|
|
| Greetings
Fellow Bons Vivants! |
|
|
| Carla
Ridge here, your intrepid MASH nightlife correspondent, bringing
you dishy dispatches detailing after-dark dalliances. Like
several of your favorite MASH writers, I live in Los Angeles,
so I hope you'll forgive the local angle of my reportage.
Luckily, L.A. offers an amazing array of evening amusements,
thus enabling me to ensure the varied entertainment value
of this forum. |
|
|
| What
are my qualifications to relay news of the night? I like to
go out and I have the wardrobe to prove it. I will mostly
cover trips to dance clubs, bars, strip joints and parties,
though you never know what else may creep in (and despite
the title of this column, some newsworthy events may actually
occur during the day). These pages will also acquaint you
with my partners in crime. Alexander is my chief collaborator,
but a few others can regularly be relied on for fun in the
lack of sun. Their qualifications? A hearty appetite for sex,
drugs, rock 'n' roll and reckless spending. |
|
|
| Speaking
of which, I should also apprise you here of my fascination
with ecdysiasts, deshabilleuses -- strippers. In my humble
opinion, there's nothing quite like the one-two punch of a
cocktail and a semi-naked goddess undulating on stage for
your delectation. Alexander and I will frequently visit one
of these establishments on our way to or from some other event,
but we will just as often make a night of sitting at the rail
(or if we're feeling a slight puffiness in our wallets, relaxing
on a secluded banquette with the aforementioned nymphs hovering
inches from our persons). |
|
|
| Just
Monday night, Alexander and I joined J. and K. for a visit
to Crazy Girls. I've been trying to catch a dancer there named
Castle who has proven an elusive little minx (she was, in
fact, not in attendance that evening). We shared a small table
in the center of the room and proceeded to make a dent in
our drink minimum. |
|
|
| We
happen to be fans of the natural breast and there were many
to be spied that night. Among the stars in attendance was
Heaven, a minute black girl with smoothed-back hair who is
a practitioner of one of my favorite skills -- rhythmic butt
cheek clenching. There's something a little carny, and thus
wonderful, about this type of display. Katherine also took
away our collective breath. A regal, Slavic beauty with her
hair pulled up in an elegant do, her presence was spellbinding
(on a subsequent night, I eavesdropped on her conversation
and discovered that her accent indeed bore a distinctly Eastern
European lilt; I seem to gravitate towards the foreign
-- if I had a nickel for every guy I've given the eye who
finally approached me only to reveal his charming but impractical
lack of English...).
Imagine Katerina Witt
gliding by with bare breasts. She was so stunning that I found
it hard to look at her once she left the stage. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| After
about an hour, we moved on to Cheetah's, where upon entry
we were nearly paralyzed by the sight of a perfectly diminutive
specimen called Sophia (remind me to explore my predilections
for the tiny). Alex immediately signed up for a lap dance.
We three ladies sat at a table nearby, keeping a respectful
distance and trying not to peek. At one point, however, the
always hilarious J. exclaimed, "Oh my god - she's hammering
his chest with her pubis! Should I make her stop?" The canary-eating
look on Alexander's face assured us all was well (he didn't
even flinch when she tweaked his nipples with great vigor
- brave boy). |
|
|
| We
saw a smattering of pole work that night, for which Cheetah's
is generally known, but not enough for my taste. And we were
dismayed to discover that the captivating Heather, who had
stolen K.'s heart a while back, was no longer employed by
the club. Take it from me, gentle reader, there is nothing
more heartbreaking than when a favorite dancer disappears.
Sigh. Faced with that unhappy news, we departed. |
|
|
| And
as we did then, I must do now, but I'll be back before you
know it to report on forthcoming adventures. Thanks for reading,
and don't forget to ask yourself whenever possible, "What
good is sitting alone in my room?" You know how Carla would
answer: "Life is a caberet, old chum - so go get your groove
on!" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
