The town of Greenville, SC reminds me of the town from Footlose. There are signs forbidding skateboarding, signs forbidding minors from being in parks after dark, and, most telling, when I asked the 20-something dude at my hotel’s front desk if they had condoms, he balked, said, “no one’s ever asked me that,” and directed me to the one open gas station miles away.
Because of this, I wasn’t expecting much from Lust.
When we walked in, we were informed that it was a members only club. I asked the concierge if it was a sex club, a la Miami Velvet, the only other place I’d encountered that had to sign up patrons as members to get around not having a liquor license. She laughed and told us that it was the only way they could serve booze on Sunday. Then, she gave us a fuckton of change in $2 bills, which was awesome.
Cheap drinks, and pretty, polite girls. I was stunned by the amount of contact on stage. I fell in love with a gorgeous girl who admitted she was new to the game, and fell equally in love with a veteran tattooed goddess. $25 for two dances, which I experienced with my male companion. “Y’all married?” she asked. Not yet, honey. Not yet. (She later friended me on Facebook, which was a first for me.)
The manager had a nice conversation with us, no one hassled us, and NO HIP HOP.
Fucking great. Gotta love the South.