them four dollars, and finished my beer. I had a dinner engagement, so I couldn’t stay any longer, but you know something? I’d gotten what I came for, a nice little show and some live interaction (even if it was only slipping singles into g-strings and idle chatter) and all I'd spent was sixteen dollars. So later I went home with thirty-four dollars left, and the knowledge that I could go out again soon without breaking the Cranky banky.

So yes, I have to spend less nowadays. But fun can be done!

Necessity is the father of reduction.

After a long day commuting to and from New Jersey, I really wanted to have some fun last night, but I couldn't get myself to go to a stripclub. It wasn't so much that I didn't want to spend the money; I've saved up for a little recreation now and then, and I could spend fifty bucks. It's just that I dreaded all the dancers asking for lapdances, and my having to say no. Because that fifty bucks could get me into the club, get me a beer, pay for my coat check (obligatory), and leave me about twenty-five bucks to tip the gals on stage. If I spend twenty on a single dance, that leaves only five for stage tips. Not good.

So I didn't go out because I didn't want to feel badgered. I understand that's the job; the dancers can no more avoid coming up to customers in a club than salespeople can stand back from folks browsing in an auto showroom. But what I really wanted was just to be in the presence of girls dancing semi-naked, and drink a beer. (And smoke a cigarette or two, but damn, can't do that in New York bars anymore because of the new laws.)

Neo Burlesque shows don't really fill my stripper cravings, because they're more vaudeville-like than sexy. And the Neo Burlesque strippers seem to really go out of their way NOT to establish a titillating rapport with the audience members in the way that stripclub peelers do; hence there is something less compelling and more distant to the Neo Burlesque experience.

When I want real entertainment, laughs, comedy, and sauciness, Neo Burlesque fills the bill; but when I want sensuality and eroticism, that's the time I want to go to a stripclub.

As a substitute for a live show, watching old-time strippers on a DVD like Something Weird's Best of Burlesque is fun, but when the ache is there for something real, it's not enough. Strippers on DVDs mostly satisfy only one sense--the visual, and maybe a little of the aural (depending on the quality of the music that's playing behind the dancers). Stripclubs, however, can also satisfy the senses of sound, smell, touch, and even taste (when a daring dancer slips her nipple into my mouth, or lets me kiss her glossy lips).

So I stayed in last night and watched a softcore erotic movie instead, and although the actresses were far more beautiful than most of the dancers in the clubs I go to, it was still a two-dimensional experience that satisfied only the sense of sight.

Sigh...

This is the way the adult entertainment business is these days. It's cheap to look; the DVD only cost me five dollars. But it's expensive to hear ladies in person, to inhale their perfume, to touch their waists, or to kiss their cheek.

If you don't have a wad of cash, it's no fun to sit in a club and have to say, "No thanks" about forty times to a steady procession of strippers hustling lapdances. I hate to say no when I don't want to, but I must or I will go broke.

Ah for the old days which I never knew, when strippers danced in theaters and all you had to pay was the price of a ticket!

Damn...

Where did I put my time machine???