Best girl on girl

There were six of us that night—a mix of lesbian, bi and straight women on a mission to experience Sacramento’s strip club scene. Our testing ground: Gold Club Centerfolds in Rancho Cordova. Some of us wanted to explore the sociological ramifications of sex work. Others just wanted a lap dance.

I wondered if the atmosphere would be creepy or sexy, if the work seemed empowering or degrading, if it was true that dancers pay more attention to female customers and if I would feel safe there. I hoped to satisfy my intellectual curiosity. I never expected to end up half-naked.

I laughed when Jenny, a petite brunette stripper, crawled to the edge of the runway and started tugging at my shirt. That’s the thing about strip clubs—the dancers are mesmerizing, the nudity surreal. Dollars lose monetary significance and the line between fantasy and reality blurs in a montage of G-strings and Lucite heels. So when she leaned over the stage to compliment my breasts, I smiled nervously. When she asked if she could see them, I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t think. I looked into her eyes, inches from my own, and nodded.

An instant later I was topless in my chair and she was standing on the stage, swinging my T-shirt over her head and yelling, “Whooooooo!” loud enough to drown out the DJ’s continual Papa Roach/Linken Park rotation. And where were the eyes of the jammed-to-capacity crowd on this Saturday night? On the strong curves and shiny vinyl hot pants of this exotic dancer, so attractive she’d just seduced a first time visitor out of her shirt? Oh no. All eyes were on me, because I was not the expected, professional entertainment. I was the spontaneous exhibitionism of a Girls Gone Wild videocassette. Everyone stared and no one gave me a dollar.

In the ensuing seconds, I had plenty of time to consider how a simple garment (or lack thereof) completely determines one’s comfort level. I developed an incredible respect for the mental fortitude of the dancers who managed to look poised and sexy in front of the same stares that made me want to hide under my chair. But mostly, I just wished for my shirt. When Jenny dropped it into my lap, it felt like the best thing that had ever happened to me.

The fact that this experience occurred about 10 minutes into my first-ever strip club visit is an indication of how intoxicating the Centerfolds environment can be (and they only serve juice!). I can now confirm the rumor that dancers lavish attention on women customers, but whether this is because women seem novel and exciting or because customers tip bigger after seeing some girl-on-girl action remains a trade secret. And while the men seemed surprised to see a group of women "unattended" (some even going so far as to yell out witty comments like, "It’s a clam bake in here!" to see if we’d react), the vibe was hardly threatening. Despite being outside the club’s target audience, there was no doubt that we were professionally entertained.