It wasn’t his first time in a strip club. He didn’t go very often. Maybe once or twice a year at most. He was with three other guys, but it didn’t matter. He knew he would walk out as empty as he’d come in. Perhaps emptier. But maybe that’s what he needed. He didn’t think about it too hard.

The club was plastic, sleazy, dark. What little illumination was provided by the lights on the stage and behind the bar. The rest of the place was illuminated by a dim oppressive red light. The bouncers dressed in tuxedos were trying to pass off the façade that the place was classier than it actually was. The aura of a gentlemen’s club fit for the anti-gentleman. After about thirty minutes of watching the girls on stage and the standard overpriced beers he’d ordered, he went looking for a dance. He wasn’t aroused. He knew he would walk out empty. He didn’t know what he hoped to fulfil out of it, but he went anyway lulled by a senseless romantic fantasy.

He went next to the private area where lap dances were given, thinking that the prettiest girls would be the ones coming out. For a moment he considered going after the ugliest girl he could find but realized he was just being childish. After a few minutes, he found an attractive woman who had been on stage earlier and asked for a dance.

She was fit, shorter than him, almost petite, but not delicate. Long brown hair, but the color of her eyes was indistinguishable in the red light. She gave him her name and asked his. He answered. It didn’t matter. She led him into a booth walled off by cheap cardboard and a cheesy red shiny curtain. He sat down. She asked him if he knew the rules and he answered yes. He watched her. She was attractive. Swaying her hips seductively, touching herself she began to remove her clothing. And then she asked him where he was from.

“It’s complicated. I’m from lots of places. Mostly the US and France. But I grew up in Africa… And yourself?”
A laugh, “Complicated also. But more or less from Quebec City.”

She grins. She strokes his arms and arches her belly towards his face. Hey belly button is pierced.

“Just curious. How old are you?” he asks. He knows it is an inappropriate question, but then he in an inappropriate place.
“24… How old are you?”
“How old do you think I am?”
She guesses, “I think you look 24.”
“You are the first person to guess right.” She is the first person to guess right. He smiles.

“So what are you doing in Montreal? Studying?” he asks.
“No. I was working in a restaurant, but that didn’t work out so I decided to come to Montreal… I couldn’t find a job here so I started stripping.”
“Did you dance in Quebec?”
“No.”
“How long have you been dancing for?”
“Erotic dancing? Only 6 months but I do jazz and ballet. I want to dance professionally, but good dancing jobs are impossible to find. I once did this show. They paid us 1000 bucks.”
“Well that’s not bad is it? Just one show?”
“Well when you consider the two weeks of practice before the show…”
“Right. That sucks.”

There is a brief pause in the conversation as he touches her skin. It is smooth, but not satisfying. Suddenly he wants to provoke a reaction and test a theory. Assuming a conversational tone he ask, “So. How do you feel about erotic dancing?”
She stops her dance. She is naked except for the g-string, her breasts natural, not large, not small. She is beautiful. Her faces assumes an expression of pondering.
“Erotic dance is ok, but it isn’t what I want to do. I’m looking for a job as a waitress but a good job.”
“Well Montreal has loads of restaurants.”
“Yah but they hire students at minimum wage for that. I’ve been there before I want better.”
“Would you keep dancing if you found a job waiting?”
She replies, “No. I would prefer to not dance if I had another job.” This bothers him. For a moment he feel filthy. He removes his hands from her body.
“But the money is better dancing right? You must make what, 200 bucks a night?”
“Sometimes more depending on how hard I try. Some girls can make over 400 bucks a night if they try hard enough.” He gets the impression she isn’t one of those girls.

She resumes her dance and he settles down again. He is a bit upset, but in a few moments the tension leaves his chest and the urgency departs. He is comfortable again. He lifts his hands and strokes her.

She turns to face him and asks, “So what do you do in Montreal?”
“I study economics at Concordia.”
“How long have you been here?
“5 years now. I did my undergrad at McGill.”
“In economics?”
“Yah.”
“So you are doing a Masters”
“That’s right.”
“And then?”
“Probably a PHD. I don’t wanna leave school yet.”

She continues her dance and presents her back to him. He strokes her legs, her ass. They are firm, muscled.
“You must workout loads to stay this fit.”
She laughs evilly. “Nope. And I eat junk food all the time. Although I need to watch it a bit.” She pinches a firm belly.
“What are you talking about? I know people who’d kill to have a stomach like that.”
“Well I dance.”
“True.”
A pause.
“Did you see my show on stage?
“Yes. It was U2 wasn’t it? With or Without You?”
“I don’t like the music they play in these types of places. But that song makes me feel nice. Feel I can express myself to it.”
“Yah well R&B doesn’t do it for me either.”
“What do you listen to?”
Without hesitation, “Classic rock ‘n roll. Mostly 60s 70s and 80s. I’m not into R&B, hip-hop, that sort of thing.”
“Yah same here. Did you see Aerosmith?”
“No I missed them.”
“I was in the 8th row.”
“Awesome how’d you pull that off?
“I danced for one of the organizers of the show. But then he got all sentimental on me and asked me out.”
“Did he want extra?”
“Extra?”
“I hear stories about people asking strippers for something extra. Apparently all sorts of things can happen.”
“Well maybe. But I don’t do that.”
“How did you feel the first time you did a contact dance?”
“It was fine. Didn’t bother me.” He doesn’t believe her.

Her hips are swaying seductively. She is touching him and he fondles her lightly, more interested in the conversation than the dance. He has no erection. She smiles at him. He smiles back. He isn’t horny, just curious. The experience is surreal. He likes it.

As she turns to face him he notices a crucifix between her breasts.
“Are you religious?”
“Yes. I know that’s a bit of a contradiction…”
He cuts her off, “Whatever, religion is subjective right?”
“That’s what I think. It’s the only necklace I have.”
“But what about the clients. Do people freak out when they see it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I can see some confused religious guy coming in here and freaking out seeing that.”
“Well they are in here to begin with right?” She says this with a hint of steel in her voice. He thinks she’s had this conversation before.
“Sure.”
“Besides. It makes for a good conversation piece.” He knows she’s had this conversation before.

The song comes to an end.
“How much am I up?”
“50 bucks.”
“Ok one more dance then.”

She dances for him, he feels her. Her nipples are hard, her breasts real. She is fit. She is sexy, but he isn’t sexually aroused. He basks in the glory of the moment allowing the sensations to fill him.

The song ends. He gives her 65 bucks and thanks her for the conversation. He gives her two kisses, one on each cheek and goes downstairs.