Too Much of Good Thing Is Wonderful"
I was working in a seafood restaurant on Wilshire Boulevard called The Boston Half Shell, in Los Angeles. There was a total of 5 bartenders working there: 3 at lunch, 2 at dinner. I was working the lunch shift. A new bartender came in to be trained, a nice guy. No one had given notice that they were quitting, so we knew one of us was getting fired. We didn't' know who, neither did the new guy, Tim. I asked Tim where he'd worked before because it turned out I was the one who ended up training him.
"I was working at a place called 'Chippendales,'" he said. "I'm never heard to it. What's it like?" I asked. "Absolute insanity. After a couple of months I just couldn't take it anymore."
"What is the place, a bar, disco, or a night club?"
"It's a strip-joint for women. Guys take off their clothes for a bunch of horny women and get paid for it."
"No, I'm not. They grab your ass, your chest, they stick their hands down your pants and grab your dick. They pull up their shirts and rub their tits all over your body. They sit on the edge of the dance floor, there's ledge there about 2 feet high/dl around the dance floor. The girls sit there and slowly Mup their skirts and they're not wearing any panties," he said.
"And they paid you to work there?"
"Yeah," he said. "Man, I'd work there for nothing. lid , pay them to let me work there. I can't believe you left. Why ¡d you leave?"
"Well, for the first month or two it was a fantasy world. s There's not a bunch of ugly women there like you see in strip joints for men. There's a lot of good looking women with ! money and they just want to have fun."
"So why'd you quit?"
"I just got fed-up being a piece of meat. It gets old fast. I don't know how to explain it to you. You're a good looking j guy. If you ever get tired of this place, you might want to check t it out. It's on Overland Avenue in Culver City."
A week later, after I'd trained Tim, it turned out that I : was the one who was getting fired. Why? I eventually figured out that it was because I was having sex with the owner's daughter's best friend, and when we broke up the best friend cried on the daughter's shoulder, who said "I'll fix him," and went to her mother (one of the 3 owners) and complained about me. The mother got sick and tired of listening to her I daughter bitch about me, so she fired me.
How do I know that's what really happened? Because a week after I got fired, the girl left a message on my machine * and said, "Ha, Ha! I fixed your ass."
She sure did. She fixed my ass with more sex than any ■ normal man can possibly cope with, because I went tlo 1 Chippendales and applied for a job. The owner, an Indian i
(from India, not American Indian) guy names Steve interviewed me and looked over my application.
"Do you want to bartend or be a cocktail waiter?" he asked.
"You'll make more money as a waiter serving drinks."
"I'd rather bartend."
"I don't have any openings right now for bartenders, but I'll make room for you as a waiter," he said. I smiled and said, "I always wanted to be a cocktail waiter."
"Good, you start tomorrow night. You know what the outfits look like?"
'Take a white shirt, cut off the collar & cuffs. Wear the collar & cuffs, a black bow tie, black pants and shoes. That's it. Is that going to be a problem?"
"Any questions?" he asked.
"See you tomorrow. I'll tell the guys you're coming."
"Great." We shook hands and I left. The next night I showed up wondering what would happen.
As I approached the front door there was a long line of women waiting to get in, literally half way around the block. As I got closer to the door, more and more women were checking me out. I've never had so many women looking at me so blatantly like that before.
It was an odd ego trip. I was let in and introduced to Cathy, who was my direct boss. Over her was the manager, and over him, Steve, the owner. She smiled and said "Hi, I'm Cathy, your boss."
Tm Bryan," I said in a friendly way.
'These women are going to love you. I hope you can take it. Do you have any idea of what you're letting yourself ! in for?"
"Well, if it gets out of hand, let me know. I'm assigning Mike to you. He'll break you in and show you the ropes. If you have any questions let me know. Have you ever done anything like this before?"
"I've been a bartender for 3 years," I said. 'Then you'll pick this up fast," she said. "Mike is a good guy. One of our best. That's why I'm assigning him to you. Good luck and just go with the flow. It gets really wild in here. Don't let it throw you." ;
I was introduced to Mike and we got along great right away. "Look," he said, honestly, "I don't know what you've beeii f up against before, but this place is a nut house. Everything you : ever thought you knew about women doesn't apply here. It's ta total role reversal." As he said this, he was showing me ; around the place, the bathrooms, the "locker room" where we changed, the bar set-up, the office, and what areas were off ! limits.
"You can do anything you want with a woman here a$ long as you don't have sex with her in front of other people. If you want to have sex with her, do it in the locker room, the bathroom, or take her out to her car. Just make sure no onk else sees you. We'll all know what you're doing and we'll tr^ }
and give you the privacy you need. If you have sex with her in front of other people we can get into legal trouble if the other people complain. To avoid that, do it in private. These women are going to throw it at you.
"You're a good looking guy. They're going to try to outdo each other with you, because you're the new kid on the block. They'll all want you first. This place holds 240 women. 240 horny women . . . that are drinking. There's 8 dancers. They're on the floor 10 minutes each, collecting tips. There's 3 bartenders, and one bar-back. They're all behind the bar, out of reach.
'That leaves us, 8 cocktail waiters, with 240 horny, drunk women. There's nothing between you and them except their clothes. They'll grab everything on you. It's fun in the beginning, but it gets old after awhile."
"How long have you been working here, Mike?" I asked.
"8 months. I can't take it much longer. I thought I was a real stud when I first came here, but now sex in a relationship is so unimportant to me that it almost doesn't matter. My girlfriend just complains I don't have sex with her often enough. Bryan, I'm to the point where I can't even get it up anymore."
"That's odd," I thought to myself. Tim said the same thing when I trained him at the Boston Half Shell.
Mike showed me my station (my section of the club I'd be serving), set me up, asked if I had any questions, answered them, and left. The doors opened. In filed the women. I felt about as secure as a piece of live bait. My station started to fill up. Everyone was pretty well behaved. I was surprised.
But this was only their first round of drinks. After about the 3rd round the inhibitions started to slide way and I started to hear a few compliments: "He's cute." "He's got a nice as$." "Shh . . . he'll hear you." "So what. Get with it, you're too uptight."
After the fifth round of drinks, the floor show started. The first male stripper came out. I'd never seen anything like this. It was 1979, and male strippers were a new phenomenon then. This guy came out and started taking his clothes off to music, and these women went crazy.
Crazy? That's the wrong word. They went berserk. I stood there in total shock, not knowing if I should watch the guy strip or the women freak out.
I couldn't believe it! This guy was actually taking Ijis clothes off and women were begging him to take off more. And these women were foxes. I stood there in total disbelief, convinced it was all a dream and that I'd wake up at any moment.
The only thing that woke me up was when a group of women on my station kept yelling for more drinks. "You'fe new here, aren't you?" one of the women asked.
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"I can tell by the look of shock on your face. The guys that have been here for a while get kind of indifferent to it"
The night progressed. Cathy came over and checked how I was doing. 'This place is incredible," I said, in disbelief.
She laughed. "Wait until you learn the ropes. This is nothing." Because it was my first night, they gave me the slow station so I could get used to it. The women could sense I was new so they stayed reserved. They grabbed the other guys but with me all they did was make comments.
That was the first night. The second night was a lot easier because the shock value wasn't so great and I was getting used to the routine. I was given another slow station to help me get it all down.
"How are you doing?" asked Cathy.
"It's a lot easier than last night."
"Are you ready for a regular busy station?"
"Good. Tomorrow you get the second busiest station on the dance floor. You should make a lot of money. Remember, just loosen up some. Kiss the women, let them touch you if they want. You'll make a lot more money. You're doing fine."
The next night was a classic case of leading a lamb to the slaughter and I was the lamb.
As the women filed in, I felt like there was a target on my crotch. My dick was a "bulls eye," my nuts were worth 50 points each, and my ass was only about 5 points. The women on the busy section were a combination of the regulars, women who would try anything once, and the "I'm going-to-get-my-10-bucks-worth-out-of-this-place-one-way-or-the-other" group. (The $10 was the cover charge to get in the door).
After taking one look at me, I could tell by the expression on their faces that I was "dead meat." And the night hadn't even started yet. Cathy came over. "Did you see what's on my station?" I asked, helplessly.
'That's nothing," she said, reassuring me. "Wait till they've had a few drinks."
"Oh, great. That's like throwing gasoline on a bonfire!"
"Look at the bright side: you're bigger than they are," sl^e laughed, and walked away.
"A lot of good that'll do when they've got me by the nuts," I thought to myself. I was beginning to wonder whose side Cathy was on. I walked over to the first group of women. "Hello, ladies. What would you like to drink?"
They looked at me, then at each other, then back at me with an are-you-serious look on their faces. Then they laughed. "You're new here, aren't you?" one said.
"Yeah," I admitted, honestly.
"We're all regulars here. We thought you were new because we haven't seen you before. Look ... out there (outside Chippendales) we're ladies. But we come in here to have fun . . . okay?"
"So no more of this 'ladies' stuff. Okay?" She gave me a genuinely warm, friendly smile, and I realized these were nice women who needed a release, who just wanted to have a good time. I also noticed they were all pretty cute. I relaxed. I flirted with her back as I said "Okay." She smiled. I smiled. "If I get this wrong, help me out, okay?"
"Well, the first thing you have to do is get us drinks. After that we'll tell you the second thing."
I went and got their drinks. "Okay, what's the secofld thing?" I asked, pretty relaxed now, and even flirting with them.
"I want a kiss," she asked, in a very nice caring way. Sl}e was smiling, hoping I'd kiss her, but not demanding it. She was allowing me to be in control. I put my drink tray down, took her head in my hands, and kissed her tenderly on the lips. She opened her mouth, I opened mine, she teased my tongue, I teased hers.
I backed away slowly after the kiss was finished. She was bright red. Her friends were bright red. I was beginning to learn the rules of the game. They could see I was a nice person, and I could see they were nice people. Her girlfriend handed me a $5 tip. "Here," she said, "you've earned this."
As I took the tip I said to myself, 'This isn't so bad, after all. As a matter of fact, it's fun." All the women could sense I was still new at this, trying to find my way. They all made allowances for that and it just kept getting easier and easier. As the night went on and they got drunker their inhibitions vanished.
I watched the other cocktail waiters making out with the women. The dancers came out, one at a time, did their routine, and left. All the regular ladies had their favorite dancer and they would kiss and tip him. I learned a lot by watching these guys and how they teased and worked the crowd. By the end of the first week, I was considered "one of the crew." Cathy came over at the end of the week and said "You're a fast learner. I didn't know if you'd be able to take it, but you're doing fine." Women had already been starting to touch all areas of my body and I'd started feeling comfortable with it.
The second week, women started giving me phone numbers. I was still getting a general "feel" of the place (no pun intended) to see what was there and what wasn't. I didnH want to jump at the first woman only to find the next night held someone better.
Each night the stations rotated, which was only fair. We each had good nights and bad nights. With a maximum crowd of 240 and only 8 waiters, each one of us was responsible for serving 30 women. Out of that 30 women, you're bound to have 5 or 6 foxes, times 8 stations, and you've got 40-48 really good looking women who have paid to watch guys strip. Th^t means these women like sex, and actively pursue it.
After the first week I learned these women didn't want me to be aggressive. As a matter of fact, they resented it wheii I was aggressive. They wanted me to be passive, so they could be the aggressor. The more passive I became, the better they liked it and the more tips I made. It was a total role reversal. They wanted to play the part of the aggressive guy, and they wanted me to play the part of the passive woman. And I was getting paid for this.
I couldn't believe my luck. It was a pure fantasy world. And if one woman gave me a bad time, I had 29 others on my station alone to pick and choose from. And if I liked a gal op another guy's station, we had an open agreement that I could go over and try to pick her up. When you have that many women, it's a little hard to get greedy.
The second week I was totally acclimated to my new environment. Women would kiss me, grab my ass, caress my chest, and rub my target area, which made the bulls eye become a larger target.
Another thing I noticed was the women were all using lines guys used when they were in high school. Their approach was primitive and very obvious. I could see in their eyes they were talking themselves into coming up to me. The booze really helped them here. Because there were so many women packed into such a small space, I felt like a sardine in a can.
I got so used to having all kinds of women put their hands all over my body that it didn't matter whose hands they were or what they were doing. I'd be kissing one woman, another would be rubbing her hand up and down my thigh, another was grabbing my ass, another was rubbing her bare chest on my back, while still another was rubbing a very stiff erection through my pants with her hands. It got to where I didn't know who was doing what to different parts of my body.
I went up to the bar to get a round of drinks. A foxy gal stopped me. "Hi. My name is Nancy."
"I'm a stewardess ... I'm in Los Angeles for the weekend on a layover ... can I go home with you tonight and fuck your brains out?"
"I'm a stewardess."
"I got that part."
"Can I come home with you and fuck your brains out?"
"That's what I thought you said."
She stood there patiently and sincerely, waiting for my answer as if she'd just asked me if I'd get her a gin and tonici The thing that threw me was she was definitely a fox. And she meant what she said. She wanted a weekend of sex, no strings attached. If I said "no" she would have accepted it, smiled, and walked away.
"Do you say this to all the guys?" I asked, awkwardly.
"No. You're the best looking guy in here, so I thought I'd ask you. If these other guys want me, they're going to have to earn it."
I thought it over for a minute and said "Okay. I get off at 2 a.m. We'll take it from there. But now, I've got to get back to work."
"Okay. I'll see you at 2. I'll stay out of your way until then."
I went back to my station with a load of drinks, back to getting my legs, ass, dick, and balls grabbed, rubbed, and stroked until 1:45 a.m. rolled around and Nancy came ovet "Are we still on for tonight?" she asked.
"You bet," I said. At 2 a.m. we walked out to my car and came over to my place.
Now, my apartment looks like a typical bachelor apartment: it's a dump. I sleep there, I eat there, I live there. Nothing fancy. Just a bed, a T.V., a few lamps and chairs, with a bathroom and a complete kitchen. How do I know it's a typical bachelor's apartment? Because practically every woman who's come over asks "Why do all guys' apartments look the same?" To which I ask, "How many guys are we speaking of?"
Just what I need is a woman who's served over 2 million satisfied customers, like a hamburger chain.
So Nancy and I walk into my apartment and she says the inevitable "your apartment looks just like every other guy's apartment I've been in."
With that, she put her arms around me and gave me a tender kiss. I responded.
"With all those women attacking you tonight, I was afraid you'd be too tired for me."
We were both getting turned on, so I proceeded to do the same thing you would have done in that situation: I fucked her brains out. You name it, we did it. She was on top, I was on top, then we did 69. We had sex in the shower, we had sex on the floor. We had sex while we ate breakfast. In short-by the time she left I was all fucked out. We never saw each other again, which was okay; because I had had enough. It was great fun, but enough was enough.
I had to go to work the next night. I was still tired from Nancy, so I decided to take it easy at work. But the women didn't know that, so they just kept grabbing my body, kissing me, licking me, rubbing their tits on me. I couldn't respond, any more than you would feel like responding after getting totally stuffed at Thanksgiving Dinner and someone offers you a large breakfast the next morning.
The next night I had to work and again, I just wasn't interested because I was still burned-out from Nancy and working the night before. I still got grabbed, teased, kissed, licked, rubbed, etc. But try being interested in sex an hout after you've had your last possible orgasm. The interest just isn't there.
I had the next 2 days off. My first night off, I went to see my girlfriend and she wanted, you guessed it, to get laidl I finally found out how women feel when they have sex and they don't really want to.
My next day off I stayed by myself and just rested. Theit it was back to Chippendales. More beautiful women, needing to get drunk to become uninhibited, taking off their bra^ rubbing their tits on me, grabbing my ass, my dick, licking my body, dropping their panties, hiking up their skirts, showing me their pussies, and paying me to put up with this. More yelling^ screaming, and loud music.
My relationship with my girlfriend started falling apart because everytime she touched me, I shut down. We talked about it. She understood how I felt, but she had needs, too. She came into Chippendales one night after I told her it would be okay. She sat and watched the circus. For me, the shock value had worn off. It was rapidly becoming just another joU It takes close to zero intelligence to be a cocktail waiter. I began to feel I was in a rut.
My girlfriend got upset. "How can you let these womeik treat you like that? They're worse than guys."
"But the money's good," I said, weakly.
"It's totally ruined our sex life, you won't even let me touch you anymore, and I don't blame you. If I had guys doing to me what these women do to you, I wouldn't want you to touch me, either. Why don't you just go get a normal job?"
"I don't know," I said. The truth was, I still had more to learn there, about women, and about myself.
By the fourth week, I was going out with a different woman every night. Having sex was not an issue, because I didn't' want to have sex, I wanted to get to know them first. But they wanted sex first, and maybe we'll get to know each other later. Still the women threw themselves at me.
Not just mg, the dancers, the other cocktail waiters, the bartenders, and the bouncers . . . any guy that would stand there long enough to be groped. It was very easy to see who had been working there for a while. They were completely detached mentally from their body. The thing that was so frustrating was that after you'd had enough sex, even when you weren't looking for it, these women still threw it at you.
A woman walked up to me. "Hi, I'm Barbara."
"You're Bryan, aren't you?"
"I'm a friend of Nancy, the stewardess who spent the weekend with you?"
"It's nice meeting you. How's Nancy?"
"She's fine. She wanted me to say "hi," to you for her."
"She told me everything about your weekend together."
"Yeah, about the shower, the floor, breakfast."
"Yeah. I guess she covered everything."
"She also told me how big you are."
"Why would she do that?"
"Oh, you know how girls are."
"No, but I sure am learning."
She laughed. I smiled. I knew what was coming.
"Are you going to be busy after work?"
"At least you're not as blunt as she was," I said kindly*
"Yeah. She told me about that too."
"Do you live in town, or is this a weekend deal for you too?"
"I'm in town for 3V& more weeks, then I get transferred to New York."
"For 6 months. Then I'll be back here for two months. Then I'll get shipped out somewhere else."
"It must not do much for your love life." "It has its advantages."
"I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I'd like something more lasting than three weeks. I'm getting tired of one night stands, just being a notch on some girl's bedpost. After 3 weeks, we'll just be getting to know each other and you'll be leaving. If we get along, I won't want you to leave."
"But for 3 weeks I'll do anything you want to make you happy. Honest. Nancy told me what you like sexually and I'll do it. I've got a better body than she does, and I'm better at sex than she is."
"How do you know that?" I asked curiously. "Because I watched her have sex with some guy once. I had sex with him a week later and he said I was a lot better than she was. I could tell from watching her I was better than she was."
"Oh . . . Barbara, the problem isn't that I'm not interested, I am. The problem is I know we would get along, and probably very well. Nancy was different. I didn't care about Nancy and she didn't' care about me. It wasn't even sex. It was straight fucking. I met Nancy my second week here. It was still all new to me. I can't base a relationship on sex anymore. It's too short term. I need affection, someone to talk with, someone who cares about me. Just as you and I would start to establish that, you'd leave. I can't do that to myself anymore. I hope you understand."
"I'd be so good to you for those 3 weeks."
"Why are you so afraid of a long term relationship?"
"I don't know. How could you tell?"
"Because talking with you is like talking with myself."
"You're afraid too?" she asked.
"... you see," I said gently, "I told you we'd get along."
She kissed me and slowly pulled me into her. "Please give me a chance," she asked.
I looked at her. "Give me your number and I'll call tomorrow," I said. I knew what I was getting myself into. What I didn't know was "why."
I was getting fed-up. The rest of the night I just worked my station, shallowly flirting with the women, collecting tips, while my body was a target for every female hand in there.
Barbara and I got along as well as I guessed we would. But knowing it was short term made it difficult for me. She had fully accepted it as a 3 week deal. When it was over, I got mad. Not at her, at myself. Why did I misuse myself? I really felt used.
I knew my days at Chippendales were numbered. Night after night of the same thing, nothing but pure sex. Kissing, groping, licking, women rubbing their tits and hands all over my body, whether I wanted it or not.
"You've got a nice body. What do you look like without your clothes?"
"I've got a little dick," I said, indifferently.
"No you don't," she laughed, "I can see it through your pants."
"You may find this hard to believe," I laughed with her, "but there's more to a guy than the size of his dick."
"You're right," she said, without skipping a beat, Tdo find it hard to believe."
I gave her her drink, she grabbed my dick, I just shook my head and walked away. Another half drunk fox asked me "Can I play with your dick?"
"If you can get it up, you can play with it," I told her matter-of-factly.
"Oh good! Here's my phone number. My husband's out of town for the next two weeks. Call me tomorrow."
She gave me her number and a $5 tip. Oh, brother.
I finally entered the ranks of Tim and Mike. I couldn't take it any more. I realized the fantasy is great only when you're horny. But I had so much sex thrown at me, I lost interest in it because there was nothing else there. The talking before and after was just a "fill in" until the next time we had sex. An "ril-be-nice-to-you-the-person-because-if-rm-not-you-won't-bring-your-body-back-again-for-me-to-play-with" attitude.
I was lucky. I totally outgrew the stage of a pure physical relationship. I still have a rare one-night stand. But's it on a completely different level. I was so fed up with being just a piece of meat that the next 3 women I went out with I told "I want to go out with you but I won't have sex with you." They said "oh great! he wants to get to know me!" The point in time came when sex should have occurred in our relationship and I said, "I'm sorry. I told you from the beginning I wouldn't have sex with you." They couldn't believe it. I could.
I've tried to tell you about Chippendale's the way I'd want to have it explained to me. I've tried to answer the questions I'd ask if I were talking with someone who worked there. I talked with 5 or 6 guys over the next few years who really worked there. One look in their eyes, and one look in my eyes, and we both knew the other was telling the truth. All of us burned-out. The names, faces, and bodies were different, as was the length of time we were there, but the end result was identical: we all got fed-up being pieces of meat. And, not so surprisingly, we all get along beautifully with women now.
Why do I tell you this story? It would have been very easy to make a huge fantasy out of it. But you wouldn't have learned anything from it. It's extremely unlikely you'll ever be able to work in a place like Chippendales, so I hope you'll be able to profit from my experiences. That I talked with 5 or 6 other guys who ended up feeling the same way I did-glad they did it and glad it's over-let's me know my reaction was a common one.
All of them quit. None got fired, which means they were able to stay until they just couldn't take it anymore. All of us learned there's a lot more to a relationship than sex. All of us like women and have really good relationships with them now, because we treat them as people. Of course, we still have Sex for the sake of sex with them. But it's a part of our relationship, rather than the only aspect of it. This taught me how it feels to be a woman and be treated like a piece of meat
My teachers were good looking women with class, brains, and money. They used everything from bad come-on lines to classy approaches, and I could tell even before they opened their mouths that all they wanted to do was get laid.
Once I realized that's how I looked when I came on to a woman, I stopped completely. Because it just doesn't work. This is why I've spent so much time and energy showing you how a woman feels. Because once you know how she feels, you'll see, very clearly, why everything you've been taught before won't work. Not only won't it work, it ends any chances you'll have of getting to know her.
When I tell some guys the story of Chippendales, they say "You left? You're crazy!" Remember my reaction to Tim when I first met him (at the beginning of this chapter) an<I he told me about Chippendales?
If you can put yourself into the reality of what I went through, you will learn a great deal from my experiences. If you can't, then this chapter has been a waste of your time and my effort. As I said earlier, I'm very grateful I went through Chippendales, but I sure wouldn't want to have to go through it again.
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