How One Night in a Lap Dance Club Led to My Fascination with Strippers

Monika M. Pickett
Nov 2, 2019 · 6 min read

I took my time applying my makeup that night. I settled on an accordion dress that swirled around my thighs with each step. My calves glistened with Vaseline as I buckled my strappy sandals. I looked at my watch and set out for the address Sean gave me. Sean was a new client who I had professionally stalked for months. I was determined to secure his advertising budget. I found a parking space near the club, a nondescript, seedy looking building on K street in Washington, D.C. with 1515 above the door. I called Sean on my cellphone.

“I’m outside,” I said.

“I’ll be right inside the door when you come in,” he said. I walked up a dimly lit, narrow staircase. A gruff looking doorman leered at me.

“Forty dollars,” he said. Sean stepped from inside and handed the doorman two twenties.

“She’s with me,” he said.

Forty dollars? What in the hell is in here that costs forty dollars?

“Damn Shawty! You settin’ it off tonight!” he said as he eased aside and ushered me in.

“You so crazy. What’s this spot?” I asked. He placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me toward another door.

“You gonna see in just a minute.” He held the door open for me and walked closely behind. “You killin’ me! You ain’t got no panties on?” he asked. I was happy he couldn’t see my smile. I didn’t want him to think it was for him.

I kept walking. He stepped in front me and took my hand, guiding me through a large crowded room. There was a small bar near the back of the room. I stood behind him as he ordered us a couple of beers. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized that 1515 wasn’t just a strip club. It was a lap dance club. The room was dark and there were chairs and mirrors lined along the walls where men sat as strippers gave them lap dances.

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Photo Credit: Shutterstock

I looked around and realized I was the only woman in the room not dancing. Something about that turned me on. I watched as men grinded against the dancers. I watched as some men tried to maintain their composure. The strippers worked the room, asking men if they wanted a dance. Sean nudged me.

“Here you go,” he said, handing me a beer. As we made our way to a set of chairs, I watched the strippers make their rounds.

“This is crazy! I’m so jealous that I don’t have a dick!” I said.

“Yeah, I thought you would like this spot.” So, he hadheard about me,I thought. This was going to be an interesting night.

The club was packed but I found myself moving closer to the dance floor. I was mesmerized by this one stripper whose ass bounced against a dude’s lap while she was upside down. I watched his face as he tried to maintain his cool. Suddenly I felt someone grab my ass. I spun around to face a tall guy who stood there with a crooked grin.

“Do I look like I work here? Touch me again!” I said. He looked confused.

“Then what you doin’ up in here?” he said with a sneer. I moved closer.

“The same damned reason you up in here!” I said. Out of nowhere, Sean stepped in between us. They were nose to nose.

“What’s good?” Sean said. The ass-grabber was taller than Sean but Sean was more muscular. The ass-grabber stepped back.

“Man, what she doin’ in here?” he said.

“Shawty with me. You got a problem with that?” he said. He looked down at Sean.

“It’s all good, my brother,” he said. I was pissed as he walked away. What difference did it make if I worked there? That didn’t give him permission to touch me without asking. Sean shook his head.

“Damn, Shawty. You ’bout to make me catch a case up in here. Come on, I see two chairs.” I was jealous as I watched Sean get a lap dance. The stripper looked over at me as she grinded on Sean. He tipped her when the song ended. I was turned on by how the strippers were in control of the men.

“Man, Shawty, that thang was right! She was bad!” he said.

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Photo Credit: Shutterstock

“She alright, for a redbone. She had a big ass but she walks like a dude. Ain’t no chocolate chicks in here?” I asked.

“Damn! You rough.”

“Man, ain’t nobody trying to dance for me,” I said.

“Oh, they want to dance for you but you got ’em shook,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“They don’t know if you’re here for me or for them. They probably think we’re swingers.”

We had been at the club for an hour and I was getting bored. Sean must have sensed my frustration.

“Let me finish this beer and we can blow this joint,” he said.

“Cool.” I was sipping my beer when we saw her at the same time. He leaned over and nodded toward the door. I sat up as he nudged me.

“You see what I see?” he said.

I was speechless. She could barely get through the door before men started stuffing money into her garters. Her dark skin glowed under the strobe lights. Her ass sat upon the thickest thighs I had ever seen.

“Oh, damn . . .get her for me,” I whispered.

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Photo Credit: Shutterstock

Sean stood and motioned her over. Her ample breasts bounced as she sauntered toward us. She never said a word as she sat on his lap. I watched as she slowly gyrated against him. She laughed as he leaned in and whispered in her ear. He sipped his beer as she got up and stood in front of me. I sat up and parted my legs. She was stunning as she straddled me. Her thighs felt warm against mine. My dress rose each time she moved against me.

“You are beautiful,” I said. She blushed as she wrapped her arms around my neck, her breasts dangling in my face. She slowly slid down my body and stood up, her ass jiggling to the beat of the music. I was turned on as several men and strippers watched us. I felt sexy as I spread my legs and she straddled me backward. I gasped as her ass bounced on my thighs as she gripped my ankles. She sat up and tossed her braids over her shoulder.

“I love your heels,” she said. I pulled her against me when she moved to stand, my breasts pressing against her back.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Chocolate,” she said.

“No, what’s your real name?” I asked. She rotated her thighs as I tipped her.

“London.”

“Can I see you outside of here, London?” I asked. My nails grazed her thigh as I stuck my last dollar in her garter. She tossed her braids again.

“I don’t do girls,” she said, turning her head toward me.

“I’m not asking you to do girls. I’m asking you to do me.” She blushed again.

“I’ll be back,” she said. I watched her disappear into the crowd of men. I stood when she returned, handed me a folded napkin and sauntered away. I couldn’t remember the last time someone got me that turned on. I’d started to forget what sexiness felt like. It was like she woke something in me that had been asleep for far too long. The night held multiple rewards: the chance to see London again and Sean promised me his account. It was an agreement written on a napkin, but it was signed. I thought of London as I drove home. I thought of her skin against mine. I didn’t care how long it would take; I had to have her.

Monika M. Pickett is an LGBTQ advocate and the author of PRETTY BOY BLUE and THE DARKEST SHADE OF BLUE. Please visit her at www.monikampickett.com

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