The Land of Disenchantment

I’ve never had a problem going to and enjoying strip clubs, in fact I think it’s quite nice to be entertained in a colorful way. Especially when you’re sick of the same scene, over and over again and just want to do something a little different. Last night my BF and I decided to check out Club Madonna. He had been there before and wouldn’t be particularly impressed but he knew I had never been and had been curious about it since moving to SoBe. I had read blogs and forums clearly advising to STAY AWAY, but I had to see it for myself. It can’t really be that bad, can it?

We arrive at the door at 2AM after several pitchers at Ted’s, and I’m contemplating not going in simply because of the cover charge: $20 for guys and $10 for girls but I thought, what the heck it’s only 30 bucks.
We get in line and two guys ahead of us were already being accosted by two dancers, and not the pretty, welcoming kind. More like vultures hungry for dollar bills. I’m thinking, ohh this is going to be interesting (at best).
The venue reminds me of a warehouse, square and airy with super high ceilings. There is one main center stage, and two smaller stages, and as you would have guessed it, the DJ calls it the center, right and left stages. Pretty creative. There are love seats all around the stages, building upwards like a movie theatre. Upstairs at the back and front of the building are the private dance areas.
We take a seat facing the entrance with clear views of all stages, after all I don’t want to miss a thing on my long awaited trip to the club. The first girl gets on stage and she’s definitely quite good, twirling her body around the pole in that stripper seductive manner. Then onto the floor and swinging her legs in a circle just like in the movies. She is wearing ubber high platform heels and as she moved the silver color and shiny metallic material formed a virtual circle like glow sticks at a rave. I thought she was pretty, curvy with long dark hair, and I later found out she is Mexican, American Indian and Italian, at least that’s what she told us. Strippers don’t have any reason to lie.
Girl after girl takes the stage. I look at my boyfriend with a puzzled look wondering what the fuck? Why aren’t they attractive at all?! It was clear a lot of them had had babies as their giggly bellies and deflated tits flapped about. I saw rug burns, scars, tattoos, and too much shiny make up. Vulgar I think. One of the girls sits on the lap of a guy next to us and we hear him tell her she looked like a man. Ouch, nonetheless lol!
My boyfriend goes to the man’s room and Mexican/American Indian/Italian girl sits next to me, cooling herself with a black feather fan. She is apathetic and despondent. My boyfriend returns and I tell him he should get a lap dance from her. After all she is the only decent looking chick in the place. He declines and I take his place. She leads me upstairs, and we sit down. She is still fanning herself, looking around, waiting for the next song to begin. Finally she gets up, and manhandles me by sliding me down on the couch, evidently so she is able to sit on my lap with her (quite nice) ass. This girl has a nice body and she smells good. I let myself relax and hope for the best for my $25. Then she whispers in my ear, “Now I’m going to show you the pussy pop”. Oookay? Never heard of that before. She begins bouncing her ass on my legs, and I can feel she is literally popping her pussy from the inside. Kind of like a steroidal version of Kegel exercises. I am amazed. How the hell does she do that?? Shortly after my two-for-one dance is over and we head back downstairs and while I am not particularly impressed by her indifferent attitude, I feel the BF must check out the pussy-pop so I insist he gets one. Four minutes later he returns and tells me, “eh” he wasn’t impressed. After she makes her $50 off us, she leaves. I don’t blame her.
We order a non-alcoholic Becks (it’s gross by the way) and continue watching the girls, I suppose waiting for something, I’m not sure what, maybe a pretty girl to get on stage. It doesn’t happen. They all seem like they don’t give a shit being there and I’m thinking, ‘at least TRY to look like you’re having fun, that’s how you make money honey’.
I think back to the strip clubs I’ve been to in the Northeast where the women are lively, chatty, pretty and entertaining. A table dance means you’re getting some boobs on your face, smiles and at least the pretense that they want you. As I had guessed it, the girls at Madonna don’t get to choose their own songs, which I’d imagine is part of the problem why they are so goddamn bored. Strippers should always get to choose their own songs, a tune that turns them on, that will make them give you fuck-me eyes, that etherial, lovely, you-know-you-want-me, come hither (and give me your money) demeanor.
Instead I got no fantasy, no fuzzy sexy feelings. And it’s such a shame. The only strip club in South Beach and this is what it has to offer? It’s borderline embarrassing.
I start to think of how I’d like to buy the business and completely revamp it. I share my thoughts with my bf who proceeds to inform me of the problem with the liquor license and how the owner has tried and sued multiple times, with no avail. I’m thinking, ‘why doesn’t he just make it topless?’ then he will get his liquor license.
In any case, after spending an hour at Club Madonna we’ve had enough and leave disappointed with empty pockets. I guess what I’ve heard and read is all true. Best to take the drive across the bridge next time.