Richard Thruster

On The Move

2007-07-26T23:02:00.000-07:00

It's not quite complete yet, but I'll be posting at my new website (www.richardthruster.com) from here on. Make sure you update your bookmarks.

Standing Room Only: Sassy's

2007-07-23T20:59:00.000-07:00

I hadn't given much thought to the little pink building on Morrison. Oh sure, I've driven by it enough times and knew it was a strip club, but the location reminds me of too many other little holes-in-the-wall that I'd just as soon avoid. But the Willamette Week article convinced me I needed to check the place out. Was there really a Christian girl working in there? If so, I knew my friend the Catalyst would be interested. Was there really a fiery redhead working there? I knew I'd need to know. So it was off to Sassy's.

The original plan was to hit the place immediately after work on Saturday night but that was quickly torpedoed as I pulled into the parking lot. The place was crawling with 20-something hipsters who would have been equally happy at the Doug Fir or maybe the new Morrison Hotel down the street. My work "uniform" of gym shorts and t-shirt wasn't going to work. I've been known to wander into the Dolphin while similarly dressed down, but that had a lot to do with my comfort level in there. No matter what I found inside Sassy's, I could tell ultra-casual wasn't going to work.

Upon my return, I found the parking lot full and a stretch Hummer out front blocking one traffic lane. The place was absolutely jumping. I finally found a parking spot over on 9th and wandered toward the door. A guy was talking on his cell phone, telling his buddy how Chad was making it rain inside.

"He must have thrown $20 at her!"

Idiot.

After one unsuccessful attempt along Morrison, I finally found the door tucked around the corner. Immediately I was greeted with a chain across the entrance. It acted as a velvet rope only much classier. It was unattended. Was the place full? Was I at the wrong spot? All I could see was a couple of pool tables manned by guys out of a beer commercial. And the music was straight out of 1986.

After a moment a guy with a full Maori facial tattoo came by to man the chain. I reached for my wallet to show ID or pay the cover but all he did was give me a quick once-over and let me through. Whaaa? Saturday night and there's no cover? I've no idea how that works, but I'm all for it.

I followed the music around the corner and headed for the bar. There were two stages set on either side of the room. One of them looked to have the VIP couches behind a red curtain. An interesting configuration. Each of the stages had a pole and the rails were packed with 20-something guys admiring the view, but apparently stingy with the singles. At least that's what I saw.

I made my way back to the bar, passing a Vince Neil look-a-like who was manning the DJ booth. He was spinning 80s butt-rock records like they were coming back into style. Actually it was a pretty good mix. He even played one of my personal favorites of the genre, Ratt's "Lay It Down". Add to that ZZ Top's "La Grange" and you get the idea.

As I mentioned, the place was packed. Not a chair to be found. After a couple of minutes standing near the bar, trying to get a beer, I finally gave up and wandered to a back corner. The bouncer's stool made a good vantage point.

There were a half dozen girls working. You can get a look at a couple of them here (a fantastic website, no?). The only one I recognize from the photos is Malice, but the schedule says she wasn't there. Like all things on-line though, I suspect your mileage will vary with the girls. They were all very good looking and definitely playful. I haven't seen a line-up that from top-to-bottom put on excellent shows. Each worked the pole and the paying customers like pros, even though a couple of them clearly didn't "belong". Belonging is such a subjective term. To me there are girls you want to bring home to mom and those you wouldn't dare. One reminded me of a former work crush who I would have gladly given anything I had to. *Sigh*

Alas, there was neither time nor room to talk with any of them. When not on stage, most were busy giving private dances or hanging with friends at one of the few tables in the place. Did I mention it was packed? Good.

I gotta say Sassy's surprised me on several levels. The had the best mix of tunes outside the Club 205. The crowd was unlike what I expected. The civilian females, unlike say the Dolphin, seemed to actually want to be there rather than those who were just "giving their guy a present". And the beer looked to be reasonably priced. But after an hour, the place didn't look to be getting any emptier, so I decided to split. I tried to make my way over to the Magic Garden, but there was even less parking available there. I think I'll have to check both places out on weeknights. That said, I'll definitely be back to Sassy's. That's the kind of place that can certainly grow on a guy.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Gotta Get On A Schedule

2007-07-22T12:40:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of posts for the last week. I finally got out to a new place last night and haven't had time yet to do a proper write-up. I will though ~~tonight~~ Monday.

So many places out there. Starting to get some requests too. I know I said before I didn't believe I could give a proper review to a place on a weeknight, I'm thinking that may be just the thing. We shall see.

Anyway, new review up ~~tonight~~ Monday. Late.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Don't Fall In Love With A Dancer: The Dolphin II

2007-07-14T08:26:00.001-07:00

Well, OK. I'm not in love, but I certainly had a great time and was separated from a few more dollars than I had intended. The evening was supposed to be about checking in with Jewel to see if indeed her skills on the couch had improved since I'd last experienced them. It ended with a freckled redhead kissing me on the neck after I complimented her breasts. Only in a strip club.

My last trip to the D2, as the kids call it, was for the Miss Nude Oregon pageant. You can read all about it here. I wanted to see how it was on a "regular" night. I pulled in around 8:30 to find the parking lot beginning to fill up. I paid my $5 cover and headed to the bar for my customary bottle of Coors Light and to load up on singles. $4.75 for a bottle of beer seems kind of steep, but if anyone can get away with that, it's the Dolphin.

I sat down at a table to get my bearings and see if my girl Jewel was in. At first glance I couldn't see her. The girl on stage, an Asian, was a nice distraction. She was younger and looked happy to be there. So important, I'm finding. If you're not having fun on-stage, I'm probably not going to have a whole lot of fun on the rail.

It wasn't long before the DJ called out Jewel's name for the main stage. Oh goodie. She came out wearing an outfit not unlike something Marilyn Monroe would have worn back in the day. Like this here. Only barefoot. Was she going specifically for Marilyn? Probably not. But who am I to quibble?

As is her custom, she went right for the pole and proceeded to defy gravity. Spinning upside down, hair flying, arms outstretched. I don't know about her couch skills, but I can tell you she's been working on the pole. At one point, hanging upside down with her legs wrapped around the pole, one hand on the ground to steady herself, she reached up, undid her top and let it slide down. The clincher though came during the second song. Naked, she climbs the pole, which is probably 8' high, swings her legs out to the rafter above and wraps her legs around it, lets go of the pole and just hangs there by her legs, back to the pole. She took a second to get her bearings, then swung back, flying from the rafter back on to the pole and spun all the way down. I'm telling you, it's worth the cover and the expensive beer to watch that. It's Olympic. Has she been working out? You can't tell by looking at her. She's still soft and curvy. And that smile. Remind me to have her over for Festivus.

I was bashful about sitting right down in front. Would she know it was me? And was I ready to chat about the blog? The answers are probably and no. I still want to keep some anonymity.

With Jewel gone, it was Candy's turn. She's a tall, thin drink of water with long hair and a nice body. Like Jewel, she worked the pole like a pro. At one point she got her hair caught in the bolts and such at the bottom of the pole. A fun little moment.

After she left the stage, I hit the head and went for another beer. As I stood at the bar, who should approach but Candy. She started to chat me up but with a speaker right above us, I couldn't make out a word she said. I finally asked her to sit down with me away from the crowd. We sat in the back corner and talked all things stripper. She tells me she's from Medford and dances at Le Dolls. Only it's not Le Dolls anymore. It's something else. She was up for a pole dancing competition the Dolphin is sponsoring. Apparently there was a qualifying round on Thursday night, but she decided not to compete. It's a long story.

Sidenote: With apologies to Natalia, Jewel, IMHO, was robbed on the Miss Nude Oregon thing. And after watching her last night, I'm even more convinced of that. She has the hottest body, hands down, of any girl in there. And the smile and the hair. And the zero tattoos. She's the complete package. That said, if she doesn't win this pole competition, there's something seriously wrong. I guess the finals are at the Dolphin 1 in a few weeks. That means she won't be able to do the rafter trick, but everything else will be on display. She should win this thing walking away. End of discussion.

I told Candy she should enter the competition. She's better than most everyone in the building, But she said she couldn't afford to drive all the way up and not win. Besides there's something going on down in Medford. Some star is coming to work and she needs to be there to pick-up the sloppy seconds.

As with all stripper conversations, ours ended with an invitation to go visit the couch. I was saving myself for Jewel and politely declined.

I made my way back to the rail in time for a set from Raquel. If Jewel is going to be my dancer crush, Raquel would be the girl I keep on the side. Tall. Red haired. And freckled. Oh God the freckles. I could have sat there and just looked at her lounging nude all night. Her body was taught and perfect. And she had some spunk, which is nice. Unlike a few of the girls I'd met earlier in the week, hers' seemed genuine. Like she really wanted to know what it was I sold. And who knows, maybe she did. All I knew was I wanted to catalog every last mark on her body. Goodness.

It was somewhere in here the night went off the rails. Knowing I wouldn't be stopping at just one couch dance, I hit the ATM for some ammunition. The DJ then announced we were celebrating a special occasion. A guy had just returned from Iraq and his buddies wanted to show him a good time. So they brought him up on stage bachelor-style and had one of the girls give him a show to Skynyrd. Normally I'm all for this, but the DJ couldnt let the song just play. He kept having to interject. Actually the whole night he played more the role of hype-man than DJ. Which is fine, I guess. The clientèle certainly enjoyed it. They were mostly an under-30 crowd who's idea of a strip club was straight out of a Puff Daddy video. The Dolphin gives that experience in spades.

There was one other girl I wanted to check out before I got my dance with Jewel and went home. There was a youngish blonde with pale skin and a killer soft body that I wanted to see. She had that "what in the Hell are you doing in here" look that I go for. She finally ended up dancing on the side stage near the DJ booth. It took about thirty second to figure out what she was doing there. As she sauntered around on stage, you could see the tattoo working its way up her side and around her right breast. Yikes. Thats not my thing at all. But I wasn't going to let that deter me from getting a good look at her. She looked sort of uncomfortable with all the single guys up there. The groups were all sitting at the main stage. The side stage was all degenerates. Myself included. Except I wasn't the guy taking notes. Kids, THAT'S creepy. Right up there with trying to snap cell phone pictures while no one was looking.

She eventually got her panties off and peeled the dress down to expose her breasts. She wasn't comfortable showing off her butt and several times pulled her dress down to cover it. This is a crime since that's one of her best features. When Sir-Mix-A-Lot spoke of the LA face and the Oakland bootie, he was speaking of this girl. Man. Except the tattoo has got to go. At least no more, ok?

With all the silliness out of the way, it was time to go visit Jewel. She came back up in the main stage and went right back to her routine. A group of guys sitting opposite me couldn't help but applaud and throw money "making it rain-style". And as much as she wanted to give me attention (I have a feeling she put two-and-two together immediately and knew it was me), she couldn't ignore the guys waving all the cash. And who can blame her. She's there to make money, not get critiqued. At the end of her set, she gathered up her cash and quickly went back to the couches. Time was a wastin'.

Dang. I'd struck out. With a stripper, no less! How does that happen?

So I went to the bar to grab a glass of water and reload on singles. I was determined to wait the fellas out and get my private time with my girl. No sooner had I sat down than Roxy came and joined me. She's a cute brunette with an easy smile. We chatted a little bit. The place had nearly completely filled up and I asked her if it was always this busy. She said it was. We compared notes on the Dolphin 1.

"It's in a weird location" she said.

I told her about the buffet and the old days. She seemed interested, but we both knew why she was there. And she eventually got around to asking.

"I'm a little drunk and want to give you a couch dance."

'Nuff said. I asked her if she thought she gave better dances while drunk. She replied she did everything better while drunk.

"Except drive."

I might be a cop. You never know.

So we went back to the back, hand in hand.

I've had probably hundreds of couch dances over the years. Some good. Some great. Some terrible. The Roxy experience is definitely in my top-5 of all-time. She's always a surprise because I never remember to put her and her couch skills together. There's a disconnect. As soon as she went to work though, I remembered I'd traveled this path with her a few times before. Her style is all about contact. She puts her body right across yours and never loses that contact. She stroked my face and neck with her hand while she moaned into my ear. And slowly worked down my face and neck, taking nibbles along the way. Yeah. She had my attention.

She worked around to my face and nose and lips. And gave me a good look at her still-covered breasts. Oh God. When the song ended, I didn't have a choice but to go around again. She knows what gets guys going and gives it to them 110%. Any girl who wants to improve their game should spend some time on the couch with Roxy. I guarantee your customers will beg for more.

I managed to peel myself away from Roxy after two songs although I could have gone on with her all night. Working my way back to the main room, I saw Raquel was on the side stage and had to get another look. We picked right back up where we left off. She, trying to figure out who I was, I trying to figure out how to get her to slow down and let me drink in every inch of her. I'd forgotten how much I dig freckles.

After her set ended, I got up to leave but she chased me down, practically demanding I get a table dance from her. I was hoping this would involve her being inches away from my face, naked. But no such luck. It was a couch dance. She promised me the ride of my life. After the E-ticket that is Roxy, that would be difficult to pull off. We talked a little more about my pseudo-career and where we lived as we waited for the next song to begin. Eventually she whispered she was going to shut-up and went to work.

Raquel's style is a little...firmer. And thats not a bad thing at all. As I said before, she's taught and obviously works to keep herself in shape. I was distracted because my car keys kept jabbing at the both of us as she thrust herself into me. She didn't seem to mind, and as she nibbled on my neck, neither did I. She let her hair fall across my head and caressed my face while she gave me a good look at her breasts.

Our time was up way too quickly. My Jewel fund was spent and I just sat there spent. I let her know her freckles drove me insane and her breasts were phenomenal. You would have thought I'd just asked her to the high school dance. She quickly kissed my neck and thanked me. Genuine? Who knows. I guess I'm not paying her to be genuine. I'm paying her to entertain. And that she did.

I wasn't planning to go back to the Dolphin anytime soon. There remain way too many other places to check out. But there are way too many loose ends at the Dolphin. Will Jewel win the pole dancing competition? Have her couch skills improved since we last encountered one another? What would it be like to be the filling in a Roxy/Jewel couch sandwich? And most importantly, does Raquel like me for me or for my wallet? I guess we'll find out next time on "As The Dolphin Turns".

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Loose Ends: Cabaret II

2007-07-12T13:16:00.001-07:00

In my haste to get my review up last night, I forgot to include a few details from my visit.

-After the breathing in my ear, my other favorite memory of my favorite first lap dance happened about halfway through as Tigre was giving me a good close-up of her doule-a's. As she moved up and down inches from my face, her nipple grazed my cheek. She quickly apologized. Obviously none was needed. My first stilted stripper conversation occurred moments later as she was searching for her undies. They were under my chair. Weird.

- The Lizard Girl will give me nightmares for months. At one point toward the end of her set, she lay down on the stage and pulled her ankles behind her head. So all I had was a shot of her ass and vagina. Which is fine. I'm all for that. The problem came when her head popped up and I swear it looked like it shot straight up out of her crotch. Alien-style. AND she kept lip-synching with the music. Combine that with the stare, and you'll forgive me if I hit the video poker next time I see her.

- Amazonia. This cannot be emphasized enough. One of the girls looked like Grace Jones' white sister/lover. Another, despite points for the red hair, wasn't far behind.

- The dj. Remember when Whoopi Goldberg tok over Hollywood Squares and permanently put Bruce Vallanch down in the bottom left? Well Bruce (or his brother) is now the dj at Cabaret II. Every break starts with "lllllllladies and gentlemen..." Ummmm... Dude? Yeah, I was the only customer in the place. There was no need for the theatrics. Just introduce the girls and remind me they only work for tips. Leave the cheesecake personality out of it. You're almost as bad as the guy who used to be at the Dolphin 1. Almost.

The more I think about it, the more I think I should go back. Some Saturday night when I'm not the only dick in the place.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

You Never Forget Your First: Cabaret II

2007-07-11T22:30:00.000-07:00

My very first trip to a strip club must have been in the fall of 1990. Jack Rabbit, Scooter, and I all made the trip up from school to attend the sold-out Andrew "Dice" Clay show at the Schnitzer. It was a three-day-weekend, as I recall. At least we spent an extra day or two away from school and at my parents' house south of town. Scooter and The Rabbit decided to strike out on their own and look up an old high school buddy of theirs' and leave me home alone with the parents.

The next morning they told stories of the land of milk and honey. Where girls took their clothes off then talked to you about...well...whatever. The place was Jiggles in Tualatin. Their buddy became enamored with one particular girl and just wanted to sit and talk with her all night long. Good for him.

A few weeks later, Jack Rabbit and I were back up for something or other. We decided to hit CJ's out at 175th and Stark. At the time CJ's was a juice bar catering to the under-21 crowd. This, of course, meant a steep cover and $8 Cokes. But we didn't much care. We gladly paid for both.

We were escorted to our seats in the ring above the stage where girls would come by every few minutes and offer us private dances. I became smitten with one name Tigre. She was maybe a year or two older than us (we were 19 at the time), blonde, slim, and flat chested. But there was something about her. I can't put my finger on it.

I must have bought five or six dances off her that night. Each of them "blue light" specials. Half price all naked things. She went through the same routine each time, putting her breasts right into my face while exhaling right into my ear. Oh my. She had me by the short and curlies. Could have done anything she wanted with me.

Between dances, Jack and I would sit at our table and watch as other girls gave other guys their dances. When a particular move would impress us, we'd applaud. I spent most of the night just wide-eyed.

"Do they all shave?" I asked Jack.

"Yes, yes they do."

Huh.

Back before the tramp stamp, it used to be that shaving your privates was a sure sign of sluttiness. No more. Shaving is almost more common now, especially in the under-30 set, than not shaving. I would go so far as to say unshaved may be the new shaved. Perhaps we can discuss this another time.

I haven't been back to CJ's/Cabaret II in well over ten years. The place has changed hands a number of times. But it's always remained a strip club and, I think, a juice bar.

Well, no more. The Cabaret II is now a full-function bar with beer on tap and spirits of every kind. The bar definitely left much to be desired, but the $3.75 draft Coors Light is pretty damned reasonable. And the help is attentive but not distracting. A girl on stage has her breasts in your face? The waitress will wait to ask if you'd like another beer. Very nice.

As usual, it took a second or two to get my bearings upon walking in. The place, I believe, either started out as a pizza or steak joint. Seating is in three levels surrounding the stage. As I walked in, I saw a small gaggle of dancers huddled together next to the dressing room door, looking up at the stage like baby robins. Were they under-age performers? Dunno. Weird.

I took my seat at the rail and put a dollar up on stage. I was the only guy at the rail. There was one at the bar and two or three on the level above me.

I've only recently decided the best place to sit in a club is at the rail. See, there's an unwritten code among dancers that they cannot hassle customers for private dancers while they're sitting at the rail. Anywhere else is fair game. So as long as I keep feeding singles, and occasional Lincolns, I'm fine. Sometimes I get a little extra attention, sometimes I get left alone. Fine by me. As long as I don't have to have some stilted conversation about my day or my job or how long you've been dancing here. *Ugh*

My first clue as to what I would find inside came in the parking lot. It's never a good sign when the car next to you has a baby seat in the back. With the exception of a few girls, most of the dancers looked like they may have all worked with my girl Tigre in the past. One may well have been her. Not a good thing.

I promised myself I'd do a better job of remembering names, but as usual I forgot most. The ones I do remember? Essence. A skinny black girl with a million dollar smile. Oh my. And her song selection was modern R&B which I can get with. Her body was perfect and she put on a good show. And, unlike most of the girls, she was tattoo-free. A real take-her-home to mom kind of girl. Unfortunately I think I only got to see her last dance, otherwise I would have treated myself to a lap dance with her.

Mercedes was another black girl and was one of only two, along with Essence, who looked like they were having fun. She was a thicker girl with the largest breasts in the room. Spent a lot of time lying down on the stage and smiling at me. Man, I liked that.

Beyond those two, there really wasn't anything to write home about. Heather I was looking forward to see because of her red hair and fit body, but once she was on stage, she didn't do anything for me. And her top, I don't believe, ever came off. She had small breasts with stretch marks. Not a good look. She was one of only two who broke the fourth wall and made physicall contact with me. A nice touch.

The last one, Tigre II who's name started with an M (Mystery?) broke the mold of all the others. While the other dancers were languid and slow, Tigre II came out like a tornado. She looked like an amalgam of four different girls I went to high school with, right down to the Gresham perm that went out of style with metal. But that didn't stop her from frantically stalking the stage like a combination cobra/Axl Rose. All with a creepy smile on her face. Yick.

The more I think about it, the more I think she went to high school with me. This is not a good thing.

So that's the Cabaret II. Wednesday was probably not the best night to review it, things being absolutely dead and all. But there I was. It's clean and the drinks are reasonably priced. But if you're looking for a fresher girl with fewer miles, may I recommend driving a few miles west and checking out the Club 205.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Letters, We Get Letters

2007-07-08T22:58:00.000-07:00

Seems we're finally getting some attention out there. First Natalia checked in with a lovely note thanking me for supporting the Miss Nude Oregon pageant. Then Jewel emailed. She reports her couch skills have improved since I first checked her out and encouraged me to give her another try. She's at the Dolphin 2 these days. I'll definitely be taking her up on that. I've also heard from some regulars at various clubs asking me to check out this place or that. It's a big city folks. And it takes a little while to get around. But I will.

In the meantime, thanks to everyone for reading. Drop me a line if there's a club or entertainer out there you think I need to check out.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Still Free Speech

2007-07-02T11:02:00.000-07:00

Some interesting news out of Salem, where a judge ruled Friday that lap dances are protected speech under the Oregon Constitution. The case revolves around Cheetah's. Despite spending a fair amount of time in our state's capital, I've yet to set foot inside Cheetah's. And I'm not likely to either.

Most clubs in Oregon prefer to stay relatively nondescript within their neighborhoods. They don't draw too much attention to themselves. Oh sure, there are plenty of "girls, girls, girls" signs around, but thats about it. Cheetah's, however, prefers to send girls out on the street to hold signs and otherwise beckon customers. Not unlike the girls you might see in downtown Vegas. While this might fly on Fremont Street, it ain't gonna work in Salem. And I can't support a business that's going to go out of its way to upset the neighbors.

So good for Judge Norblad for allowing the humble lap dance to continue. Here's hoping Cheetah's can take advantage of this decision and clean up their act.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Strip Club Humor

2007-07-01T22:28:00.000-07:00

ESPN columnist Bill Simmons had a couple of interesting takes on clubs in his most recent chat:

Matt (New York, NY): If you were at a gentleman's club and PacMan Jones and his crew walked in, what would you do? Round up your buddies and head out the door as soon as possible? If you were getting a dance at the time, would you even wait for the end of the song?

Bill Simmons: I read an article about this - you're supposed to climb underneath the table, cross your legs, put your hands behind your head and lie facing the ground.

An interesting question. And locally, even more intriguing given the recent Blazer roster's love of all things stripper. Both Zach and Darius have been known to frequent a few clubs around town and I myself saw Sebastian Telfair at Jiggles down in Tualatin one night. Fortunately I think we're safe from PacMan, but as long as Darius is still in town, it's best to stay aware. Fortunately for me, none of the places Miles prefers are on my list of places to visit. At least not yet.

Adam: (New York, NY): You are exactly the guy to settle this: For the first time in my life this past weekend I was fortunate enough have "Mr. Roboto" as the background song for a lap dance. Needless to say, it was a wastershed comedic moment in my life. Watching a stripper try to put together a dance that was both alluring and contextually appropriate given the song was more entertaining than watching Eric Dickerson try to ad-lib an analysis of Lyndon Johnson's "Great Society." Anyway, the question: Is "Mr. Roboto" the funniest possible strip-club song to provoke this absolutely riveting experience?

Bill Simmons: It scares me that I'm exactly the guy to settle this. I still think "We Built This City" would be funnier - that's my answer to any "funniest song in a situation" question. But I think it would be funny to see someone strip to "We didn't start the fire" by Billy Joel - that song's so fast, I don't know what could happen there. Any suggestions are welcome.

As I mentioned before, I cannot stand interpretive dance on stage. There's just no place for it. I'm there to be entertained, not mortified. Mr. Roboto would be intriguing for a few minutes, but I'd want to get back to something more appropriate. Whatever they were playing at the 205 the other night should be a template for other clubs to emulate. I couldn't name a single band they played, but the music was good and it kept things moving. That's all I ask.

If you're not familiar with Simmons or, more importantly, his readers, the suggestions began to flow almost immediately. Here are a few of my favorites.

Mike (NYC): I think "TNT" by AC/DC would be in the top 5, that is about the most awkward song I've seen someone strip/dance to.

Portland sports fans will immediately recognize TNT as the song the Winter Hawks play when the team scores a goal. Even when KGON plays it while I'm in the car, I have a Pavlovian reaction and want to cheer. I couldn't imagine what my reaction would be if this tune were played at The Dolphin.

Joe, VA: For the strip club song... 500 miles by the Proclaimers.

The Librarian, a fan of all things Scottish, would wet himself if he were to hear that tune during a lapdance. Me? I'd head for the video poker. I'm enjoying the Deuces Wild these days.

Bunky: How about "Everybody Hurts" by REM for a lap dance?

REM would be in heavy rotation if the Librarian had his way. As would Peter Himmelman. Don't ask.

Mike (Chicago): I would like a lap dance to Rick Astley's "Never gonna give you up".

Bill Simmons: I'm glad you brought this up. When I was in college, we used to go to Papa Gino's for All You Can Eat Pasta night, which was fantastic. Anyway, right when we got there one night, I put $5 into the jukebox and just selected that same Rick Astley song over and over again so that it would play for the entire time we were there. The reactions from the diners were priceless. Every time the song ended, you could see people praying that it wouldn't start again, and then it would. I miss college.

I miss college too. But more to the point, I'll bet you Rick Astley has been played in a strip club. One with girls. Just as you can bet Milli Vanilli was played at some point as well. If there was stripping happening during the first Bush administration, people were stripping to Rick Astley. And George Michael.

nick eht, nj: Mike and the Mechanics "The Living Years" would also be an awful strip club song.........

I'm guessing guys have cried during lap dances. I'll be the first to confess I've gone to the club to try and strip away a memory. But a song about my dad? I really have zero desire to think about dead relatives while I'm there.

An interesting topic, though. The one tune that's ground on me for years has been the Prince tune Pussy Control that I swear the Dolphin played twice a night for five years. I haven't heard it in a few trips, so maybe it's been retired. Like I said, I prefer my music a little less smutty and a little more rockin'. Is this too much to ask?

It Sparkles! Club 205

2007-06-28T23:53:00.000-07:00

Since I started this a month ago, everyone who's writtern has told me I had to go check out Club 205. For one it was his home away from home when family life became too much to handle. For another, it was a place to blow off steam after work. Others have commented on how the girls were all hot and the beer was ice cold. And the kitchen. Don't forget the kitchen.

I'll confess. I'd only been in there once. With The Librarian. He was in town for some conference or some such so we went out there for a beer on the way to take him back to the airport. I didn't think much of it at the time. I mean it was nice, but it wasn't The Dolphin, you know?

As you've no doubt noticed, I haven't been out for a few weeks. Between the computer and real life, there hasn't been time. Tonight I decided to celebrate Greg Oden Day with a trip out to the Club 205.

The first thing I noticed pulling in was how crowded it seemed. Especially for a Thursday night. Granted, Thursdays usually involve drink specials and, at least when I was in college, are a pretty busy night. But the parking lot was full and there were several cars parked along Stark. Or is it Washington? I get so confused. Anyway, I found my spot and walked along the street up to the unmarked entrance.

I like knowing the rules of a place ahead of time. That's why I've spent so many hours at The Dolphin. I know what I'm getting into. My discomfort was immediate when I walked inside. At the door was a bouncer sitting at a table. He had the ultra-violet light and what appeared to be a cash register. The light is to check ID's. And the cash register? No doubt for a cover. So I hovered at the station for a minute to see what would happen. The bouncer barely glanced at me as he kept his conversation going with a girl next to him.

"Fine," I thought as I stepped to the bar, ordered a beer, and turned to survey the situation.

The crowd slanted heavily toward the under-30 crowd. The drink of choice was wither a pitcher of beer or Red Bull and Vodka, t he Jack and Coke of the younger generation. There's no rowdiness and the hip-hop is kept to a minimum. In fact, the music was pretty good, leaning toward a lot of rock.

The club is laid out very well, with three stages set comfortably apart, yet close enough that you can get a view of all three from pretty much anywhere. A couple of tables were set aside for guys who didn't want to sit at the rail or were eating dinner. I'd already filled up on wings (Wing Stop at Eastport Plaza serves a mean wing), so I took my beer and sat down at a lonely stage where there was only one other guy. And a blonde.

I quickly figured out why there was only one guy sitting at the stage. This one was.... ummmm.... rough. Not in a hideous sort of way. But in a leathery/too much time in the gym and under the lamp sort of way. And the fake boobs. Never a good sign, especially on a girl with a lot of city miles. I did soldier on though, shelling out the singles to see what happened.

Club 205 does three-song sets. The first is all clothed. The second, topless. And the third all nude. I'd sat down during the second tune. My girl came over, sat down on the rail and proceeded to bounce up and down. When everything is stretched taut, this is not a good thing. Yick. As my girl, Natasha, I think, gyrated, I looked over her shoulder to see what else was going on. Immediately I saw yet another reason I was sitting alone. There was a brunette at the other stage that put this one to shame. Tall, tone, stacked, and natural. And she performed a scorpion on-stage. The girl was a cheerleader! Holy smokes! I thought the cheerleaders only worked at Jiggles in Tualatin!

Well that did it for me. I was going to make it a short evening. But it was now my mission to find out about the scorpion girl and get a front row seat when she performed the next one.

The next rotation brought out a different brunette to my stage, called "the box". She was younger and softer than the blonde Russian. And the lip gloss. Oh my. Yes, it was gonna be a good night. She worked through her songs and went through a couple of the same moves exhibited by her friend. One she was particularly fond of was lounging on the rail and rollong her stomach from top to bottom. I'm not exactly sure whom this is supposed to turn on. It certainly wasn't me. The other move that's become popular in clubs is the gyrating bootie. It's straight out of a Snoop Dogg video and it needs to stop. It's nearly as annoying as the ass-antler tattoo.

I sat there and pondered how I would express my dislike of the gyrate. And the belly roll. And the back tattoo. And I had to stop myself and remember that I was having a good time. The help was attentive and cute. The bouncers kept to themselves and weren't all that visible by the stage. And the food looked pretty good. And the brunette? She was really cute. Her name is Isis. And you do need to check her out.

As she exited, Scorpion girl was coming to the main stage. Time to go see what that was all about. I like girls who are a little thicker. Scorpion Girl, who's name escapes me, is not fat, far from it. There's just some substance to her. A presence. I liked it. And her hair. With only a few exceptions, the hair in there was spectacular. Unlike some places, you could see these girls leading real lives outside the club. Girls-next-door, if you will. The girls get right up in front of you and aren't bashful. And there's no sluttiness or simulated lesbianism like at The Dolphin. Good good times.

Back to Scorpion Girl. She made her way around the stage, alternately using the pole and coming over to the rail for a close-up. She nudged my arm and beer away so she could get right down in front of me and give a great show. The stage show is second-to-none. And as she reclined on the stage to give me a shot of her breasts while she did the stomach roll (a move I'm this close to calling "The 205"), she pulled aside her bottom to show me her crotch. She'd sprayed it with glitter spray.

"It sprinkles!" I exclaimed. She just smiled and went back to work. I was in love.

As the third song came around, the bottom came off, giving a full view of everything. And wouldn't you know it, she went straight to the scorpion and gave me a full-face view. Oh my. What a girl.

Knowing it wouldn't get any better, I headed back to the restroom to unload some beer before hitting the video poker. The restroom was clean, if cramped. A few places could take a lesson.

As I headed over to the video poker, I glanced again over my shoulder and saw a blonde I hadn't noticed before. I'd been prepared to completely write off the blondes and advise you, dear reader, to stick only to the brunettes. But that all changed.

Meet Allie. Young. Blonde. Soft. And stacked. She sure didn't look 21, but I'm guessing all the girls in the place were. She had an inocent look about her that makes you want to take her home and treat her well. But you can't, so you don't. Unlike the rest of the girls, she had no tattoos and no piercings. Not even her belly button! So refreshing. And her smile. Oh yes. Her smile. So I made sure for the third tune that I gave her a couple extra bucks for some extra attention. And I got it. All angles. Right there.

As her set ended, I watched her pick up the bills and thank the guys as she crawled. If you're into watching naked women crawl around and pick up dollar bills, this is your place. It's hard to explain. Just enjoy. Anyway, as she was working to me, hopefully to ask if I wanted a private dance, she got waylaid by a guy who wanted to do some side business. I didn't her much of the conversation. She turned him down at least twice. Good for her, I thought. But the conversation didn't leave any time for her to come ask me for my dance. So we didn't.

I stuck around through one more rotation so I could see Allie again. And she didn't disappoint. After the second set, as she was putting her outfit back on, we made a little small talk. She said she'd been dancing there for about a month but was a veteran of the Acropolis and Cabaret. She said 205 was her favorite place so far. I gotta tell you. It may become mine as well.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

The Librarian Checks In From Boise

2007-06-22T09:50:00.001-07:00

Apparently there's a Spearmint Rhino franchise in Boise. The Librarian was underwhelmed.

"I want a laid back, down home club like The Torch in Boise. The Rhino is all corporate, airbrushed publicity shots of Janine all over the walls. The local girls can't live up to that, what with their baby fat and stretchmarks. They can't even go topless, and yet they hit you up all night for private dances. And if the answer is no, they sit at your table telling you how their mom is babysitting their daughter for July 4th so they can go on a road trip and get "totally wasted" up at the hot springs. Until you decide, despite the five dollar Thursday night
cover charge, you should leave as quickly as you arrived. That, my friend, is the Boise Spearmint Rhino."

Looks like my friend has saved me a road trip. I wonder if a Spearmint Rhino would work in Portland?

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Well That Took Forever

2007-06-21T22:07:00.001-07:00

10 days without a computer is a long time. But I'm back now. What did I miss?

Oh yeah.

See, here's the thing about conversations with strippers. I really try to avoid them. It's not that I don't enjoy their company. It's not that I don't like it when they purr in my ear during a couch dance. It's that I have zero desire to hear most anyone's life story, be they a dancer or a truck driver or my co-worker. Zero.

I can think of only two exceptions. Back during a different era at the Dolphin, I can remember having a conversation with a dancer about Freddy Fender. She was a cute one. One of those girls who, despite her 38D's, you could tell really didn't belong on stage. Life had something elseplanned for her. Or so goes my fantasy. The other was the redhead I mentioned before, although the more I think about her, the more I think her whole massage school thing was just a line.

Back to Phil. A dancer who fronts a rock-and-roll band, speaks four languages, and writes a movie column? Pass. Thanks though. I'm not into stripping as performance art. But that's just me.

I'll be back out on the prowl this weekend. I've got some catching up to do.

Out of Commission

2007-06-12T22:31:00.001-07:00

Wouldn't you know it...Phil Stanford does a Clinton on Viva Las Vegas and my computer gives out. So no links to the Stanford column and none to the Merc's rather witty reply. Nope! I'm reduced to blogging on my handheld until the factory ships my new laptop. Damn.

Miss Nude Oregon: The Dolphin II

2007-06-09T08:53:00.000-07:00

My favorite porn series of all-time is Ed Powers' "Dirty Debutantes". Ed is a fat, disgusting every-man who's carved out a niche within the industry. For about a six or seven year period in the late-90s and early 21st-century, any new porn starlet who wanted to make it in the biz had to start by crawling across Ed's bed. The girls were literally fresh off the bus. It was a beautiful thing.

Over the years Ed has told the story of the evolution of the adult industry. He'll tell you it was intentional, I know better. Back in the early to mid-nineties, porn was still pretty taboo. Girls who appeared in it were doing so most likely to support drug habits or something similar. There was no glitz. No glamor. But Ed started to change that. In his early stuff you would watch nervous young twenty-somethings who weren't quite sure what to expect submit to Ed's slow cajoling. The best example was Dirty Debs #17 where in one scene he got a girl to talk about all the experience she had while her knees were literally fused together. It took about 20 minutes, but Ed soon had her face in the pillows.

The next scene started out very similar. He had this girl, Angel, naked and masturbating on his bed. It was as far as she'd go. That was that. But Ed kept going. Lying naked next to her. Eventually getting her to stroke him off. Then there were a few whispered words, inaudible except for "...and my manager will never know?" and Ed had her on all fours begging him to go harder. It was a beautiful thing.

As you move through the series (I think he's up somewhere in the 400s these days...at an average of 4 bimbos-per-dvd, that's a lot of bimbi...finally figuring out he was playing Russian roulette, he started using condoms 100% of the time in 2001), the girls eventually get a little easier. A little more willing. NO better example of this than a young Aurora Snow appearing in Dirty Debs 152. She still had a fair amount of baby fat on her and was pretty inexperienced. But she was a trooper. And just a few years later, she was AVN's female performer of the year.

These days everyone knows what's expected and everyone performs their assigned tasks flawlessly. My favorite scenes, though, will always be the ones with the girls who aren't quite sure they belong there. The ones who walked in good girls, who'd only been naked for their boyfriends, and walk out defiled for the whole world to see, still not 100% sure they should have done that. Those are the ones I can rent over and over again.

Why am I telling you this? Because Thursday night at the Dolphin II, I saw a guy and his buddy sandwiching guy #1's innocent girlfriend on the rail at Miss Nude Oregon 2007. I sat in the back of the club and just watched her as she sat still, trying to figure out where things went wrong. She should be studying for her law school final up at Lewis and Clark, instead, she was designated driver for her boyfriend and his high school buddy J-Dogg. It was an interesting way to start the evening.

I'd only been to the Dolphin II one other time. It's probably been five or six years ago. I like the Dolphin plenty enough, but the girls there were getting kind of old, so I decided to mix it up. Again, it was a comfort thing. As similar as the two places were though, there was one huge difference. The volume. They had the music at the Dolphin II cranked all the way to 11. I could barely order a beer. I haven't been back since.

The place hasn't really changed much in the years since. The bar still sits along one entire wall that faces the three stages. The video poker machines are still in the back corner. And there are still exposed rafters at the top of the poles for the girls to work into their routines. The music has been turned down. which is nice.

Thinking things would kick-off at 8, I showed up at 7 to get a decent seat and take in the place. After walking the entire room and finding nearly every table had been reserved for this party or that, I found a spot at the bar and sat down. The place was pretty much empty save for the college kids on the rail and a few regulars. Hip-hop music dominated the first set I watched a thick number go through the motions. Definitely nothing to write home about.

Turning back to take another pull on my beer, I saw Jewel walk in. She was carrying a giant basket full of Twinkies or something. She'd put her little campaign flier on each cake and was passing them around the club. She walked over to me and we played our little "don't I know you?" game. Then she asked me to take a cake. I couldn't figure out if she was running for Miss Nude Oregon or class president. Probably both.

Around 8:30, I found an empty table in a rear corner of the club and sat down, thinking things would begin happening. The night, though, kept clicking away. Folks kept filing in. The DJs kept exhorting the crowd to get loud with the promises of free porn and concert tickets. After a while, an older guy came over and asked if my table was reserved. I told him it wasn't and he was welcome to have a seat. He promptly grabbed his stuff and sat down. He'd brought a rose and box of chocolates. Turns out he was a benefactor for Miss Nude Oregon 2006, who quickly came and joined us.

I couldn't tell you Miss Nude Oregon 2006's name. I can report she's a bleach blonde 20-something. Probably 5'6" or 5'7". Stacked. And a pretty good conversation. I asked why she wasn't competing this year. She said there was an unwritten rule about defending one's title. She was also missing from all the fliers advertising the event. They showed the 2004 and 2005 winners, but not 2006. I figured it had something perhaps to do with this. Nah. Turns out she'd had a kid or something and she wasn't able to make the photo shoot. If true, she's bounced back in grand style. Hot doesn't begin to describe her.

Around 9:30, they finally got around to getting things going. All 6 contestants were introduced. We had Jewel and Electra Blue from the Dolphin I, Russia and Selina from the Dolphin II, and two others who's names I couldn't quite figure out. The "M" girl from my night at the Dolphin I was there. And the sixth girl, well...it sounded like "Faux" but I don't think that was it.

Introductions went a long way toward extablishing the night's favorite. My favorite, of course, was Jewel. She was first to be introduced. The curly hair, the curves, and the smile have all won me over long ago. Like I said, I just have to avoid conversation or any sort of touching.

Next up was Electra Blue. She came out with these blue sunglasses that matched her dress. Obviously going for some look, she came off more like a cartoon character than a stripper. Add to that the tattoos, and she was out.

Russia was introduced next. A TALL girl. Straight brown hair. You can check her out here. The crowd was polite, but not overly enthusiastic.

Faux was next. I couldn't tell you a thing about her.

"M" came up to a thunderous applause which was my first indication that she would go far. She obviously had a lot of support in the crowd. I don't know how she does it. I suspect an evening back at the Dolphin I will help me get that sorted out.

Last, but not least, was Selina. She'd stopped by our table earlier to say hi to Miss 2006. Selina reminded me of a Beaverton trophy wife. The hair, the tan, the smile all screamed suburbia. But she was probably the second favorite of the evening. Not my type at all, though.

They all exited, and a new set of girls came up to dance for the evening. It seemed this was how things were going to go. A few minutes of action followed by two sets of regulars dancing for money. Which is fine, I guess. But it being a school night, I did need to get moving. It didn't help that there was a photographer there taking pictures for someone's mag. Everyone seemed to know him. He had a younger assistant that I would have liked to know. I have a serious thing for redheads and generally know when one is in the room. She sat at the table next to mine and seemed to be there with a girlfriend. A LOT of lesbian action in the room on Thursday night. I've no idea what that was about. You could tell though that it was a celebration. Kind of the Oscars for a select set. I'm sure as the year wears on, I'll get to know who some of the faces were.

I finally took off around 10. There was no way I was going to stick around until 2 to find out the winner. My money is on "M" or Selina. As soon as I find out who it was, I'll let you know.

Update: Turns out M's name is Natalia. I was close. Sort of. Anyway, she is your Miss Nude Oregon 2007. You can go check her out at the Dolphin I. Congratulations!

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Willamette Week Goes Undercover

2007-06-07T06:07:00.001-07:00

Well, sort of. It's an interesting article. I'm not sure whether I've met more Zoes or more Matildas in my hours at the Dolphin. Plenty of both, I suspect. There's always someone in there working their way through school. One of my all-time favorites was a redhead named Rain who had moved out here from Illinois to attend massage school or some such. The story kept changing slightly every time we spoke. It wasn't until long after she was gone that I realized it was all code for her side business. Which I would have gladly partaken in had I not been so damned naive. Oh well.

Once upon a time The Librarian had lost a bunch of weight by eating nothing but salad. Our first post-weight loss trip to the Dolphin resulted in a few propositions for Mr. Librarian. Being happily married, he turned them all down. Still it was nice to be king for the evening.

The Legend: The Acropolis

2007-06-03T10:51:00.000-07:00

The Acropolis has always been a mystery to me. Like some Himalayan mountain shrouded in clouds. People who've been tell stories of hot bodies and a bar straight out of Motley Crue's Girls Girls Girls video. Rock stars always make it a point to hit the club when they're in town. More often than not, there's a party bus or a limo parked out front, no doubt for some guy's bachelor party. It's a happening spot.

And that doesn't even take into account the legendary food. As a minor growing up in the sticks, older guys would come back with stories of a steak you could cut with a butter knife. And cheap!

Yet with all these stories, I'd only been once. And that was after getting fed up with the help at the Dolphin. My friend The Librarian and I went late some Saturday night because we still hadn't had our fix. We sat down at the stage closest to the bar and watched the girls descend the stairs from the dressing room. The only thing I really remember about that night was the stairs and a dancer named Tracy. Or Teresa. Or Tammie. Or Turbo. I know it started with a "T". How do I remember that? She'd shaved a capital T into her pubic hair. THAT'S what I remembered of the Acropolis.

For my first real venture out of my comfort zone, I decided to hit the A-Club to see what all the fuss was about. The plan was to grab a steak there as well, but some co-workers had told me about this wing place out at Eastport Plaza called Wing Stop that I had to check out. Being a wing man on the town, I took a chance. The verdict? Fire On The Mountain doesn't have anything to worry about.

Getting into the Acropolis' parking lot from the south requires some maneuvering. They put a Jersey barrier down the middle of that stretch of McLoughlin several years ago to keep the drunks from slamming into one another. A good move, but terrible if you want to make a left turn. So it's up and over an overpass and back down into the club's parking lot. The first thing you notice is how well lit and well maintained the lot is compared to my beloved Dolphin. There were actual marked spaces! How about that!

Walking into the place, the bouncers are on the left. Three large fellas, each working on a bag of chips and some sort of soda. Body builders they weren't. An interesting crew to say the least. The cover was $4, which for a place of the Acropolis' reputation seemed a little south of what they could charge, but who am I to complain?

The first thing I noticed after walking in was how big the place seemed compared to how it looks from the outside. There are four good sized stages with seating all the way around. They've done a very smart thing and only placed seats next to the stage. This cuts down on the wall flowers and ensures the girls can make some money.

It took me a few minutes to get my bearings. There are four stages, but only two are visible to you at any one time. Again, cuts down on the free shows. Which is fine.

After a few minutes of sitting at the #3 stage, waiting for someone to offer me a beer, I decided to wander down to the bar. Like the bar at the Mustang Ranch, which I may have visited once (ONCE), the bar is hidden away in a back corner, away from the action. My beverage of choice most of the time is Coors Light. Call me a wussy and question my manhood all you want, but that's what it is. The bar, however, had at least 20 taps with everything from Bud to some serious microbrews. First class indeed. So I grabbed a Drop Top Amber and headed back up to see the action.

The first girl I saw reminded me of one of those girls who would never give me the time of day in high school. I mean, unless she needed me to slip her an answer on a test. She had a tight perfect body, perfect hair, and just the slightest hint of abs. No tattoos. Blonde. Seriously not my type, though. I prefer the girl next door-type. After a few minutes of staring at her too-perfect tits, I moved on. Next door was Silver. She had the same deal going on with the hair and the tits and the abs, but she had something more. A flirtatiousness. I mean there was a screen of professionalism with her, but still. A little personality is a good thing.

She worked her way around the stage, making sure to give each patron a proper view. The stages are a little lower than I'm used to. Girls at the Dolphin (I'm gonna compare a lot of places to the Dolphin) spend a good amount of time writhing around on the ground. Or wrapped upside-down around the pole. Here, because of the way the rail around the stage sits, if the girl gets down on the ground, you can't see her. So they're upright. I like that. Less nastiness that way.

Looking around at the other guys, they were all putting $2/per song up on the rail. Each girl works four songs per rotation, so that's $8 per girl per rotation. Not a bad gig, if you ask me. Each song lasts about twice as long as they do at the Dolphin. That's an interesting trade-off. It seems girls at the Acropolis make their money on stage whereas girls at the Dolphin get theirs on the couch. Figure if a Dolphin girl can get $20/song on the couch, and can get a guy to commit to two or even three tunes, they can make more there than they will on stage. On the other hand, girls at the Acropolis spend twice as long on the couch for half the money. The financial end of this, I suspect, will fascinate me no end. Especially when I start hitting the juice bars.

After Silver's set ended, she worked her way around the stage one last time, picking up bills and making small-talk. When she got back to me, she asked if I'd like a private dance. I gave her my standard answer. "In a little bit." She asked me to let her know when I was ready. And like that she was gone.

The second rotation came out. The girl who took over my table was...ummm....interesting. She had the Salma Hayek in Dogma thing going. Glasses. Thigh high stockings. Pig tails. Bubble gum. The whole thing. Another one who really didn't do it for me.

Turning to look over my shoulder at the other options, I found my new girl. She was a little thicker than Silver and her perfect co-worker, and that's alright by me. She had curly dirty-blonde hair and the eyes. Oh the eyes. She wore a black bustier inside which her breasts literally swam around. It was that Jamie Lee Curtis ad from several years ago where she wore some tight dress and jiggled while telling me about a TV or something. This girl loved her breasts though. Despite their sagging and just sad state, they were her 38-D moneymakers and she used 'em. She actually used them as percussion instruments, slapping them together. Some guys get off on that sort of stuff and dream of motorboating them. Me? Not so much. I prefer mine a little smaller and a little firmer.

Despite her faults, there was one thing this girl had though that none of the others could touch. And it was because of this she could have whatever she wanted from me. She was putting off some sort of musk and her pheromones were hitting me in all the right places. I don't pretend to understand the chemistry of pheromones, but boy howdy. She instantly became a favorite.

After a few tunes, it became time for the evening's bachelor to get up on stage and have all the girls wiggle for him. That's not my thing at all, so I retired to the video poker. $10 later, I headed back down to the bar for a soda. The brunette working the lower stage next to the bar was a perky-type, unafraid to place her leg on my shoulder so I could get a good look at her third eye. And she liked to purr in my ear as well. Always a bonus.

At the end of the second rotation, the first four came back up. I broke my promise to myself and hit the ATM. Tonight I'd treat myself to a couch dance. Silver was the lucky girl. We headed over to the "private" section which is a bunch of armed chairs witting behind a thing wall. Nothing like the plush couches at the Dolphin, but I wasn't complaining. Also, unlike the Dolphin, the dances here are all naked and even a little rubbing. Not down there, but elsewhere. Silver's a hands on pro, giving me all the angles and the right close-ups. The longer tunes were definitely appreciated. Things didn't feel rushed at all. It was very nice.

$20 later, I was back out the door and into the night. I had a great time and will definitely be back, if for no other reason than I gotta check out the steak.

This week, it's off to Miss Nude Oregon on Thursday and spend an evening following sailors around town Friday. Should be fun.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Meanwhile, On The Internets

2007-05-31T10:58:00.000-07:00

In my regular surfing, I came across a few articles I thought were interesting.

First is this from Andrew Sullivan. Allah, evidently, wants us to breastfeed. Which led to this response from a guy who once watched a dancer squirt breast milk across a club. Yikes. That's not my thing at all. But it works for some. So more power to you.

Second comes this from Seattle sex writer extraodinaire, Dan Savage. If you don't mind, I'll keep it wrapped.

Art Night: Dante's

2007-05-30T22:15:00.000-07:00

Oh, what I've yet to learn! I've been to Dante's several times over the last couple of years. I saw Michael Penn get heckled off-stage by some drunk moron who kept asking if he knew any songs about guys in black jeans. I attended several Rick Emerson fan parties as we cheered on Storm Large on that Rock Star show. And I've been to one or two Clyde Lewis things to see what's swimming around in his head.

But Dante's has this other side, see. A side I've never participated in. The Frank Faillace side. Love him or hate him, Frank knows what the people want. They want their smut. And he gives it to them. In spades. And Dante's is Frank's baby. And a couple nights a week, Dante's celebrates that other side.

Tonight I went down and checked out the Beavers game with a friend, with an eye toward hitting Dante's afterward for the Xotica-Go-Go. Just to see what that was all about.

Burnside, from 3rd on up to Broadway, is beginning to sprout a couple of nude establishments. Dante's has a place upstairs, the Cabaret has opened on the north side of the street, and of course there's always Mary's Place, a place I've yet to visit and is probably only appreciated while the Rose Festival fleet is in town. Anyway, I noticed tonight that the Paris Theater has turned into some sort of nude establishment. Sometime, when it's not a school night, I'll have to make a little crawl out of all those places.

Back to the task at hand. Xotica-Go-Go. 9pm, sharp, said everything I read. So I showed up at 9:15 to find the door closed and the door man outside.

"See the girl at the register," he said.

No problem, I thought. I walked inside and was mildly shocked by what I saw. The Xotica -Go-Go evidently hadn't begun yet. Up on stage, I saw a nude woman lying on her side. Lounging, is more like it. Interesting, I though.

"Are you here for Dr. Sketchy's?" the girl asked. She wore a black top that exposed her shoulders and accentuated her medium breasts.

"Huh?" I asked, momentarily stunned. I was expecting to see the Moulin Rouge and had instead walked into something completely different.

"Do you have your student ID?," she asked.

No student ID. I'm a civilian.

"Six bucks", she said.

I took a look around as I headed toward the ATM to grab some cash. A bunch of college-age guys were sitting around the club with sketch pads, drawing the lounging model on-stage.

Dr. Sketchy's! It all finally made sense. My friend The Librarian had told me about similar projects in Boise, where bars would host "art nights". For a cover, guys were given pencil and paper and a fresh young model to draw. Or they could just say screw it and drink beer. It was the owner's way of getting around Idaho's rather strict rules about nudity and such. Call it art, they figured, and you could do about anything you wanted. An interesting theory. Unfortunately it didn't quite work out.

I thought about it for a second. $6 to draw a naked girl? That seems kind of steep. Especially when I can come home and look at this girl for free.

So I excused myself and headed for home. I'll definitely hit Sinferno or Xotica-Go-Go one of these nights. You can count on that. Just not tonight.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

Homebase: The Dolphin I

2007-05-27T00:37:00.000-07:00

It's not the first place I ever visited, but it's certainly my most frequented establishment. The Dolphin on McLoughlin has been my goto place for over 15 years now. In a previous life, the building was a buffet. My grandparents used to treat my family to dinner out there about once a month back during the Regan administration. Good times.

The place made the switch from restaurant to adult entertainment sometime in the early 90s. I can't remember when exactly it was. I do remember the first stage was literally a sheet of plywood laid right on top of the old buffet line. Such were the humble beginnings of The Dolphin.

Over the years there have been a couple of remodels. The bar has moved a time or two as have the couches. For a time there was an attendant in the mens room. He's long gone. As is the poor Mexican woman trying to sell flowers table to table. Why in the heck would anyone think that's a profitable venture? I'm not at the club for romance. I'm there to see naked babes.

Part of what makes it my favorite place is I know the rules. That's kind of a harsh way to put it, but it is what it is. I know what's expected of me and I know what's expected of the girls. There's no "buy me a $15 drink" crap. There's also very little touching, except on the couch. We'll get to that in a bit. My point is, whenever I go anywhere else, I have to spend the first 10 or 20 minutes trying to figure out the ground rules. Is there a cover? A two-drink minimum? What can the girls do? What can I do? At the Dolphin, I figured this out long ago. So I can just go in and have a good time.

Turns out Memorial Day weekend isn't the primest of times at the Dolphin. I got there about 10 on Saturday night, after the Lidell fight. A few years ago, they instituted a $5 cover on Fridays and Saturdays. I don't have any complaints about that. The club is in business to make money and $5 is more than reasonable for the entertainment within. As is their semi-enforced two-drink minimum. I say semi-enforced because as long as you have something in your hand, they generally leave you alone. It's when you don't have a drink, they get upset. Again, that's fine.

The waitresses are hit-and-miss. I was thrown out one night many moons ago for arguing with a waitress about change. She didn't have any $1's with her and started copping an attitude with me about how she was there for herself and I could get my own singles. I let her know I wasn't there to watch her serve drinks and bada bing bada boom, I was up the street at the Acropolis. Last night, I had an interesting experience with one waitress who tried to short me $5 in change. Always a nice way to start the evening. I still tipped her. Waitresses ALWAYS get a buck for bringing me a drink or making change...they work hard when they're not trying to cheat me.

On to the show.

The girls at the Dolphin are always top-notch. And there's always someone in there for everyone. The faces can stay the same for quite a while then suddenly change like that. Last night's crew have been around for a while. I'm terrible with names, but resolved to remember one. Jewel. More on her in a sec. Normally I sit at one of the side tables and enjoy my Coors Light, until a girl piques my interest. Then I go down to the stage and get a closer look. Girls are on stage for two-songs then rotate. The first tune always gets a buck from me. The second, two. Unless I have a crush, then I've been known to put as much as $10 on the rail for some extra attention.

No crushes last night. There were, however, three girls who will be competing in the Miss Nude Oregon pageant in a few weeks. Girls had post cards scattered around the club advertising their candidacy. It was kind of cute. I can only remember two of their names though. I'm so terrible. Jewel was one of them. The other, Electra Blue. The third? Crap. It starts with an M. I can tell you that!

Anywho, Jewel was first up for my evening. She and I have a bit of a history going back a few years. She's a hot brunette with an absolutely KILLER body. No tattoos. No piercings. Just perfect tits and a perfect ass. Probably 5'7" or so. Maybe? Anyway, when she'd just started working there, I bought a couple of couch dances from her. Her style is kind of mechanical and almost painful. She tries to give these shoulder rubs, but they're more like shoulder pokes. Like getting jabbed with the eraser end of ten pencils. Zero fun. Unfortunately for me, she never forgets a face. At least not mine. Anytime I come through the door, she immediately chats me up and asks for a couch dance. And I always decline. I've learned my lesson.

Second was Electra Blue. I'm guessing she's under-21, because she spent most of her off-stage time peering out from the couches. If you're not 21, you can't be out on the main floor unless you're walking to or from the stage or the dressing room. A few inches shorter than Jewell, she came out and performed to Fallout Boy and decided to do some interpretive dancing to the chorus.

We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

Right. Between that and the angel wing tattoo on her back, she went from favorite to also-ran just like that.

Sidenote: A quick note on tattoos and piercings. Five or six years ago, you couldn't go into a single strip club in town without seeing a girl all tatted up with piercings in her tongue and clit. The clit piercing in particular never did anything for me. I've never understood it. But it's the tattoos that crack me up. There's an entire generation of women who are now between 25 and 40 who have those ass-antler tattoos on their lower backs because in 2002 it was considered cool to have them. Guys dug them. But mens' tastes have moved on to other things. So now these women have these permanent reminders of how they'll do anything to get a man's attention. Sort of sad. But sort of funny. And dumb. Whatever. I'm just glad to finally see the majority of dancers tattoo free. Now if we could just convince them to quit piercing their god damned nipples.

So despite her face and body, Electra Blue was out of the running.

Mmmmm.....was another looker. I can't remember too much about her though. Brunette. Cute. And certainly put on a show. Damn. Now I have to go back. Or at least visit the competition on June 7.

Toward the end of the evening though, I figured out if I had a vote, I'd have to throw it for Jewel. As annoying as she can be (and she CAN be), and as terrible as that couch dance is, she's still the hottest dancer in there. Maybe she'd let me pay her $20 to stand there naked for me. I guess I need to get a little more aggressive about that.

So there's the Dolphin. My home away from home and the standard by which all others shall be judged. I'm not saying it's the best, mind you, I'm just saying it's where I feel most comfortable and where I feel I get the most bang for my buck.

Next up? The place my buddy goes to when he's in town and just wants to grab a beer and look at titties. Good times.

Don't forget to check out my new site! www.richardthruster.com

MMA Recap

2007-05-27T00:03:00.000-07:00

The best line of the current season of Entourage was Johnny Drama's dismissive "what's a Chuck Lidell?" Well thanks to a massive media barrage, tonight folks found out. And they simultaneously found out why UFC isn't like anything you've seen before.

Tonight's festivities opened with a trip to the Mall 205 Hooters to watch the fight and get warmed up for my own main attraction. I have yet to have a good experience at any of the probably half-dozen Hooters I've visited around the country. The food, as everyone knows, is mediocre. But going to Hooters for the food is like going to Vegas to gamble. It's totally not the point. You go to Hooters for the waitresses. And for some reason they always make themselves scarce when I'm around. I have no idea why.

It really wasn't their fault tonight. The place was jammed to the gills with guys watching the card. I ended up standing next to the greeter station and watched the entire match without the benefit of alcohol. Which is fine. Amanda kept me company for most of the evening by sitting up on the counter and giving me an occasional look at her very stressed out breasts. The rest of the girls were equally hot. Although the uniform seems to be evolving. About half were wearing black outfits rather than the traditional orange shorts and white tank tops. Maybe the blac uniform signified something. Obviously more research is required.

Speaking of iconic uniforms. There's a Hot Dog On A Stick at Lloyd Center. I was there today checking into a new laptop computer and hit the food court for lunch. Anyway, there was a 40-something lady working the counter, wearing that classic uniform with the shorts, tank, and the hat. She had a few miles on her. And they weren't highway, if you catch my drift. An absolute waste of that uniform. She should be allowed (requested?) to wear something else.

Anyway, the fight. I got to watch three of the under-card bouts. Each better than the one before. I've been very slow to pick up on this whole MMA thing, but now I'm hooked. It's boxing only better. The Din Thomas/Jeremy Stephens fight was something else. I honestly thought Stephens had Thomas licked, but in a split second, Thomas had Stephens in an arm bar which, had the referee not stopped the fight, would have resulted in some severe damage for Stephens. The Parisyan/Burkman fight was a lot of fun to watch as well.

But tonight was all about Lidell and "Rampage" Jackson. Lidell is about as big as a name gets in the sport and with things peaking media-wise, the timing of the fight couldn't have been better. The entire room was pro-Lidell as were the folks they interviewed during the broadcast. He's the man, I guess. I was interested to see what the big deal was. From the moment the fight started, though, you could sort of sense that Lidell wasn't 100% there. He looked tentative. At least to me, and like I said, I know nothing of the sport. And wouldn't you know it, Jackson dropped Lidell with a clean fist to the temple and followed it up with a flurry of punches while Lidell was flat on his back until Lidell was out cold. Tonight "Rampage" Jackson rules the world.

Listening to the radio afterward, you would think this was the worst thing ever for the sport. Nothing could be further from the truth. What killed boxing was the fact nights like tonight are so far apart. Years, in fact. Boxing promoters put their stars up against patsies and ask us to pay $50 to watch their crap. UFC, on the other hand, is controlled by a couple of brothers and a promoter. They set all the matches. And they set them to be competitive. So rather than watching some babyface come in and dominate, ala WWE, they set their matches to be unpredictable. That's what happened tonight. And that's why they made a fan of me. You can bet your ass I'll be back for UFC 72 in three weeks.

The Plan

2007-05-25T12:44:00.001-07:00

This project was supposed to begin last weekend, but was postponed when my buddy's flight was delayed. So we try again. Maybe. See THIS weekend is all about birthdays, thus we may be delayed again. We shall see.

This weekend's to-do list includes a stop at Hooters for the UFC PPV, an introduction to my favorite club in town and why it will always be the one by which others are judged, and maybe a trip to another place to see how dancing and NASCAR go together. Maybe.

If you're from the 503 and have a suggestion or an opinion, feel free to leave a comment.