NYC Gentlemen’s Club

Didn’t really give this place a chance. I walked in had no where to sit the women didn’t seem so interested at all so I just left. My recommendation is to save your entry fee money and just go somewhere else. The women here where not all that hit either they were fairly average

I was weary, outnumbered, barely myself… the reins of seniority served as a headlock, forced into submission by the tyranny of the masses.
On 7÷5÷15… over some billiards at Break, my big brother had the (not) genius idea of hitting up a «strip joint.» With my two other friends having no opposition, I had to play along. Mob rule as they say (my brother was a few drinks in, and a notoriously unpleasant drunky… at least to me, when he doesn’t get his way…).
We caught a cab. Worst cab in existence; unpleasant, without any wherewithal or sense of direction. «Give me cross streets…» were the only words he could mutter (yep, the unwilling party was the one navigating this merry band to our destination). After masterfully patient spoon-​feeding (the cross streets didn’t help dude cabby out), we made it.
We were twelve minutes too late to use the «waive the entrance fee» Unilocal check-​in offer (WTF?!). Suffice it to say, I could’ve used the extra $ 10 towards ½ of a lap dance. The four of us walk in, side performance stage was sans performer with the few other patrons gathered at the bar. Behind the bar there was a mini stage. A 7 foot pole with a ball bearing on top… just enough room for one performer to do a set.
First performer came as we took our seats… didn’t catch a name, but our crew of miscreants (1 lady to 3 dudes) were in consensus concluding that contestant #1 was a Kim Kardashian clone. This was a good thing. Stunning to an intimidating level, not the kind of lady I’d pay for a dance… too much mental gymnastics to try to impress with some silly banter (also, keep in mind, I was the sole member who didn’t want to go that night).
As the patrons watched the show, mesmerized almost, like a cobra to the charmer’s lute… we were approached by the barmaid; if memory serves, her name was Genesis, and she had just celebrated her 22^nd birthday two days before (on July 3, 2015). Pleasant girl, and young (as if to remind patrons of their seedy and lecherous tendencies, as proven by their presence on a Sunday night)… she took our orders and informed us that there was a two drink minimum; lastly, she reminded us that everyone working there (the girls and the bar peeps) earned their living on tips, and then proceeded to charge me $ 14 for a gin and tonic…
First (and only) blonde of the night approached my brother. He looked an easy target… more friendly in façade/​visage than I that night (remember, I did not want to be there… I had drank all weekend and I had to work the next day). Next thing we knew, he’s gone… getting dances was the assumption, and an accurate conclusion it was.
Got myself $ 50 in ones… thought that’d last me the night. My one buddy was ill prepared for this venture… had not a dollar on his person, armed with a useless credit card and no bank card (they did have an ATM that charged a ludicrous $ 4.95 usage fee…), so I had to tap into my generous side and spot a few bills ($ 20) so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed at my friend’s cheapness when it came to tipping the hard-​working dancers.
Time had passed, maybe an hour. Uneventful. Big bro still gone, burning money, while I was on my high horse of morality… milking my first G&T with a large amount of singles closer in total to 50 than zero. Then she ruined it… The self control. The thriftiness. The moral superiority. Undone by the power of one. For shame… I applaud her precision, and her powers of observation. Aside from Kim Kardashian earlier, no other dancer was worth a look. She noticed this. She approached me after her routine. She knew she was in.
I tip my hat to you Gia. All 5’3… 100 lbs of you, tattoos and all (with those six inch stilettos, deceptively taller). Very charming, patient even. It was all an act, I’m not stupid, but she didn’t really beg for anything (save for the first dance and her first couple drinks = $ 40 + $ 13 +13). And like clockwork, one became two, two became five, and the bank was busted. Even worse for the big bro and his blonde (who Gia described as having «weird dance moves»). Had to use the ATM a few times to help his bankroll, and I was none too happy to see those fees on my statement.
We’d been there for three hours, and soon the two others in my group grew tired of observing me blow through a healthy chunk of change. 3 or 4 kisses on the cheek from Gia, on the house… she made guap that night, as did blondie (via big bro as proxy to my cash). Even Genesis thanked our group, saying patrons should be as «fun» and «generous» as us. If by fun and generous she meant «stupid» and «weak»… then yes, they should be.
Bad decisions were made, instant gratification was pursued like a crackhead to a pipe with a rock in it, but I didn’t walk out disillusioned. I maintained my sense of reality, and there’s no logic to these places… they just are. Besides, a night at a place like this usually makes for a good story at least, amiright?!

cool sunday terrace parties
during the week pretty girls, skilled dancers, strong drinks.