Stripper Pole Game

Once when I was in college, I went to visit a couple of my old high school friends at another college in another city.  Two of my boys.  They had their school locked down.  I mean, all they did was fuck with chicks.  I spent the weekend with them, and it was an eye opener, I mean, they’d wake up in the morning and send facebook messages to freshman chicks they didn’t know and then they’d step out and approach, approach, approach.  Everywhere they went they were approaching.  They were joking around with each other about, “Man, I bet I rack up 10 notches in the next two weeks.”  Ridiculous shit like that.   Of course those were very optimistic statements that they didn’t live up to (10 notches in two weeks?), but they did rack up notches and they did fuck with a lot of chicks.

It was an eye opener for me… man, I need to get on my shit.  I was 20 at the time.

The funny thing was, they didn’t even have much furniture at their apartment at the time.  They had one thing that stood out though – a stripper pole.  I had to ask, “do girls really get on this thing?”

“Willy Wonka, are you serious?   All the time, man.”

“That’s wasup.  I need one of these.”

I did.  I wanted one.  I went back and told my roomates (Dr. Know It All and Frat Boy), we need to get a pole.  One of my close platonic friends was a stripper so I told her to get me a pole for my birthday.  She  did. We were in business.

We set it up in the living room of our apartment and we created a whole make-shift ambiance.  We borrowed a blacklight from one of our neighbors and another one from one of Frat Boy’s frat brothers and put them in opposite corners in the living room.  Somebody else contributed a lava lamp.  Then, we had a chick we knew steal us handfuls of highlighters from her job in all different colors – and we busted them open and used the ink to color water that we put in empty liqour bottles – so they’d glow under the blacklight.  Then, we bought some glow in the dark beads to section the living room off and some posters and shit for the wall.

We were in business.

Our own club or lounge is what we would refer to it as.  We made sure to always have alcohol and we started to invite girls over.  They came.  The attraction was the stripper pole.  We wouldn’t even tell girls what it was, we would just tell them we had a mythical creature they should come meet named Pegasus.  ”What kind of creature is Pegasus?”  They would ask.  ”We can’t tell you that.  You have to come over and see for yourself.”  And they would come.

Some girls would be scared to get on the pole until their friends would get on in first.  Some girls didn’t want to go near it, “I don’t know how many girls y’all have had on that thing or what has happened over here.”

I’d always respond, “nothing to worry about, we wipe it down with alcohol, it’s completely sanitary.”

To which they would respond, “You wipe it down with alcohol?  Now, I know something’s been going on on that pole, in order for you to have to wipe it down with alcohol!”

It was great.  We’d play our music too loud on any night of the week and our bitchass neighbors upstairs were always calling the cops on us.

Looking back on it, we should have done more.  But, we got lazy.  We had a lot of girls come by during the year or so we had the pole.   And, it’s no coincidence that that is still the year of my life when I got the most notches and racked up notches the quickest.  Actually outside of that one year, my college notch count is pretty awful.  I really only had one good year.. and it all goes back to the ambiance, and the pole.

We fucked up though.  I blame my roomates.  I was having fun living the bachelor life and then they went out and got girlfriends.  The partying died down and no more chicks were coming over to get on the pole.  What’d I do?  I did the same damn thing.  Got me a girlfriend.  I dated her on and off for the next 9 months without racking up another notch.  My notch count growth has never been the same.   She was an easy lay, I fucked her the first night I met her, and she would always bring up the pole early on in the relationship, especially before we were officially boyfriend and girlfriend.  She would say shit like “how many girls have y’all had on that pole?”  ”How many chicks have you fucked with?”  It was always questions like that – that I would joke about and laugh off and never really answer her.

I never stopped to think why the pole worked so well, but now that I’m learning about game, I’m realizing what all it actually did for us.  First, we’d get girls interested with a sense of intrigue.  We were aloof about it, we didn’t come out and say, “hey, we have a stripper pole, come over and get on it.”  Not at all, we knew that wouldn’t work and would sound creepy to girls we just met, so we downplayed it by calling it “Pegasus” and “a mythical creature”.  Girls would wonder what the hell could it be and come over with their friends just to see.  Also, in some sense it gave us higher value.  Once girls were over and we had alcohol and a whole living room decorated out with the ambiance, they would probably think, as they also often wondered aloud, “how many girls come over here and get on this thing?”   To which we would always joke around and give bullshit answers and act like all kinds of girls came over and got on it.   Some girls would act scared to get on it at first, so we’d warm them up, by getting on the pole ourselves and entertaining them first (one at a time though, no gay shit).   My signature move was, I’d grab a chick and put her in a chair real close the pole and then climb up it and slide down it and put my face right in her lap.  Make fun of me all you want – that shit worked!  They always loved it!  Then, the best part about the pole is, it served as an excuse to come over.  Girls who had already been over, would call us or come up to us while other parties were ending or as bars and clubs were shutting down, “Do y’all still have the pole?  We want to come over and get on it.”

After our stint with girlfriends, we tried to revive the pole after I graduated, but then it was awkward, because I was working all of the time, and then the pole’s life was short.  It broke.  One chick climbed on it too high and it came down and hit another chick in the head.  After that we talked about putting our money together and getting another, better, more sturdier pole that could hold bodyweight better, but we never did.

RIP Pegasus.  I miss you.