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Training Wheels: Jiggles

There have been two places I’ve had multiple requests to check out. The Club Exotica in North Portland is one. The other is Jiggles. For most men in the area, Jiggles is the place they popped their strip club cherry. That’s because Jiggles has been a juice bar ever since having their liquor license taken away back in the day. It was Jack Rabbit’s first place in 1990, and it had been alcohol-free for a few years before that. So there you have it. If you’re under-21 and you want to see live boobies, you either get a girlfriend or go to Jiggles.

Like The Dolphin 1 in Milwaukie, Jiggles is located inside an abandoned buffet restaurant. It’s across a sidestreet from the Tualatin K-Mart. Despite being clearly visible from the freeway, it’s a bit of a work to find. You go down a blind street and into a semi-hidden (at least after dark) parking lot and there you are. The lot is cramped and could use a fresh layer of asphalt and some new stripes. But as I’ve learned at other places around town, a rutted parking lot isn’t going to keep folks from visiting.

The lot was jam packed when I pulled in around 10:30. I ended up parking on the street down below the club, in front of an idling semi-truck. Other patrons were parking in the K-Mart parking lot. It’s never a good idea, I’ve found, to park on someone else’s property when you’re going into another establishment. I realize it’s way after business hours and such, but it’s exactly this scenario that keeps towing companies in business. So it’s on the street for me. I’ll let everyone else roll the dice.

Walking up the hill, I could tell immediately I was going to be out of my element. There were three “make it rain-types”, with the untucked button-down shirt, the gold chains, and one with his hat turned to 5-o’clock, standing outside the front door, oggling the latest issue of Exotic magazine. These guys are at every club in town and they annoy the living hell out of me. I couldn’t tell you why. I just don’t have anything in common with any of them.

As I walked through the door, I could hear some rap tune coming from inside. Not all that unusual and it seemed pretty benign. (Here’s a great article, by the way, on the life of a strip club dj. $20 to play a request? Uhhhh….no thanks. I’ll save my Jackson for the couch.) The doorman looked like a pro wrestler from the 80s. Personable, though.

“Three dollars,” he said.

“What?” I asked, not believing there was a chance in hell he just said three bucks.

“Three dollars.”

Huh, I thought, as I handed him a twenty. There’s no way I heard that right. He rang up $15 and handed me back a five.

That’s what I expected. It’s been a few years since I’d been in there and knew it was steep to get in. Because they can’t sell liquor, they have to make their money somewhere. In this case, the house makes their money at the door. The guy handed me three tickets and I turned to size the place up. I almost broke out laughing at what I saw.

There are two stages inside. One in the middle of the room, and one in the rear. The one in the middle is circular and has a pole in the middle, while the one in the rear features a full-length mirror. What nearly made me laugh was the three rows of tables lined up against the far wall and the rows and rows of community college guys staring slack-jawed at the stage. This truly is a club for beginners. How do girls make their money in there?

I headed to the “bar” to trade one of my two drink tickets for a Diet Coke and to load up on singles. The nice thing about the fact 90% of the patrons weren’t going to spend one-cent more than the $15 it cost to come inside was it cleared up the rail for me. There were a couple of guys up front, feeding singles to the girls. One guy, a little older than me seemed to be enjoying himself, but made it clear he preferred to be left alone. That was sort of my mood tonight as well. Because the girls make their money almost exclusively on the couch, there’s much more cajoling and such than would happen at The Dolphin or 205. Girls were even walking up from behind as I sat at the rail and hitting me up for dances. That’s verbotin at almost every club in town. Here, its fair game.

Like the guys, the girls tended to be under-21. Many of them looked like they had some miles on them despite their youth. Hard childhoods? Too much apartment living? Dunno. I do know there were some leathery 20-year-olds in there. Two girls did stand out. One was a young Sandra Oh-looking girl who was made-up in garish baby-girl make-up. It was clownish and looked awful. I realize there’s a whole fetish thing in porn for girls in pig-tails with that “baby” look, but in a place like this where literally everyone is under-age, what’s the point of trying to look younger? I made an early decision she wouldn’t be getting any of my money. Can’t reward Asian Tammy Fayes.

The second girl who stood out, and not in a good way, made a special effort to show off her pierced clit and the jewelry which hung from same. I just sat there and thought it’s great and all that she’s nasty, but the pierced clit is so 1997. Now she’s probably been dancing that long, but still. Wouldn’t you take it out at some point? Or are those things like the back tattoos? Permanent. Dunno. All I know is if you’re thinking of getting anything below your ears pierced, please don’t. That goes for the belly button too.

The original plan was to sit at the stage until all the girls had worked their way through. The problem was girls kept showing up. I hear the ads on the radio advertising how many girls they have working at Jiggles, and they ain’t lying. Everytime I went to the restroom, there was another girl coming in. So my plan wasn’t going to work. Instead, I just waited until my singles ran out. I went through over $25 and never saw the same girl twice. You think about that. Suddenly the math on the $15 doesn’t seem so unreasonable.

Well, actually it is. But whatever.

I was getting up to leave around 12:15 when one of the girls who’d caught my eye pulled me aside and told me I couldn’t leave. It was a line, but I was buying it. We spent a few minutes discussing the deal, egging her to tell me why she gave the best couch dance in the club. She told me she was a redhead and that should be enough. Normally I’m all over redheads from the moment they come into sight (Jack Rabbit can atest to this), but somehow I didn’t pick up on her. I did notice her mouthful of braces, which is hot. But the red hair sealed the deal.

She took me back into a corner which contained only a handful of couches. I pointed to a small room near the couches and asked about it. There was a curtain pulled, but through it you could see a girl, completely naked, grinding on a guy.

“Yeah, that’s the private room. It’s $110 for 4-songs. But I won’t ask you to go in there. I’m not greedy.”

But looking inside at the nakedness and such, I couldn’t imagine why this would be such a bad thing. It’s probably because Ginger, the redhead, didn’t find me particularly attractive and didn’t want to spend 20 minutes grinding on me thusly.

“That’s funny actually,” she said. “We’re supposed to have our underwear on during those dances.”

Well, I certainly wasn’t complaining.

Ginger sat on my lap as we waited for our song to begin. She’s a short girl with perfect curves and a nice smile. And the red hair, which I’m still not 100% convinced is real. But who am I to complain. We went through the normal small-talk. Where I’m from. What I do for a living. How long she’s been dancing. The normal stuff. As soon as the next tune came on, her top came off and the show began.

She mounted me and started to swirl her hips into mine. She ran her entire body down my face and neck, giving me lots of contact with her flesh. This stuff only happens at the juice bars, I’ve found. She purred into my ear as she cupped her breast. She turned around and slid the whole length of my body and down to the floor. A pretty good show, and one I’d definitely like to see more of. Maybe someday when she graduates to The Dolphin. Maybe.

Leaving the club, I saw a couple of Tualatin’s finest in the parking lot talking with the doorman. That’s always a special sight as you’re leaving. And more evidence that maybe it’s best to leave the youth activities to the young. I’m glad I went and checked it out, but I think I’ll be leaving Jiggles alone. Too many other places with girls that are just as hot but with a more mature clientèle. I didn’t know how important that was.

Posted by Richard Thruster, filed under Jiggles. Date: August 5, 2007, 1:29 am | No Comments »


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