8325 SE Mcloughlin Blvd
Portland, OR 97202-7434
Phone: (503) 231-9611

Oregon’s Very Own Internationally Known ACROPOLIS


  • $4 Steak Specials
  • 4 Stage
  • 51 Beers on tap

If you’re looking for exceptional American cuisine and a huge selection of beers on tap and exceptionally beautiful and athletic stripper chicks, then this is definitely the spot. The Acrop has the best steaks in town at the best prices, too! Can you believe it? They serve beef that is of a much higher quality than the beef served in every one of Portland’s high-class dining establishments in the downtown area; I’ve been to all them. And they charge next to nothing for these delicious steaks. There’s also an actual salad bar for those that are concerned about longevity and preserving their health–I’ve never met a steak-eater that was as physically as strong as me… but occasionally I do eat a steak or two just to experience what a typical fat Oregonian eats. And the girls at this place…. they actually rival all the other strippers at most of the other Portland strip clubs in terms of sheer physical beauty; and some of them look like they actually exercise and do a little weight training. That’s always a nice touch!

According to www.RichardThruster.com

The Legend: The Acropolis

The Acropolis has always been a mystery to me. Like some Himalayan mountain shrouded in clouds. People who’ve been tell stories of hot bodies and a bar straight out of Motley Crue’s Girls Girls Girls video. Rock stars always make it a point to hit the club when they’re in town. More often than not, there’s a party bus or a limo parked out front, no doubt for some guy’s bachelor party. It’s a happening spot.

And that doesn’t even take into account the legendary food. As a minor growing up in the sticks, older guys would come back with stories of a steak you could cut with a butter knife. And cheap!

Yet with all these stories, I’d only been once. And that was after getting fed up with the help at the Dolphin. My friend The Librarian and I went late some Saturday night because we still hadn’t had our fix. We sat down at the stage closest to the bar and watched the girls descend the stairs from the dressing room. The only thing I really remember about that night was the stairs and a dancer named Tracy. Or Teresa. Or Tammie. Or Turbo. I know it started with a “T”. How do I remember that? She’d shaved a capital T into her pubic hair. THAT’S what I remembered of the Acropolis.

For my first real venture out of my comfort zone, I decided to hit the A-Club to see what all the fuss was about. The plan was to grab a steak there as well, but some co-workers had told me about this wing place out at Eastport Plaza called Wing Stop that I had to check out. Being a wing man on the town, I took a chance. The verdict? Fire On The Mountain doesn’t have anything to worry about.

Getting into the Acropolis’ parking lot from the south requires some maneuvering. They put a Jersey barrier down the middle of that stretch of McLoughlin several years ago to keep the drunks from slamming into one another. A good move, but terrible if you want to make a left turn. So it’s up and over an overpass and back down into the club’s parking lot. The first thing you notice is how well lit and well maintained the lot is compared to my beloved Dolphin. There were actual marked spaces! How about that!

Walking into the place, the bouncers are on the left. Three large fellas, each working on a bag of chips and some sort of soda. Body builders they weren’t. An interesting crew to say the least. The cover was $4, which for a place of the Acropolis’ reputation seemed a little south of what they could charge, but who am I to complain?

The first thing I noticed after walking in was how big the place seemed compared to how it looks from the outside. There are four good sized stages with seating all the way around. They’ve done a very smart thing and only placed seats next to the stage. This cuts down on the wall flowers and ensures the girls can make some money.

It took me a few minutes to get my bearings. There are four stages, but only two are visible to you at any one time. Again, cuts down on the free shows. Which is fine.

After a few minutes of sitting at the #3 stage, waiting for someone to offer me a beer, I decided to wander down to the bar. Like the bar at the Mustang Ranch, which I may have visited once (ONCE), the bar is hidden away in a back corner, away from the action. My beverage of choice most of the time is Coors Light. Call me a wussy and question my manhood all you want, but that’s what it is. The bar, however, had at least 20 taps with everything from Bud to some serious microbrews. First class indeed. So I grabbed a Drop Top Amber and headed back up to see the action.

The first girl I saw reminded me of one of those girls who would never give me the time of day in high school. I mean, unless she needed me to slip her an answer on a test. She had a tight perfect body, perfect hair, and just the slightest hint of abs. No tattoos. Blonde. Seriously not my type, though. I prefer the girl next door-type. After a few minutes of staring at her too-perfect tits, I moved on. Next door was Silver. She had the same deal going on with the hair and the tits and the abs, but she had something more. A flirtatiousness. I mean there was a screen of professionalism with her, but still. A little personality is a good thing.

She worked her way around the stage, making sure to give each patron a proper view. The stages are a little lower than I’m used to. Girls at the Dolphin (I’m gonna compare a lot of places to the Dolphin) spend a good amount of time writhing around on the ground. Or wrapped upside-down around the pole. Here, because of the way the rail around the stage sits, if the girl gets down on the ground, you can’t see her. So they’re upright. I like that. Less nastiness that way.

Looking around at the other guys, they were all putting $2/per song up on the rail. Each girl works four songs per rotation, so that’s $8 per girl per rotation. Not a bad gig, if you ask me. Each song lasts about twice as long as they do at the Dolphin. That’s an interesting trade-off. It seems girls at the Acropolis make their money on stage whereas girls at the Dolphin get theirs on the couch. Figure if a Dolphin girl can get $20/song on the couch, and can get a guy to commit to two or even three tunes, they can make more there than they will on stage. On the other hand, girls at the Acropolis spend twice as long on the couch for half the money. The financial end of this, I suspect, will fascinate me no end. Especially when I start hitting the juice bars.

After Silver’s set ended, she worked her way around the stage one last time, picking up bills and making small-talk. When she got back to me, she asked if I’d like a private dance. I gave her my standard answer. “In a little bit.” She asked me to let her know when I was ready. And like that she was gone.

The second rotation came out. The girl who took over my table was…ummm….interesting. She had the Salma Hayek in Dogma thing going. Glasses. Thigh high stockings. Pig tails. Bubble gum. The whole thing. Another one who really didn’t do it for me.

Turning to look over my shoulder at the other options, I found my new girl. She was a little thicker than Silver and her perfect co-worker, and that’s alright by me. She had curly dirty-blonde hair and the eyes. Oh the eyes. She wore a black bustier inside which her breasts literally swam around. It was that Jamie Lee Curtis ad from several years ago where she wore some tight dress and jiggled while telling me about a TV or something. This girl loved her breasts though. Despite their sagging and just sad state, they were her 38-D moneymakers and she used ‘em. She actually used them as percussion instruments, slapping them together. Some guys get off on that sort of stuff and dream of motorboating them. Me? Not so much. I prefer mine a little smaller and a little firmer.

Despite her faults, there was one thing this girl had though that none of the others could touch. And it was because of this she could have whatever she wanted from me. She was putting off some sort of musk and her pheromones were hitting me in all the right places. I don’t pretend to understand the chemistry of pheromones, but boy howdy. She instantly became a favorite.

After a few tunes, it became time for the evening’s bachelor to get up on stage and have all the girls wiggle for him. That’s not my thing at all, so I retired to the video poker. $10 later, I headed back down to the bar for a soda. The brunette working the lower stage next to the bar was a perky-type, unafraid to place her leg on my shoulder so I could get a good look at her third eye. And she liked to purr in my ear as well. Always a bonus.

At the end of the second rotation, the first four came back up. I broke my promise to myself and hit the ATM. Tonight I’d treat myself to a couch dance. Silver was the lucky girl. We headed over to the “private” section which is a bunch of armed chairs witting behind a thing wall. Nothing like the plush couches at the Dolphin, but I wasn’t complaining. Also, unlike the Dolphin, the dances here are all naked and even a little rubbing. Not down there, but elsewhere. Silver’s a hands on pro, giving me all the angles and the right close-ups. The longer tunes were definitely appreciated. Things didn’t feel rushed at all. It was very nice.

$20 later, I was back out the door and into the night. I had a great time and will definitely be back, if for no other reason than I gotta check out the steak.

This week, it’s off to Miss Nude Oregon on Thursday and spend an evening following sailors around town Friday. Should be fun.

Update: Due to an invasion of the Spambots comments on this particular post have been closed. If you have a comment, please email me and I’ll get it posted.

Posted by Richard Thruster, filed under Acropolis. Date: June 3, 2007, 5:51 pm | Comments Off


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