Strip Club Reports

[Joshua Falken]

I've only hit two of the County's coastal clubs, but decide my third sortie will include Silhouette's and Dixie's. As I chart my course I note a target of opportunity along my route. Soft Tails on US-92 in East DeLand sits betwixt my primaries, so I decide the night will be a threefer.

I arrive at Silhouette's on another weekend night. Near the intersection of I95 and ISB, the club is tucked in amongst motels I know well from my escort knavery. I park and saunter inside, careful to exude confidence, though I feel none in these strange surrounds. Trust me lads, they can smell fear, LOL.

A bouncer dressed like a Vegas blackjack dealer in slacks, button-down shirt, and vest holds the door for me. I would soon learn that all bouncers here are adorned thusly. I offer up the cover charge though I can't recall the amount just now. It must have been somewhere in the ten-to-twenty range, because every club I've visited so far has been.

I enter the main room and pause to get my bearings. Bar against the back wall. Private dance area to my right, stage in the middle, tables and chairs scattered throughout. Pretty standard stuff. After a minute or two, several key features stand out that differentiate Silhouette's from Grandview and Molly Brown's. First, Silhouette's is actually smaller than the first floor of Molly's. Second, the general level of dancer hotness is at least on par with Grandview, maybe even slightly above (subjective I know). Third, the ratio of vest-clad bouncers to patrons is abnormally high. Probably double Grandview's ratio, which was considerably higher than Molly's.

I grab a drink and a seat at the bar and take in the show. A few minutes hence and I notice a tall bald bouncer berating a customer a few seats away. I couldn't hear the charges over the music and general conversational din, but the patron, duly humbled, apparently pleads a strong enough case to be allowed to stay. That's new I think to myself, and even a bit off-putting. I order another drink and continue to watch the stage. I also can't help but notice that most of the hot lasses, including the one sitting immediately to my right, have glommed onto specific customers, rendering themselves unavailable to the likes of me.

It isn't long before Baldy is dressing down a dancer and a bouncer near the private dance entrance. Based on the way he's throwing his weight around the room, I decide he must be a manager, maybe even a part owner? The dude is big and loud and irritating af when in earshot. If I'm to be tossed out on my ear, this will be the guy that does it, I decide.

A fellow patron, a black guy with a close-cropped salt and pepper beard and truckers cap sees me watching Baldy and leans in close. "I wouldn't want to be on that dude's bad side," he says presciently. I've been watching Baldy work the room for the last half hour and find my new friend's comment a bit too generous. I lean in even closer. "I don't think he has another side," I confide.

Whether it was Baldy, the large number of bouncers, or all the hot lasses singling up, the place was giving me strong "no extras here" vibe. That is purely perception on my part and may be totally false, but regrettably I don't linger to find out for sure. Not with Dixie's and Soft Tails literally looming on the horizon. I take my leave less than an hour after my arrival.

I head west on US-92 and pull into Soft Tails fifteen minutes hence. The sparse parking lot does not inspire confidence, but I may as well give 'er a look-see I reckon. I walk into the vestibule and up to the entry door on its far side. "That'll be fifteen" a voice calls out from behind me. I turn around and, save for myself, the vestibule is completely empty. This is fucking weird I think to myself. I shake my head and turn towards the entry door once again. "Hey, over here," calls the disembodied voice. I spin around and gaze once again upon a completely empty vestibule. I decide there's nothing else for it but to play along. "Reveal thyself, oh great invisible gate troll," I call out to the empty room. The gate troll laughs. "Down here," he shouts, waving a hand through the wall. It's then I see a small rectangular cutout in the wall to my right at crotch level. I bend down and peer through the little facedoor. "Oh, that's a relief," I sigh to the gate troll while handing him a twenty. "Relief?" he asks, handing me back my change. "You're corporeal," I reply. I return his quizzical look with a smile, then pass through into Soft Tails' den of iniquity.

Okay, so iniquity is overly generous. Den of mild frivolity? Anyway, immediate impressions: The place is large. The place is clean. The place is empty. I count eleven patrons up near the bar and stage area, and it's around midnight on a weekend. The bar tender, thoroughly underworked, is chatting with customers while the only two dancers in sight slither about the stage. I park me arse in a chair along the back wall opposite the stage and consider my life choices. I gaze placidly as the two thick lasses flop about, both F-3's on the Falken hotness scale, and neither overly flattered by her stringy attire. I beat a hasty retreat.

I push on up the road towards Dixie's where, if contemporary reviews are accurate, my prospects should be significantly better.

[Joshua Falken]

I return to both venues late one weekend night, beginning with Molly's, determined to learn what extras may be in the offing. As my sand jogging friend has no doubt surmised, it could have gone better, lol. Don't get me wrong, hot dancers are no longer scarce. I'd say a nine and three solid eights are working the crowd, with perhaps fifteen or twenty total dancers in evidence. It's very hard to say exactly how many are really present. With private dances, smoke breaks, trips to the loo, and whatever else these ladies get up to, the scantily clad female demographic is, of course, in a continual state of flux.

I gracefully deflect a few dancers who don't match my particular tastes, which pretty much boil down to youthful with a bang'n body (toned, with a beautiful arse and perky B-cups are optimal). As for ethnicity, I couldn't care less. I hail from the James Tiberius Kirk school of shaggery. White, black, or kelly green, I don't care. As one of my more poetic friends once summarized so concisely, "If she fine, we fuckin." <sniff> I strive to one day attain his eloquence!

I finally spot my quarry and whisk her away for a private dance. As it nears it's conclusion I gather my courage and pop the all-important question regarding extras. She politely replies that she doesn't, and goes on with the dance as if the question was perfectly normal. Now that I think about it, for these girls, it probably is. I query every eight and nine (my scale of course) I can pin down and receive largely the same reply. Well, except for the last one that is. She says we should talk about it in the VIP room, 200 quid for fifteen minutes or 350 for a half hour. "But not for sex," she adds quickly. I consider her proposal briefly while she grinds her fine wee arse on my lap. Remember my rule articulated in part one? The costs can't exceed escort/UTR levels by too much, else there seems little point. I also can't tell if her "but not for sex" comment is just a hedge in case I'm UC, or if I would legitimately be laying down 200 quid for a hummer through denim. I decide not to risk it. I politely decline her offer and the little succubus has the temerity to get pissed off that I won't take her up to the VIP. I pay her for the dance, including tip, then she storms off like I've wasted her time. You really can't make this shit up.

I call Molly's a bust and shuffle down the street to Grandview, still a bit miffed at my ill usage. Much as Molly Brown's was rocking on this weekend night, Grandview has equally upped its game. Somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty five dancers are working the poles and the crowd of over a hundred patrons. Three at a time are showing off their skills on the stage. It really is pretty great to watch. I grab a drink, wave off a few dancers, and note ten-or-so that flip my switch. A few recall me from my previous sortie, and gleefully haul me back to be ground upon. After a few of these, and again, no extras available, I decide to change tack. I'm going to sink more cash into a single lass, then ask her for more. So now I'm four dances and a hundred quid (plus tip) into this gorgeous little brunette when I pop the question, and the answer is exactly the same. She politely declines, yet happily continues grinding and purring and cooing in my ear. The lights begin to flash, heralding not just the close of Grandview, but my hopes for any extras or takeout.

Okay, not as fun as I'd hoped, but entertaining and educational I suppose. Worth three hundred bob? No. I clearly need a new plan. I hadn't exhausted opportunities at either venue, but I'd made a large enough dent that I didn't like my chances. I walk to my truck, lost in thought. Yes, it's definitely time to try other spots. But tonight isn't over. I pull out the mobile and once again ping my UTR.

Me: Hey there love, want to keep a handsome rogue company tonight?

Her: Nah, but YOU can come over. Give me 20 min.

I laugh, again reflecting upon my good fortune, and happily drive off to a blessedly sure thing.

[R Shackleford]

What do y'all think are the best clubs to go to, including the girls offering extras and are decently priced?

I'd say Dixie's and bottoms up are the two best. Bottoms up used to be way better though. Dances were 20 instead of 30 and girls were much hotter. Dixie is still really good. Just go later when the girls show up like after 11 pm.

[DonMuraco]

I can verify that this is true. Also Soft Tails, but it could be that the place was so barren I just didn't notice, LOL.

Dixie's was slammed when I was there, and again, I didn't notice any smokers, but I wasn't looking either. I didn't leave reeking like an ash tray at any rate.

Thanks for all the non-smoking info brother.

[HeadHunchoo]

What do y'all think are the best clubs to go to, including the girls offering extras and are decently priced?

[Joshua Falken]

Please tell me that the great professor has received some kind of educational grant to conduct a study on the pro's and con's of strip club girls vs advertising girls! I believe I know what Sir Falkens ultimately conclusion might be as well as what the alarming trend is but I'm still looking forward to reading his neon lights poetry. This may just get you that book deal that you certainly deserve and who knows maybe even be turned into a hollywood movie, oh wait didn't Demi Moore already star in Striptease! Cheers my friend.

I'm enjoying the novel so far! It might make a great movie / documentary one day, LOL. I have been to Biggins and Grandview recently. Very different experiences and both a lot of fun. I can get carried away by listening to the little head so GV got me for more than I wanted to spend and I ended up with a nice souvenir of a throat infection days later due to the daty I so enjoyed in the private dancing area. So stay safe! Although I don't know how to avoid that other than banning yourself from daty. There's just something fun about the strip clubs, right! Ok, not just something, but all the naked girls, bars, provocative dancing and grinding, mmm, will have to get back soon but I find it hard to escape dw in the later hours and many are not open in the afternoon hours.

Msheeran.

Thank you lads for your support, and for those who have messaged me on the subject. I am now five days and six clubs into my research and OMG this is getting expensive, LOL. I think I could have done four doubles with Avalon and Berlin by now! I'm having fun though. Learning a bit too I suppose.

What's that ol' business mantra? Fail forward fast? Well, I don't know about the forward bit, but I've got failing fast down to a bloody science.

I think I need to pick up the pace of my reporting a bit though. I keep meaning to sit and write...but then I say eff it and dash out to another club, LOL.

Cheers mates!

[EroticM]

My bday is coming up and my wife surprised me by wanting to take me to a strip joint.

Anyone have any experience in going as a couple to a strip club? And if so, which might be the best ones? The wife is not shy about both of us in a VIP room getting some action.

Thanks.

[MSheeran]

I'm enjoying the novel so far! It might make a great movie / documentary one day, LOL. I have been to Biggins and Grandview recently. Very different experiences and both a lot of fun. I can get carried away by listening to the little head so GV got me for more than I wanted to spend and I ended up with a nice souvenir of a throat infection days later due to the daty I so enjoyed in the private dancing area. So stay safe! Although I don't know how to avoid that other than banning yourself from daty. There's just something fun about the strip clubs, right! Ok, not just something, but all the naked girls, bars, provocative dancing and grinding, mmm, will have to get back soon but I find it hard to escape dw in the later hours and many are not open in the afternoon hours.

Msheeran.

I stroll into Molly Brown's, pay the criminal twenty quid cover, and step through the metal detector. I note a bar against the back wall and stride there with purpose. Once my drink is in hand, I turn, lean back against the bar, and survey the venue in earnest.

At twelve o'clock low sits the stage. It abuts the far wall and is surrounded by the obligatory stage-side seating. To it's left sits the club's entrance whence I've just come, and immediately left of that, a stairway to the second floor. High top tables are scattered to my left, as well as between the bar and the stage. To my right sits the back room gatekeeper, and "private" dance couches extend back behind the right side wall. Along this wall sit three low top tables, and what appear to be the more comfortable of the club's seating options. In the far right corner is another set of stairs cordoned off with a velvet stanchion rope, it's sign declaring "VIP". The second floor, it appears, is laid out in horseshoe fashion, DJ directly above me, Champagne room to the left (so called by one of the dancers), and VIP to the right.

I've turned my attention to a blonde with pale skin and wide hips skillfully working the pole when I am once again set upon by a thick lass with inch-long false eyelashes, three inch nails, and frosting thick sparkly eye shadow. Honestly lads, who among us find that look attractive? Seriously.

The thick bedazzled lass has been making the rounds and doubtless my recent arrival and upscale garb are like chum in the water. I politely wave her off, though she takes some convincing. I could have just told her I was broke and watched the invisible repulsion field push her away, but the truth would be evident soon enough I reckoned.

As I reestablish my bearings, I note that, on average, the talent here is a step below Grandview. Even on a weeknight, Grandview had at least three nines and a dozen eights. As I scan the room I struggle to identify any such talent. But perhaps a direct comparison isn't quite fair, as you could probably wedge four or five Molly's into Grandview's cavernous expanse.

As I contemplate trying again on a weekend, a grizzled veteran with a pretty face and dual airbags tries me next. We chat amicably for a bit, but it's soon obvious to her that she is also not my type. As I watch her posterior fade into the sparse weeknight crowd, I am struck by something she said in casual conversation. It was a relatively innocent, offhand remark, yet it would eventually shift my entire view of the strip club scene, and perhaps, add a powerful new arrow in my strip clubbing quiver. But that is a story for another chapter. Right, getting back to our story.

Around this time, a pale skinned lass of medium height (not counting the absurd heels) alights from a private dance. Even from thirty feet away and bathed in florescent blue light, the raven haired lass with a tight body is clearly in eight or nine territory. I've only taken a step or two toward her when one of you lot swoops in and sweeps her up to the VIP room, never to be seen again.

I begin to contemplate cutting my losses. But this is world famous Molly Brown's. How is it even possible that a gent with over two hundred quid in his billfold is leaving without a twenty-something grinding her wee arse against his junk? I pause to contemplate my entire clubbing ethos. Are my standards just too high? Or maybe just too specific, since one man's frog is another man's princess. I pull out the mobile and message my UTR.

Me: You aren't awake by chance, are you love?

Her: I am

Me: Is <son's name> asleep?

Her: Yes come see me

Me: OMW

I leave her place an hour-or-so later with a new spring in my step. I am lucky to have her. Steady and accommodating, she's saved me from unreliable escorts more times than I care to guess, and now she's defending my nights against prude and underwhelming strip clubs, though of course she doesn't know this.

Driving home I reflect on the evening's events. I know I haven't given either club a fair shake, showing up on a weeknight and never asking for extras. I commit then and there to revisit both the following weekend, and this time, there'll be no chickening out.

[Joshua Falken]

I stroll into Molly Brown's, pay the criminal twenty quid cover, and step through the metal detector. I note a bar against the back wall and stride there with purpose. Once my drink is in hand, I turn, lean back against the bar, and survey the venue in earnest.

At twelve o'clock low sits the stage. It abuts the far wall and is surrounded by the obligatory stage-side seating. To it's left sits the club's entrance whence I've just come, and immediately left of that, a stairway to the second floor. High top tables are scattered to my left, as well as between the bar and the stage. To my right sits the back room gatekeeper, and "private" dance couches extend back behind the right side wall. Along this wall sit three low top tables, and what appear to be the more comfortable of the club's seating options. In the far right corner is another set of stairs cordoned off with a velvet stanchion rope, it's sign declaring "VIP". The second floor, it appears, is laid out in horseshoe fashion, DJ directly above me, Champagne room to the left (so called by one of the dancers), and VIP to the right.

I've turned my attention to a blonde with pale skin and wide hips skillfully working the pole when I am once again set upon by a thick lass with inch-long false eyelashes, three inch nails, and frosting thick sparkly eye shadow. Honestly lads, who among us find that look attractive? Seriously.

The thick bedazzled lass has been making the rounds and doubtless my recent arrival and upscale garb are like chum in the water. I politely wave her off, though she takes some convincing. I could have just told her I was broke and watched the invisible repulsion field push her away, but the truth would be evident soon enough I reckoned.

As I reestablish my bearings, I note that, on average, the talent here is a step below Grandview. Even on a weeknight, Grandview had at least three nines and a dozen eights. As I scan the room I struggle to identify any such talent. But perhaps a direct comparison isn't quite fair, as you could probably wedge four or five Molly's into Grandview's cavernous expanse.

As I contemplate trying again on a weekend, a grizzled veteran with a pretty face and dual airbags tries me next. We chat amicably for a bit, but it's soon obvious to her that she is also not my type. As I watch her posterior fade into the sparse weeknight crowd, I am struck by something she said in casual conversation. It was a relatively innocent, offhand remark, yet it would eventually shift my entire view of the strip club scene, and perhaps, add a powerful new arrow in my strip clubbing quiver. But that is a story for another chapter. Right, getting back to our story.

Around this time, a pale skinned lass of medium height (not counting the absurd heels) alights from a private dance. Even from thirty feet away and bathed in florescent blue light, the raven haired lass with a tight body is clearly in eight or nine territory. I've only taken a step or two toward her when one of you lot swoops in and sweeps her up to the VIP room, never to be seen again.

I begin to contemplate cutting my losses. But this is world famous Molly Brown's. How is it even possible that a gent with over two hundred quid in his billfold is leaving without a twenty-something grinding her wee arse against his junk? I pause to contemplate my entire clubbing ethos. Are my standards just too high? Or maybe just too specific, since one man's frog is another man's princess. I pull out the mobile and message my UTR.

Me: You aren't awake by chance, are you love?

Her: I am

Me: Is <son's name> asleep?

Her: Yes come see me

Me: OMW

I leave her place an hour-or-so later with a new spring in my step. I am lucky to have her. Steady and accommodating, she's saved me from unreliable escorts more times than I care to guess, and now she's defending my nights against prude and underwhelming strip clubs, though of course she doesn't know this.

Driving home I reflect on the evening's events. I know I haven't given either club a fair shake, showing up on a weeknight and never asking for extras. I commit then and there to revisit both the following weekend, and this time, there'll be no chickening out.

[Joshua Falken]

Since COVID a lot of clubs went non smoking. As of last time I was in them Grandview, Molly Brown, and Silhouettes all were non smoking. Each have it's pros and cons pending on what you are looking for.

I can verify that this is true. Also Soft Tails, but it could be that the place was so barren I just didn't notice, LOL.

Dixie's was slammed when I was there, and again, I didn't notice any smokers, but I wasn't looking either. I didn't leave reeking like an ash tray at any rate.

[JWalkerNikka]

Is Dixie. S smoke free?

[TBorgh42]

Haven't been to a strip club in years. Mainly because they usually stinks of cigarette odor and I really don't want to carry the scent of ashtrays with me the rest of the night or home. Are any of the clubs non-smoking clubs? If so appreciate your help. Thanks in advance.

Since COVID a lot of clubs went non smoking. As of last time I was in them Grandview, Molly Brown, and Silhouettes all were non smoking. Each have it's pros and cons pending on what you are looking for.

[Joshua Falken]

A few ground rules going forward. In this public forum I'm going to relay information about my club experiences, not the stage names of individuals I've met nor specific days and times I was in evidence. Honestly, I've met so many dancers recently that I don't recall most of their names anyway. The primary reasons I won't publicly provide this level of specificity are a) she will likely remember me if she reads this, b) I'm not looking to have anything I write blow back upon the lass, and c) there's still that whole anonymity thing.

So I know what you lads are going to say. "We'll hoot 'n' tarnation Falken, ya dun fell off yer tater wagon? What use is ya, ya dum sum bich." Well, probably very little use if you are a strip club aficionado, save for the opportunity to revel in my noobness. I suppose that's worth something at any rate. However, keep reading my friend, and I'll be very much surprised if, come the close, you think the tale wasn't worth the telling. Also, I'm not sure why I have you talking like a hillbilly just now, but there is.

It's a recent weekday afternoon when I formulate my first battle plans. I will begin along the Daytona coastline and work my way towards DeLand. Hours of research have left me with several impressions. Prominent among them is that the highest probability of in-club extras can be found at Bottoms Up in New Smyrna Beach. So of course, I'm saving this one for last. Yes sir, tonight I am starting with Grandview, a club with high aspirations and a solidly PG-13 reputation. But the club is touted by many as having upscale decor, and if I begin my clubbing journey in a shit hole, it may end before it really begins.

I drop four hundred bob in my pocket and set out. I've chosen this number because, after cover charges, drinks, the occasional lap dance, and tipping every which way you turn, there should still be enough left over to entice something extra, or at least shag my UTR for 120 bob when I leave with blue balls. I know this number will sound abhorrent to many, since strip clubbing on the cheap is practically an american institution, but no matter. I only need to find one young, smoking hot lass with a firm body and beautiful skin offering extras and future costs should come way down, right? LOL.

So I park and stroll in, pay the ten quid resident cover, and begin to survey the club's smoke free interior (that was for you, Don). Full bars can be found at opposite ends of a large rectangular room, but these are doing light duty tonight. The prime watering hole resides in the center, dividing two stages with multiple poles each. Near these stages are tables aplenty, and the obligatory stage-side seating surround each venue. The north east corner of the club sports a few pool tables, while in the southwest corner sits the mighty gatekeeper, sentinel to the private dance area beyond.

I sidle up to the bar and am immediately beset by the nearest dancer. She's comely enough, just not my type, so I politely wave her off and continue to take in the scene. I spy a hot little blond making the rounds. Well, I say little, but with her six inch heels, the apparent minimum for the profession, she is probably standing around five foot nine. She is just my type, so I sashay on over and ask if I can buy her a dance. The wee lass is visibly pleased, and a little bit surprised. "I guess you know what you want," she giggles and leads me towards the gatekeeper. I pay ten quid for a wristband and the lass veers me towards the back.

I note that all couches here are cubbies divided by short walls with a spotlight over each. Since the area has little more privacy than a bank lobby, I'm pretty sure the club takes their PG-13 reputation seriously. My four minute date turns out pretty good, all things considered. I am encouraged to massage her bare breasts and spank her wee thonged arse. She flatters me, she coos, she grinds her arse on my semi-hard cock. You know the drill. As the song draws to a close I grow a bit nervous. I've been secretly hoping she will offer up some extras, foolish I know. When she asks if I want to go another song I balk, all those articles now chorusing in my head. "She'll just bleed you dry mate," the voices tell me. "Don't piss away your wad on the first chippy you fancy," and so on. And so I don't. I also chicken out and don't ask her about extras. I just have visions of the wee lass growing irate and having a hulking slab of meat toss me out into the street. In hindsight, I seriously doubt she would have. I expect if that was standard they'd need to turn out half their customers. Now, if I didn't take no for an answer, I have no doubt whatsoever I'd be chucked out on my ear. But I digress. I give her twenty five quid plus a fiver tip and return to the bar for another drink. I watch the floor show a bit, even tucked in a few singles. When in Rome and such.

Fifteen minutes hence and I spot a petite raven haired lass and seek her out. The ensuing dance plays out in much the same way as the first. The wee lass is wicked hot, grinds like a pro, but in the end I chicken out again.

My third dance is with a ridiculously fine brunette. However, when I take her back and make myself comfortable, I'm told no touching without tipping. I was going to tip anyway, but her all-business attitude is a bit of a turnoff. She is fun, but again I pulled a one-and-done without asking her about extras.

At this point I decide to cut myself some slack. My field campaign has only just begun. Relax, have a good time, and make your indecent proposals when you're good and ready I tell myself.

I was doing many things wrong of course, and I knew it. I was picking my back room partners based solely on their looks with no consideration for their attitudes and behaviors. I was doing all of the work (until the dance) instead of letting them make at least some effort to get me in the back. And of course, I'd chosen to start with prudish Grandview, hadn't I?

Now I'm ready for a change of scenery and we're only neigh onto midnight. I'm chatting with a dancer about the local scene and she warns me off Lollipops. "Covers are high and it's nasty in there," she says. "Try Molly Brown's." I don't know if her indictment of Lollipops is fair or not, but it seems to agree with a few reviews I've read recently, so off I trod, a mere one block south to Seabreeze Avenue, home of the famous Molly Brown's.

[Stan63]

Haven't been to a strip club in years. Mainly because they usually stinks of cigarette odor and I really don't want to carry the scent of ashtrays with me the rest of the night or home. Are any of the clubs non-smoking clubs? If so appreciate your help. Thanks in advance.

Molly Browns on Seabreeze.

[DonMuraco]

Haven't been to a strip club in years. Mainly because they usually stinks of cigarette odor and I really don't want to carry the scent of ashtrays with me the rest of the night or home. Are any of the clubs non-smoking clubs? If so appreciate your help. Thanks in advance.