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Teazers Lolly talks about the power of stripping
Strip club owner Lolly Jackson was expelled from primary school for making a lewd drawing of his art teacher.
He was thrown out of high school at the end of Grade 8 for punching his principal.
It was a Thursday evening and I decided to go
upstairs to the Gold Card Club for a drink. I'd had a really sh***y day
and wanted to relax and be on my own and take cognisance of my life. I
walked up the narrow flight of stairs and went and sat at the corner of
the bar.
I looked around at the other people sitting in the club and most seemed
to be blue-collar workers that had been there from early afternoon.
Some guys were staring blankly at their drinks in front of them. Others
talked noisily with their friends, their conversation growing louder
with each and every round of brandy and Coke.
A middle-aged businessman, sporting a beer belly and a receding
hairline, plonked himself next to me and whistled to the bartender.
Seconds later he had a Black Label in one hand and a floozy in the
other and was serenading her to his own crappy, flat version of Red,
Red Wine.
The DJ announced that a stripper called Delicia was about to take to
the floor. I noticed the customers becoming restless, as the
afternoon's alcoholic binge seemed to have worn off. The men
instantaneously livened up at the thought of seeing some live p***y.
A supple woman in her mid-thirties climbed up on to the stage. She held
a bottle of baby oil in the one hand and a whip in the other. She was
scantily dressed in a checked blouse and a pair of denim hot pants that
were frayed all along the seam. This outfit was completed by a holster,
sporting two colt replicas, which was strapped to her thigh.
| 'Don't you call me honey, you sleaze ball' |
At
first I thought she was quite tall, but after she had shed her Stetson
hat, she could not have been more than five foot six. Needless to say
the hat was the first item to be discarded as she flung it across the
room. It landed between 'potbelly' and myself. He, with surprising
agility, jumped off his stool and gripping the hat like a boomerang
sent it flying back to the half-naked girl. She had now wrapped her
torso around the steel pole and was trying very hard to seduce it.
This got the customers surrounding the stage to fever pitch and I found
myself almost alone at the bar counter. Everyone had migrated to the
centre of the club. Her bra dropped to a jive number and she fondled
her breasts and teasingly started to play with her G-string.
For twenty-five minutes every man had his eyes glued to Delicia's
glistening, perspiring body as she danced around the stage under the
hot lights.
She finally dropped her G-string while gyrating to the sound of Male
Stripper, by Man to Man. Although the stripper was amateurish by
dancing standards, she had caught the imagination and fantasy of that
mass of men and had given me my first experience of the Power Of P***y.
I looked around the club and listened to the guys talking. A thrilled
bunch of fantasy seekers chitchatting about something they would never
get, let alone shag.
I sank two whiskies in quick succession, got up and left to go home. On
the spur of the moment I decided to go to Rattlesnake's Diner in
Rivonia. I climbed up the green stairwell into the crowded club and
nodded at a few acquaintances. At the bar I recognised two women that
danced at the Gold Card Club, Monica and Panther.
Monica was a woman of about 5'3", long blonde hair, a small waist with
a handful of t**s and a body that had seen hours inside a gym. I sidled
over to them and offered to buy them a drink and it wasn't long before
the three of us were giving each other body-shots at the bar counter.
The manager, uncomfortable at our shenanigans, asked us politely to
leave the premises as we were embarrassing the clientele.
Monica and I went back to her apartment in Bedfordview and we continued
giving each other body-shots long into the early hours of the morning.
The evening was a hazy remembrance of entangled bodies, excessive
drinking and waking up without a morning glory, thanks to the energetic
stamina and persistence of Monica.
For the next two weeks we didn't contact each other, until I received a
phone call asking if I could help her move from Bedfordview to Fourways
in the north of Johannesburg.
The beginning of our relationship, if you could call it that, was a
strange one. It was primarily based on sexual gratification, stealing
time off work getting our 'rocks off.'
Later on I became her 'official driver' and drove her around to the
venues where she was booked to dance. In the beginning, she mostly
danced in bowling alleys, rugby clubs, two bit pubs and the occasional
nightclub. I had no qualms about being her driver, because invariably
after a strip, on the way home, she would pay me in kind. So who was
complaining?
Over the next few months Monica introduced me to a lot of the dancers
and what struck me most about them was they all had a problem of some
sort. If it wasn't a drug problem, it was a financial problem. If it
wasn't a drinking problem, they would be in an abusive relationship.
Each girl had a tale of woe to tell and each seemed weighed down by the
burden they carried. It showed in their eyes and in their faces,
desperate and hard knocked.
They knew that they were one step away from the oldest profession in
the world and that there was really no light at the end of the sinful
tunnel that life had dug for them. One dancer I spoke to travelled from
Delmas each day to dance in Johannesburg because she had to support her
husband, her children, her mother, father and her in-laws, plus she had
to repay the bond on the plot.
In all this noisy stimuli I began to envisage a club of my own. A
perfect kind of club, full of gorgeous babes, who were well-dressed,
immaculate groomed and well looked after.
They danced in a safe environment, on a stable stage with adequate
lighting and with good, listenable music that would cross generations.
There were clean and sanitary facilities and a spotless kitchen that
provided only the best cuisine.
I started with a long list of pros & cons and carefully considered
each and every club, restaurant and strip joint before I created my own
business plan. For lack of a better name I called it 'adult homework'.
One thing I did come to realise was that I was going to have to clean
this industry up, literally and financially. The people that operated
in this industry didn't have a clue how good a wicket they were on, and
if I ran my business properly I could and would profit. One thing was
for certain I wasn't go to fall into the same trap that these other
club owners where falling into...
Before stripping was fully legalised and recognised as bona fide
employment, all of my clubs ran into hot water with the police. We
faced a whole gambit of illegalities that could be brought against us,
from operating without the proper liquor licence, to public nudity and
indecency. In the formative four years we were bust so often by the law
that I lost count of our misdemeanours.
One afternoon during lunchtime, I was sitting in my office doing some
paperwork, when I heard a great commotion going on outside in the lobby
of the Midrand Teazers. I opened the door to my office and was
surprised to see the place crawling with blue uniformed cops.
Now this wasn't the first time they had bust me, or the second, or the
third time, but it was the first time I'd seen them wearing full battle
fatigue. Riot helmets, radio headgear, bulletproof vests and assault
rifles (someone in that branch must have been watching way too many
American cop movies and hostage dramas).
I looked on in bemusement as the captain of these clowns barked orders
to put me under arrest. Surrounded by a squad of cops I was marched out
into the dining area where a number of my patrons were sitting shell
shocked by the events occurring around them.
The police, to show their boldness and bravery had tipped off the
media, who were there with cameras and bright blinding lights and were
intimidating my customers by thrusting cameras in their faces.
Some of my customers bemused at all the commotion continued eating
their lunch, while a few others made a dash for the exit. The police
pounced on the dance floor and shouted for all the lights to be
switched on, and instructed the patrons to remain seated and keep their
hands on the table, just as two girls finished their show. The dancers
were led off naked, covering themselves from the cops who, obviously,
wanted to see a bit of flesh without having to pay for it. Typical!
They arrested us in terms of the Liquor Act, which prohibits any
unclothed person from performing within a licensed premise, and the
dancers were arrested in terms of the Sexual Offences Act of 1957 and
charged with public indecency. My manager and the girls had to pay an
admission of guilt fine of ranging between R300-R500, or six months.
Six months for taking off your clothes, go figure. I reimbursed all of
them, gave them bonuses and a kiss on each cheek and by that afternoon
we were back in business - The show must go on!
The swoops became more and more regular because the cops had discovered a soft target to attack.
Now the irony of it all is that just prior to one of these raids the
Midrand Police-Dog Unit had requested sponsorship in the form of caps
and T-shirts, which were given to them free and with my best wishes
just hours before they swooped down on us like a bunch of vultures. Nor
was the sponsorship a bribe. They then repudiated my good will by
reporting that they would no longer accept any form of sponsorship and
the only reason they would step into Teazers would be to raid me.
One relativity quiet Tuesday I was working behind the bar in Teazers
Primrose, while a few customers propped up the bar counter. I was
talking to a customer when he suddenly looked up at the security
monitors and in a desperate voice shouted, "Jeez, fuck that's my wife
at the door."I peered up at the monitor and said to him, "Quick, get in
behind the bar and I'll block her at the door."
He jumped over the counter and crouched out of sight and I walked
around to meet her."Hi ma'am, this is a men's club, but how may I help
you?"
"Yes, I'm looking for my husband. I saw his bakkie parked outside and I
know he is in here.""Which bakkie would that be, ma'am?""The Trentyres
bakkie."
"There's no-one here from Trentyres ma'am.
"They wear white shirts and I see there are a couple of guys wearing white shirts. I want to see them!"
She stalked over to the four men who were sitting around a table with
their heads hanging very close to their drinks. She then turned and
looked at the shooter's bar and said, "I want to look over there."
"Suit yourself, but there's no one there, honey."
"Don't you call me honey, you sleaze ball," she retorted tartly.
She then walked into the men's and lady's toilet and kicked open the
cubicles with the toe of her shoe and still she found no one. She
walked into the kitchen and I followed and still no husband.
Turning to walk out, she stared straight up behind the bar counter were
he was hiding and I could feel the hair on the back of my scalp begin
to rise.
I looked over her shoulder trying to see if I could see the fugitive,
thinking, This chick is going to kill the whole fucking lot of us if
she finds him hiding in there.
She peered up behind the counter but there was no one there. I shook my
head and thought, Whew, he must have jumped over the counter and ducked
out of the club somehow.
She turned and looked at me with daggers, "If I find that f****n'
bastard's been in here I'm going to kill him," and she stormed out of
the club.
I walked over to the four guys sitting at the table and asked, "Where's
this f****n' bloke got too?"They all shrugged in unison and said "Don't
know. He should still be behind the bar."
I slowly walked behind the bar wondering where the hell this character
had got to, when I heard knocking coming from the under bar counter
fridges. I opened the door and saw him lying amongst the beer, weavon
in- between the Castles, Black Labels and Hansa's like a snake.
I laughed at him, "How the f**k did you get into the fridge and still
manage to close the door?"He just looked at me, lifted his eyebrows and
shivered involuntarily, "Jee-s-s-s it's f**k…ing c-c-c-cold in there.
Then he said with anxiety in his voice, "Where is s-s s-s-she? Has-s
s-s-she gone?"
I looked out of the club window and saw that she had parked her car on
the corner of Marula and Rietfontein road and had a good view of his
bakkie.
He turned and looked at me and nervously said, "Oh boy, now I'm in
s**t, she's goin' to cut my balls off if she finds me in here."
With good camaraderie, six guys sitting in the club, bored and
fortified with a good few drinks decided to help this guy get out of
his sticky matrimonial dilemma. Fanie from Primrose Transport said,
"I've got my bakkie in the backyard. Climb into the back, lie down and
I will drive you out of here."
They left via the kitchen to the backyard. Twenty minutes later, Fanie
pulled up with Jan in the passenger seat and stopped next to Jan's
bakkie. All of us in the club were peering through the windows to see
if our plan had worked out. As soon as the wife saw him climbing out of
Fanie's bakkie she got out of her car and ran across the road
shouting,"Where have you been?""Why, I've been with Fanie from Primrose
Transport selling him tyres for his trucks."
"You haven't been inside there!" pointing at the club.He looked at her
with total innocence and said,"Inside where, baby?""Inside there," she
raised her voice slightly and pointed to the club entrance."What's
inside there?" he asked with surprise in his voice."It's a strip
club!""Really baby I didn't know that."
"Why did you park here?" she asked."Fanie's business is across the road
there and I parked here. Once we were finished with our business we
went down to the Caledonia Hotel for a drink. Come on, honey, let's go
home."
When they drove away all the guys were shouting and cheering that their
plan had worked and another soul and marriage were saved. An hour later
in walked Jan and I looked at him and said, "So what
happened?""Everything is cool now. From now on I'm going to the
Caledonia for a drink and, oh yeah, I parked the bakkie at the back."
Extracted from Stripped, The King of Tease, which goes on sale next week at bookstores across the country at a cost of R250.
This article published on http://www.iol.co.za/index.php?set_id=1&click_id=13&art_id=iol1164616417189T262. 27 November 2006.
Release date: 2009-06-05
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