Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Night at the Dusty Beaver

Before I begin my story, let me introduce you to my gay boyfriend, Poodle (not his real name).  He is a hoot.  Ladies, if you do not have a gay boyfriend, you are missing out.  Poodle knows the best restaurants, the best places to shop, what's hot, what's not and makes a mean sangria.  I love people who are who they are -- no pretense.  What you see is what you get.  That's my Poodle.

When Poodle learned that Hubs and I had never been to what he considered key landmarks in the big city, he quickly remedied that by planning an evening out for a group of us.  Our evening began with a late dinner at a wonderful restaurant.  From there, we went to a type of establishment I'd never visited before -- a strip club.  Not just any strip club, but a historical landmark in the city known for its "mature" performers and seedy atmosphere.  For the purpose of this post, I shall call it The Dusty Beaver.  (I'm not going to state the real name of this establishment just in case any of your grandmothers work there, bless their hearts, and my comments offend.)

Even in the wee hours of the morning, there was a line to enter The Dusty Beaver.  The place was packed.  Standing room only.  The crowd could not have been more diverse.  Young, old, gay, straight, any demographic you can imagine. Music pounded, lights pulsed.  I was taking it all in.  Then it happened....  I caught my first glimpse of a performer.  Ho.  Lee.  Shit.  There was an older lady strutting her stuff practically buck naked up on the stage.  Things only went downhill from there.  She got more naked, as did those that followed. 

Now if you are picturing an older lady who has done much to maintain her skin and physique, let me stop you right there.  That was not the case.  Time, gravity, and slowing metabolisms had not been kind to these ladies.  Some even looked like their asses and the backs of their legs had been beaten with a bag of nickels.  Yet, there they were, smiling, dancing (kind of), and giving their all to a cheering crowd. Lawd. 

An old lady came shuffling out dressed as a little girl, complete with polka dot skirt, crinoline making it poof out, and a bow in her hair.  She didn't dance so much as remain upright.  Her signature move appeared to be that of a toddler boy learning to pee in the yard.  She'd stand with her legs spread, hold her skirt up, and thrust her hips out.  Classy.  Let me just preface the following by saying that what has been seen, cannot be unseen:  She lifted her skirt, pulled her enormous granny panties to the side and illuminated her old muffin with a light.  What. The. Fuck.  I was speechless.  Frozen.  Much like a train wreck, I couldn't tear my eyes away from this unbelievably horrible sight.  Poodle was laughing his ass off at my horror.

Then, out comes the next peformer.  I shall call her Chocolate Pancake.  She took off her top and I just knew she was going to trip over those long, flat ti-taes.  (I'm certain I don't have to be proper and call them "breasts" when I saw them in a seedy strip club.)  A small busted gal myself, I was dumbstruck.  Poodle said, "She's a 36 long!"  Chocolate Pancake quickly divested herself of all clothing.  (I thought she left on some type of textured thong, but to my abject horror, that was not the case.) Then, just when I thought I could not be more shocked, it happened....  Chocolate Pancake solicited an empty beer can from the crowd, put it where the sun don't shine, gave a wiggle, then pulled it back out, smashed flat.  What. The. Fuck.  I tried to rationalize.  "Hey, maybe she's just recycling.  That's it!  She's just doing her part for the environment."  Nope.  She did it again.  Okaaaaaaaay.

Apparently the rest of our group had seen enough, too, so we extricated ourselves from the crowd and made a break for it.  On our way to the car, Hubs said that he's not sure when he'll be able to get it up again after seeing all that.  (Sounds like I'll be able to finish that book I've been reading.) My time at The Dusty Beaver now just lives in my night terrors.  But, I did learn two very important lessons:

  1. Moisturize.  Moisturize.  MOISTURIZE.
  2. Always wear a bra with proper support.




  1. You didn't mention the furries. I guess that deserves it's on post. We saw enough "furries" at the dusty beaver. I knew I was gay for a reason. That night confirmed it. Glow rings and old putty thangs don't mix. Excuse me, I'll be right back...*BARF*

  2. Ok, I'm back....whew...I think I feel better now...
    Poodle loves ya back and promises to NEVER do that to you again. At least I got you some reading time this week. Although your hubs may never forgive me.

  3. HAHAHA!!!! Damn....that made my morning!! Love ya!!

  4. That was completely disgusting...and equally delightful. LOVE it!

  5. Oh Kris...as though I didn't know already why I love you so!!! I am laughing so hard and wishing I had been there with you to put that into the record books! Thanks for brightening my day. Miss you!

  6. Too funny!

    I'm bookmarking this blog. You crack me up! Thanks for the laughs!

    1. Thanks so much for bookmarking! Glad to have you as a reader!

  7. I'm gonna go ahead and assume you are talking about the Clairmont Lounge....