the dance started when my girl walked up to me, said “put out your hands” and squirted a generous amount of hand sanitizer into my palm.
After making me rub my hands together, she pointed to her bikini bottoms and said “well ok, let’s get to it.” and plunked herself down on my lap.

Now, even if I was a space alien newly arrived from a skank-less galaxy, I would know what she was intending.
She wasn’t going to give me a real dance; she was instead trying to make me pay for the great honor of fingering her.

Sorry, but no.

There was no way in hell I was going to fish around in her honey pot.
It’s just not happening. Not if I only just met you, definitely not for money, and certainly not after turning down the little hottie from O’Farrell who was actually cute.

When she sat on my lap, I placed my hands firmly down by my sides and awaited the dancing.

It never came.

She just sat there.
She never moved. Not a single bit.

I’m being 100% dead honest with you. No exaggerations, this woman sat on my lap, facing away, and didn’t move a single muscle for the entire song.

It was the worst dance I’ve ever gotten in my entire life, and let me tell you, I have had a wide range of dances to compare this to.
Was she just lazy? Did all her previous dances consist entirely of men trying to find her lucky charms?
If she charged me that much with the expectation of me digging around inside her secret compartment, I’m wondering what she kept in there.

Was there a secret prize stashed somewhere inside?

If I searched deep enough, would I find a pirate chest full of gold doubloons?

Jimmy Hoffa’s body?

A lost tribe of pygmies?

Now I’m almost curious. But really, some things are better left unknown.
I looked over at my poor compatriot suffering through the boney-ass lap-pummeling he was receiving from the homely dancer.

I felt no pity, despite his obvious pain and discomfort.

Hey, At least his dancer was moving.

The dance ended, and the girls asked if we wanted another.
Alas, we regretfully declined.

Later, my male friend told me that his dancer had tried to talk him into paying her to go down on me. She wanted him to hand over $500 for the act.
Now first of all, don’t you think she should have consulted me first before offering up my vagina for another person’s amusement?
After all, if I’m to be involved in prostitution for voyeuristic purposes, it’s only polite to ask me first.

Anyway, as it turns out, she also gave him a large list of sexual acts and the prices they would cost. Surprise surprise! The costs were all more then at the O’Farrell, and the goods of a less…ummmm… appealing quality. I have no idea if this menu applied to all the girls, or if this just applied to these two “dancers” in particular.
I spent the rest of the evening making little hats, clown noses, and finger puppets (out of dollar bills) for men in our bachelor party to wear.
I think my first impression of how bored the dancers were was accurate.

once the girls on stage figured out what we were doing, they started exclusively dancing in front of our section. Each new girl that came on stage would try and make a game out of finding new ways to snap up the transformed dollars.

It was kinda fun.

I’d say that the dancers at century ranged from stretch-marked and skanky, to kinda pretty. There was, however, a larger variety of the former.