One-dollar bills to Adonis dancers are like pennies to waiters...don't even bother.
Last night, I did something out of the ordinary—I went with a friend to the Adonis Lounge, which along with 20/20 is one of NYC's only male strip clubs. (How I lived here while the Gaiety existed and yet never went is beyond me.) I'd heard it was "hot," but wasn't sure what to expect.
What I didn't expect was a very small bar (called "Evolve") with a very small "stage" on which performers gyrate distractedly while patrons are solicited for backroom lapdances. We turned to each other upon entering and after having immediately assessed the situation, thinking we might leave.
Glad we stayed. It was quite interesting and sleazily fun.
Wallflowers, we sat against one mirrored wall opposite the bar, where we could barely see the stage. No matter, a compact, hirsute performer in skintight briefs pounced on us. "First time here? Here's how it works..." The backroom lapdances are extremely free-spirited—hands can go inside underwear (some of the boys are in jockstraps for easier access) but not on boners. No kissing. Otherwise, it's the Frottage Mahal. Then there is the private or "Champagne Room," where for a hundred bucks you get to decide with your performer what the rules are. "I recommend you stay on the safe side," our volunteer guide offered. Good tip!
The next guy to approach us was a blocky blond with an all-American look and spiked hair. He had much of the same advice, but let us know that he felt the private room wasn't a good value since it wasn't private nor was it a room...the lapdances are performed on a series of bedbug-friendly couches, and the private room is just a couple of the same couches in the same room hastily curtained off by a sort of sheet. In theory, your feet could be sticking out from under the sheet while a dancer...dances...on you, all a few inches away from happy-lapped fellow patrons.