A Spiritual Experience at a Strip Club

My friend Armando is a DJ at strip clubs. He's 33 and has been doing this for maybe a decade. The tips are good, and you sure do learn a lot about people, he says. For months now he's been offering to escort me to a club. This past Saturday we finally went.





The Caberet is located near the docks. A heavily industrial area. The interior was dimly lit with red-sconced candles on the tables, smoky stage lights, a disco ball, and plenty of mirrors. We arrived early--around 6:30--so things were pretty slow.

Armando and I sat ring-side for a few songs, but mostly sat at a table where we could see the girls but didn't have them dancing in our faces. Armando said that, unlike the clubs he's worked at, these girls were allowed to touch the customers and even do splits inches from their eyeballs. Hard for me to imagine how these men could control themselves, song after song.

As Armando had told me previously, about 30 percent of the clientele was women. Armando also told me that 80 percent of the girls prefer women.

Besides the sensuality of these dancers, what I found fascinating about them was their athleticism. Years ago I had massaged two strippers when I worked at Mr and Ms Day Spa. I was amazed at their musculature. As these gals slowly slid down the pole, I marveled at the grace and strength in their moves.

When the girls were off-stage, they mostly wore skimpy bikins. Danielle, however, wore a large-holed, black mesh top. All of the girls had good bodies, but there certainly was variety--from a slender Asian to a large-hipped, big-busted gal who must have been 160 pounds, but her curves were firm, not flabby. A surreal environment with beautiful gals cavorting about while we sat in velvet-lined easy chairs and drank club soda and non-alcoholic pina coladas.

Danielle came over and sat on my lap, bounced up and down a bit and stroked my arm. Armando told her I was a massage therapist, so I gave her a little sample, rubbing her tight neck and shoulders.

The girl Armando and I really connected with was Kimmie. She was 20 years old and from Virginia. She'd been doing this for two years. Unlike Danielle, Kimmie seemed genuine, talking to us because she was an upbeat person and not solely to get us to have a lap dance. In fact, as Armando noted, most of the girls were just sitting around when they were off-stage, saving their energy for the high rollers who'd arrive later. But Kimmie was doing well for herself by working the crowd. Armando was counting the number of customers she led into the curtained room for a lap dance. He had her gross at $150 during the two hours we were there, and she was working until 5 the next morning.

Armando had two two-song lap dances with Kimmie ($40 each plus tip). I figured I might as well do this too, since who knows if I would ever come back to a strip club again. Kimmie led me by the hand to the curtained room. I wasn't sure what exactly a lap dance entails, so I told her that I was wearing an insulin pump and tubing for kidney dialysis. I wear my pump inside a baby sock that I tuck into my underwear. I thought I had better tell her in case it got in her way.

Kimmie couldn't believe it: She, too, is a Type I diabetic, diagnosed at age 12. She said she wore a pump when she was in school, but it caused welts at the insertion points, so she had to discontinue its use and go back to taking shots. I asked her if it was difficult to work nights. Didn't that throw her schedule off? She said she tested her blood to make sure she was OK during her shift.

Kimmie and I were both noticeably touched. It's not often that I've met a Type I (juvenille-onset rather than adult- or obesity-onset) diabetic. I've probably only knowingly met a half dozen in my entire life. Kimmie hugged me after she'd finished her dance and said that she felt I'd been guided to her. I was nearly in tears. I gave her my business card and wrote my home phone number on the back. I admonished her to take care of herself now so that she can avoid dialysis in the future. (How I wish I had met an older Type I diabetic when I was 20. Someone who might have been my guide and support system.) I told her she could call me any time to talk about diabetes, that I'd be there to offer support.

Wow, how beautiful this was! God works in mysterious ways, bringing people together who might never have been brought together otherwise.

Now Kimmie (real name Erica) may not call, and I sure can't afford to go back to the club to see her. If you were really going to do it right, a night at a strip club would start at $200 if you tipped after every dance and bought a few drinks. If you wanted more than that, a one-song lap dance is $20, a two-song $40, 15 minutes in the VIP room $160 and a half hour $300. I'm sure some people burn through hundreds of dollars a night.

But even if Kimmie doesn't call, I gave her a forceful message. Who knows, maybe because of that one brief encounter, she will watch her blood sugar level and eat right so that 30 years from now, she won't be in the same situation I'm in.