Obsessions Compulsive Disorder

Obsessions

 

 

Perhaps the break between Christmas and new year was not the most logical time to trek out to the Trafford Centre in search of a bargain, followed by a wonder into a very quiet lap dancing club in Manchester. But then, I’m not the most logical of people, if you hadn’t already guessed. What a horrendous day it has been.

 

I wondered the malls all afternoon, buying only a few cheap items- Primark jeans and t-shirts, mostly- although I tried stuff on in a number of places. Then I lost my fucking phone.

 

There’s a disturbing amount of shit on that phone that I really can’t share with the world, including- as of today- a picture of where I’d parked the car. Without it, I’d be wondering through 10,000 parking spaces trying to find the fucking thing. I went to security. I back-traced my steps. I visited shops and asked clerks. I checked changing rooms. After a couple of hours, I found it in my suit jacket pocket.

 

Exhale.

 

I wanted to treat myself after a hectic day. It was already 10pm by this time. I set the sat nav for the city centre. In my wallet: a promo card offering a free drink at Obsessions, a lap dancing club opposite Deansgate locks on Whitworth St.

 

£10 in. Inside: lavish, like you’d expect, but very quiet. Only a couple of patrons, only a handful of girls. A blonde with nice tits chatted me up. Very flirty. Weirdly so. I asked if a 2-girl dance is allowed. Yes. £60 for a lesbian dance. I picked another girl and they took me to the back of the club. The dance was good- lengthy, with lots of ass-smacking and breast-sucking, but the couch they put me on is just in an enclave and not really sectioned off like the booths in competitor club Silks. The girls are gorgeous, to their credit.

 

Another criticism: I like a bit of a build-up, a bit more flirting and talking. I also think that girls starting the dance in a bikini is also a bit too up-front. I like a woman to be wearing a little more to start with. I like to be teased, not to be shown the goods and be in and out the door in a few minutes. Also, where other clubs offer free entry with their promo material (which usually saves £10), Obsessions only offers one free drink- and only from a select few beers (normally coming to £3). I just wanted a soft drink, and the bar girl had to check with the manager before she could dish one out on the house.

 

Perhaps on a busier night there may have been a wider range of women, but then, there’d be even less build-up before the dance and it may not have gone on as long.

 

When I left I was again convinced that I’d left something- this time a bank card- and I ask to go back in and root around the room. I didn’t find it, because- again- it was in my fucking pocket. I had no money left. On my way out the dancers pawed at me for attention. This is what it must feel like to be a woman, I thought. Fighting off people who only want one thing.

 

Of course, there’s one other reason for trying Obsessions- I have an obsession of my own. Blondie.

 

Blondie

I spoke to someone who works at Silks recently. She doesn’t recognise her. So she’s either moved clubs, which dancers do frequently being self-employed, or she’s out of the game and not dancing any more. Checking Obsessions tonight was one reason for this. But it’s the Christmas period, and a weeknight. Not a time when lap dancing clubs are particularly busy, so not a time when plenty of girls will be working. Goddamn me and my penis.

 

I could really do, however, with one thing myself- a real shag.

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