Tip-Rail Tourist

It was a long week on the road. Commuter flights and rental cars and hotels and customer calls and all that jazz. But the nights are my own. And my senses are alive with adventure.

So it's over the border I go. A little two-step out of the country and back. A little risky, since I was travelling alone and could disappear in the night. But not really. Just a night on the town with the slightest hint of fish-out-of-water. I discovered Little Italy and had a nice sit down Italian meal. And then some cruising. Where, oh where, in this thriving bordertown would I find the "ballet"?

Ahhh, there it is. A neon outpost. A seat on the side. A LaBatt's Blue, my first. A $20 American. 19 or so round gold dollar coins in return. Coins? What do you do with coins? How do you tip strippers with coins? A folded bill I know. But coins? I know: I'll watch for a while and see how the other shadow figures in this dimly lit establishment do it. 2 songs. 3 songs. 4 songs. No one's tipping. I'm still stuck. And it's becoming clear to me that this is a dive I don't need to stay in. Me and my 19 new friends hit the street.

Down the road I hit paydirt. It's clear walking in the door that I've just gone considerably upscale from my 1st attempt. Classy club. Several beautiful ladies at work. My kind of work. So I pull up a table and order - a Pepsi this time. I don't need to be drinking - I've got to make it back over the border. It would be bad if I don't show up for work the next day and have to do some explaining. Okay, now I can learn about tipping. I take in the scene. An elevated stage at about shoulder level to me sitting down. Beautiful dancers doing 3 song sets ( fully clothed, semi-clothed, naked). Did I say beautiful? Really beautiful actually. And of course no one's tipping here either. Lot's of watching and admiring the ladies, but no money changing hands. I'm still stuck. So I break down and ask. I walk up to the stage and ask. "Turn around, lay back on the stage, put the dollar in your mouth, and I'll come get it". By getting it she means crawling on all fours 69ish over my prone body, going upright on her knees to give me a great view of private parts hovering over my attentive face, backing up to capture the coin between her breasts, and twisting to give me a kiss on the cheek with a "Thank you, baby" thrown in. Harder work than I'm used to a the tiprail, but worth it. And I got pretty good at it by the end of the night! You get a different view depending on whether you went on the 1st song or the 3rd song. For one particular Amazon blonde Barbie doll I went for the 1st song (tight white hotpants) and the 3rd song (naked version). Very nice.

One observation: the ladies didn't appear to be making near as much tip money as their American counterparts who get at least a dollar from every guy sitting around the stage. Not in bordertown though. Lot's of lookers, very few guys willing to be so visible climbing up on the stage. My business sense tells me you shouldn't make it that awkward for the customer to part with his money. But hey, who am I to judge cultural differences. I had fun. I always have fun.

How were the lapdances, you ask? Who said I got lapdances? Oh wait a minute. Of course I got a lapdance or two. "No contact of any kind with the dancers allowed" said the sign. All air. Not what I'm used to, if you've read this blog. But sweet and sensual. More the art of the tease and less grind.