Horray For Boobies!
I found myself this week in Portland with a bit of extra time to kill. My client meeting had wrapped up sooner than expected and I had an hour or so before meeting my evil sister for our dinner date. What to do in the city of roses on a fine summer afternoon?

Why just enough time to visit my favorite strip bar, the Acropolis.

Let me just say how much I love Oregon bars. For whatever reason, the morality police here in Washington state seem to think that if you have alcohol and boobies in the same bar they will mix like mater and anti-mater in the warp chamber and cause a rift in the time-space continuum. Thankfully, the fine citizens of Oregon know better. Not only can you imbibe in your favorite drink while watching the pretty naked flesh dance, you can also gamble! Boobies, beer AND video poker, talk about a winning combination.

The Acropolis hosts a something like 60 beers on tap, some of the cutest naked girls on earth and all the while keeping a dark, unassuming air. Yeah, this is hands down my favorite bar in Portland. Once, after an emotionally punishing funeral, my brother and I walked into this place at noon only to crawl out later the next morning, but that is a story for another day.

So there I was, sipping a fresh porter, watching a lovely young woman work her magic on the stage. It must be something in the water, but Oregon girls have a certain... look. Just hippie enough to have all the right curves yet not too crunchy. She was simply delightful with long auburn hair and pale skin, and a terrific set of hips... the monk just loves a nice pair of hip bones. Even with such eye candy in front of me, I found myself more interested in covertly watching the reactions of the other patrons. A side note here. Unless your a hot girl, staring at guys in a strip bar is a sure fire way to get your ass kicked. It was a quiet afternoon so there must have been about a hafl dozen or so men sitting at the bar that circled the stage. Each sat alone, in silence, sipping their respective drinks. As the dancer proceeded to display her god given talents, their eyes were locked on her body. Never daring to look up at her face, they were transfixed by three square inches of her body. Granted, those were an amazing three square inches, but they never dared meet her gaze as she writhed in front of them. Held captive by the mystery between her supple hips, they kept placing dollar bills on the bar. Even when she leaned close thank them for the tips; they would mumble a response and quickly glance up, yet dare not meet her gaze for more than an instant.

Now this got me wondering. Why? Why not look at her face? Would that break the illusion? No longer the object of random sexual desire, but now a human with a face? Yes, we have all heard that argument a thousand times before. Or would they look up and realize that she in fact was the one in complete control. That no amount of money on the table would buy them her love. Sure it might get them more attention and a longer look at her flesh, but in the end they would still be sitting at the bar, alone.

Finishing my pint, I pull a $20 out of my wallet and place it on the bar. As I turn to leave, the dancer picks up the bill and calls out an enthusiastic thank you. Meeting her deep almond eyes, I return her smile and thank her for an excellent show.

Off to my next engagement.

One of the great directors of exploitation films once said, “If we are in fact exploiting anyone here, it is the lonely men who come to see our movies.”