"No matter what a stripper tells you, there is no sex in the Champagne Room."
Back in the day, every strip club in the Quarter sold cocktails for the ladies. For eight dollars, a dancer of your choice would sit at your table, flirt and look sexy. Making small talk, she would quickly sip down the drink, as the ever vigilant waitress stops by often to ask if she can have another. The price was steep for the company of a half-naked beauty sitting at your table. Most men didn’t go for it and would just enjoy the show. However, for those with deep pockets, most anything could be obtained for a price.
There was something for everyone in the adult clubs that dotted Bourbon Street and many ways to enjoy yourself. Whether you wanted a few cocktails and small talk with a stripper, table dances and drinks all around, or experience intimate time alone in the back with your dancer, the dancers were ready and willing.
Back then, just as it is today, carrying a limited amount of cash is the ideal way to go out partying for the night. However, many men tend to find themselves enumerated with a pocket full of credit cards. When these men come into the strip club looking for a night of companionship, there is always someone ready to oblige, for a price.
Many men who came through the French Quarter, back in the day, were business men. These men often found themselves lonely in a hotel room. Hearing the enticing sounds of the street, they generally ended up joining the fun. When they found their way into one of the numerous strip clubs of the Quarter, finding intimate pleasure for the night was often the number one priority.
These men were who the waitresses were on the lookout for. Pulling out their wallets to pay, the waitresses’ spying eyes could identify the credit cards with precision. The dancers who were in good with the waitress would have the way paved for a cocktail.
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Like volutes, the dancers were on a constant lookout for the smell of money on a man. There are many clues as to what is in his wallet: his shoes, the drink he drinks, the way he carries himself and his jewelry. An experienced dancer can look out over the crowd and point out who will spend money. Depending on how many drinks he has had that night can be the determining factor if someone can crack the lock on his credit cards. For the experienced dancers, picking that lock is not as hard as some would think.
Like a chameleon, a dancer will become exactly what a man is looking for. With her flirtatious ways he is intrigued enough to keep buying her drinks. I am sure that most men did this thinking that the more we drank the better chance they had of hitting a home run. Little did they know that the cocktails were actually a lot of OJ and a splash of champagne. Getting drunk at work without selling a lot of bottles was frowned upon and could be the deciding factor if you are able to work the next night.
The longer the game of cat and mouse lingers, the more he is convinced she will do whatever he wants. When the time is just right, the subject of being alone is brought up. The more she pushes and acts like she wants him, the more he is primed and ready.
With only three options to pay for your pleasure, the subject of a bottle of champagne is brought up. Here the waters were usually rocky. With a good hustle the credit card will come out and a price of $225.00, $350.00 or $500.00 is settled upon. Generally the only question asked is, “What do I get for that price?” Quickly and convincingly she will reply, “Whatever you want honey. In the back we can be alone; it is real dark and private," as she brushes against his bulging manhood. The only real goal of the dancer was to keep your credit card open and the champagne flowing.
You may be asking, “What bottle of champagne costs that much?” Well, for $225.00 you got the cheapest, rot gut brand they could find. This bottle was only sold as a last resort when no other option was left. For $350.00 you got a bottle of Dom Perignon and for $500.00 you could get a magnum of Dom Perignon. With the dancer insisting that “Dom” is the price for their fantasies to come true, most men gave in.
Once the cork is popped, it is off to the back for a party.
Were we prostitutes under the guise of being dancers? Maybe we were sluts? Could it be something much worse? Check out my next addition to the three part series “The Champagne Room Unveiled.”