One night, two lap-dances, three impressions of OG’s new ladies night

Oh Geez…

They swarmed around us like moths to a flame. Ripped guys with some of the best dance moves I’ve ever seen, placing their arms around our shoulders and caressing our knees without even asking our names or offering to buy us a drink.

I made a concerted effort not to punch any of them in the groin.

Nearby, two more groups of girls squealed with delight as the guys undressed and gyrated. Wait a second… Oh, that’s right. Xania, Cindi and I were not at a nightclub but at the OG Adult Cabaret for its new Thursday ladies night. It was the guys’ jobs to flirt with us then strip down to neon banana hammocks. Cindi was giddily whisked away to a dark corner for a lap dance on Xania’s dime, but I preferred that the male dancers maintain their distance and focused my attention on my delicious complimentary Three Olives Root Beer vodka cocktail.

Still, it was a good time with lots of giggling and stellar giveaways (nearly every woman in the room left with something) as part of the joint promotion with The Party 93.1-FM. When we left, I realized I’m totally not the type of girl who would enjoy paying to have a guy’s crotch near my face. Hell, I can get that kind of action for free, and there’s usually a nice dinner beforehand! –Deanna Rilling

When the gloves (and clothes) come off

“How much is a dance?” I discretely asked the cocktail waiter. That’s right. Waiter.

“$20-$35.”

“Is that based on how hot they are?”

He laughed. “It’s based on how much privacy you get.”

Ahhh, so it’s just like a regular strip club, I thought. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any cash on me. But Xania did. Next thing I knew I was being led by the hand to a secluded booth. I forget the guy’s face or even any distinguishing features, but I do remember him whispering compliments in my ear while he rubbed his sweaty body against me. Being neurotically inclined, I wondered if he really thought I was hot or if he was just hoping for a tip. The entire experience was thrilling and odd, like the funhouse version of a regular nightclub, where guys hit on you but they expect you to pay for the privilege. Nonetheless, I had a blast, especially when Xania bought me a second dance that involved a little less talking and lot more acrobatics. – C. Moon Reed

Paying Peter to embarrass Paula

From where I sat, wedged between Deanna and a steady rotation of meaty man-tart, it looked as though what goes on upstairs in the ladies’ showroom at OG couldn’t be further from what goes on a few stories below us. For one thing, the lights are on upstairs; downstairs it seems the men prefer to do their dirty deeds in the dark. Second, is the complete lack of a stripper pole. The gents play to a strobe light, more Justin Timberlake than Tawny Kitaen.

The ladies watching their friends getting dances seem more excited than those buried beneath all that writhing, be-thonged muscle; the gentlemen downstairs generally prefer privacy or have the good sense to look away while a buddy is getting his grind on. And while the male dancers aren’t bashful, they’re not exactly pushy, either. After one go-around, and after we tell them that everyone at the table who will be getting lap-danced tonight already has (twice!), they keep a respectful distance and take turns throwing down some actual dance moves on the catwalk.

But the most noteworthy difference is that everything is out in the open, with dancers periodically checking in on the comfort of the hapless dancees. “I ask every girl if they want me naughty or nice,” explained exotic male dancer Andre, “and then I ask like five times, ‘Is this ok?’” Judging by how he had his way with Cindi, I’d guess that she didn’t ask for Mr. Nice Dancer. –Xania Woodman