As a group of girls from the Daily prepared for our trip to the all-male strip club in Windsor, Ontario, wild visions of extremely well-endowed men in costumes of cowboys, police officers and puppy dogs whirled throughout our heads. We would soon learn that this fetish-filled fantasies would be destroyed by a man in a polyester bathrobe.

Paul Wong
BRETT MOUNTAIN/Daily

We were ushered into the club by a large, looming black man, who offered one of us, whose birthday was the night before, a birthday special where she would be hauled up on stage for a dance with all of the strippers. Our escort left out that the celebration also involved being whipped by a towel and taking a commemorative picture with a stripper performing mock cunnilingus on the honored lady. But at the time, the stage was a sight still unseen. We were unsure of their roles as strip-club revelers, and we declined, trying to act as if we were just uninterested, not giving away our strip-club-virgin status.

We thoroughly scoped out the bar as we sprinted to the first table we could find, desperate to sit down and blend in. Our table was not too far from the stage, though it was definitely not directly next to it all those tables were taken. Huddled in incredibly girly giggles at the table, we tried to calm ourselves down while we snuck glances at the strippers and waiters around us, not to mention the Donny Osmond lookalike performing his art on stage.

Leaning against bars, doorjambs, and the stage, unsolicited strippers of all body types and styles stood around nursing drinks and making small talk with their colleagues. They were all topless and tattooed and wore nice everyday pants with the bands of their boxer briefs peeking out the top. Most of them performed in this attire, but some of them slipped into something a little more comfortable like a bathrobe or a thong for their acts. The women at the bar varied from harsh looking tarts in their 20s to gradual versions of those women after 20 years of trips to the local Dunkin Donuts. Many of the younger women acted like they were trying to pick up the main attractions, while the older women just seemed like they enjoyed the male attention. Particularly disturbing was a rather large middle-aged woman who sat in a corner, keeping the beefiest black stripper as her playmate.

Before we were comfortable with our expanded horizons, a waiter came over and took our drink orders, and one of us signaled the stripper walking around with a tray of test tubes. She pointed to another of the Daily girls, naive and pure. The stripper came around to her end of the table, spread her legs and stepped directly between them. Grabbing her head between his hands, the stripper began to dance, slowly rubbing her face against his ripped stomach. Blushing furiously and flailing her arms, she didn”t know what to do with herself. Then he undid the clasp of his belt, unhitched his jeans, and slid a florescent pink test-tube into the band of his blacklight-lit white briefs. Abandoning any hope of knowing what she should do next, the girl let the stripper guide her head down to suckle the tube and slowly drag it up out of his nether-regions while swallowing the sweet, frothy strawberry shot.

While she recovered from her shocking experience of taking a crotch-shot, another Daily girl paid the expectant stripper for his services and sent him on his way to the next table. Annoyed that she”d been taken by surprise but relieved that her duty to do a crazy-strip-club act was accomplished, the girl realized she”d felt like a 15-year-old experiencing sexual relations for the first time with a much more experienced partner. With a stripper, a hired cock, she had frantically wondered: Where do I put my hands? What do I say? What am I supposed to do? How do I stop giggling? Where do I look?

After that experience was completed, our drinks arrived, free of test tubes and men”s jocks, and we settled back to watch the performers on stage. Only about half of the strippers decided to show off their family jewels and even fewer decided to go completely in the buff. Though there would only be one stripper on stage, the acts were definately duets. The smaller of the performers seemed painfully forced into compliance for the show. This was probably due to the fact that a rubber band had been tied around the base, keeping the life-blood from leaving the vessel. The most engrossing act of the night was the completely naked stripper who decided to do pull-ups from the handles on the ceiling. We felt like we were watching some pornographic Olympics event, and this guy definitely received a perfect 10.

As the performances continued, we were distracted from the stage by nearby table dances. The birthday celebration next to us ordered up a table dance for one particular reveler. As the male members of the birthday party left the table, the dancer slowly undressed his torso and unhitched his pants, letting them sink on his hips, as he took the lucky lady”s arm and licked a trail from her wrist to her shoulder. She buried her head in her other shoulder as he let his pants fall to display his flaccid glory. He turned his body, slapping his ass with a loud thwack that demanded the attention of the surrounding tables. He even took his woman”s hand and guided it up his thigh, dangerously close to his limp manhood.

Our attention was soon peaked back to the stage when a fellow University student, the “Duke of Dick,” came out to do his act. Those of us who hadn”t yet engaged in any crazy-strip-club antics knew that this was our chance to get up and support the maize and blue. We squeamishly walked up next to the stage and stood with our Canadian dollars (coins the size of quarters) in our mouths while waiting for the Duke to approach. Completely naked, the Duke prowled across the stage toward us while his 10-inch scepter slapped against the floor, making him seem much more like a wild animal than royalty. We tried not to make eye contact with the Duke during the mouth-to-mouth money exchange for fear that our eyes would meet again across a lecture hall. After the Duke took his payment, he gave each of us a customary kiss on the cheek, and this was when one of us noticed his terribly bad skin and the make-up he wore in an attempt to cover it up.

We decided to leave after all our mouths had been sufficiently close to stripper flesh. Though we agreed that it was a fun and rather disturbing experience, none of us believed that we would ever visit another male strip club unless a family member was performing.

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