The Champagne Room – What You’re Really Paying For

Though rates vary widely depending on the entertainer and club you visit, an hour in VIP typically costs around $1,000, after tip. A half-hour most places will go for $400 or $500. For that much money, you should damn well expect something special, so I’m going to tell you the truth.

If you enter VIP and your entertainer tries to suck your dick, eat you out, or otherwise fuck you – you are being ripped off.

It’s not that I have any issue with getting laid for money. If you’re into prostitution, that’s your business. But if you want a champagne room experience – that’s my business.

If you think that they are the same business, you’re setting yourself up for a terrific letdown in one of two ways: either you’ll wind up with a sub-par entertainer and find yourself footing the bill for an oral encounter that is far above market price(in a public facility designed with publicity rather than discretion in mind) or you’ll wind up with a true entertainer and waste what should be an extraordinary experience worrying over the fulfillment of some slapdash boner-centric checklist you carried in with you.

Strippers, you see, don’t belong to the service industry. We differ from prostitutes in this way. It is not the job of a stripper to give you what you ask for. Strippers are members of the entertainment industry, and as such, a stripper’s job is not to provide you with something you already have or can gain elsewhere. It is my job to invigorate and sweep you up into realms of fevered fantasy that you can’t so easily escape.

The typical man does not want to venture into a situation that involves the risk of shaking up physical urges that must be left unmet. He does not want to, because he is under the unfortunate misapprehension that there is nothing to do with desire except to spit it out again. Desire itself is pain to him – it comes only to torment and be released, with perhaps no satisfaction except the libido’s cessation in the immediate wake of his obedience to sexual thrall.

This is bad; a result of bad teaching, and pleasure’s most faithful opponent from the dawn of man’s age. Fear of longing renders pleasure its own form of fear. Read between the lines of any femme fatale reference on film or paper; the ordinary male views sensuality as a wicked power but rarely evaded. The ordinary male can’t handle pleasure, just as the ordinary diner in today’s world can’t handle a scrumptious meal except by getting it over with as quickly as possible.

Consider the heady moment before a long-awaited kiss – the electric, warm energy, the natural high of looking at someone you are sure wants you. Desire isn’t some gruesome monster force to be beaten down and kept small inside of you – it’s a wide world in its own right. Submit yourself to the care of a master stripper if, and only if, you’re willing to explore a little tantric in-between.

In a champagne room, a VIP or even just one private dance, you can let your desire swell through all its rhythms, the chemistry between you and your entertainer charging up your consciousness as in a lucid dream. Moments spent in a dancer’s hands are moments to take with you, alive and changing, into the rest of your world. A dancer, a real entertainer, can bury herself in your mind and carry on with you into the future. Her presence will wake you some dull Monday morning with sparkling promise. Her memory will come at random times to cheer you with a quick excitement – a breath of renewal and perspective. You will feel her pulse, exhilarated and rising in your own veins the next time you come to contemplate those who block the doorways to your future – the skeptical, the frigid, the ordinary. You will remember – because she will have found it out in you – that you are alive, and young, and blessed, and that you believe after all in every unspoken promise of better things to come.

Odysseus told his men to tie him down and let him hear the Sirens’ song. The bard never tells us why, but we do remember that of all the men aboard his ship, the only one who made it through his saga was the one who dared to listen. Perhaps because his dreams were so great; he could not afford to treat desire as just another monster.

2 thoughts on “The Champagne Room – What You’re Really Paying For

  1. Pingback: The Champagne Room – What You’re Really Paying For | The Story Whore

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