Fantasy Bar Pulls Through


Transcript from Hand-written notes:




I’m writing this in bed after attending the launch of Revolucion De Cuba rum bar on Peter St Manchester.


The new Cuban-themed bar is housed where Squares once stood, and the layout is unrecogniseable. The Square balcony that once overlooked a lower-level dance foor has been completely filled in, leaving one floor of Latin-themed revelry- stonework décor, promoters in white suits and matching fedoras, live precussion and a DJ playing mainstream dance with a Latin trend- Pitbull, J-Lo, Daddy Yankee. So. Not my type of music. I was hoping for house. Interesting, nonetheless. And very busy. From a business perspective, the bar has done very well.


I turned up in a suit myself, as I knew I was going to be bad.


T met me in there and he stayed for one drink, but he had work commitments so we both left around midnight. If you leave me in the city in a suit on my own with money in my pocket, I’m not going to behave myself. I have a weakness. A weakness for lap dancers.


I’d not been to The Fantasy Bar in years. Manchester’s first lap dancing club, Fantasy Bar opened in 1985 taking over the offices of the Gas Board at 140 Deansgate. It’s recently had an impressive refurbishment, presumably to combat the competition from the array of newer bars popping up like Silks and Baby Platinum / Baby Blue. The fact that I hadn’t seen Fantasy Bar in it’s current guise was enough of a reason to coax me in.


(Note- at this point my notes go shorthand. I’ve fleshed them out for this review.)


Well, that and the hot blonde on the door inviting me for a drink. I actually really didn’t want to go in, as I knew I couldn’t get what I wanted. The Goddamn Tories have started to crack down on Lap Dancing clubs, making the rules tighter. It’s like we’re all going back in fucking time, thanks to Cameron. But I strayed in regardless.


I got myself a drink, turning down a black girl in the process. I talked to a blonde and mentioned I’d not been into Fantasy bar in about 6 years. “So I heard the rules have changed for lap dancing clubs,” I said.


What have you heard?” She asked.


Well, I got a dance off a couple of girls in Silks the other week, and they didn’t really do much, y’know?” I started to get really warm. Am I allowed to talk about this? I thought. “And I gave them sixty quid, y’know?”


The Blonde rolled her eyes. “They’re crap in Silks,” she said. “We’ll give you a lesbian dance.”


I pointed out another girl- a brunette this time- and The Blonde called her over. When we got to the booths, The Brunette was tailing a confused man with her, and was in full conversation with him. The Blonde made her send him back. It quickly transpired that The Brunette was steaming drunk and thought that this random guy was my friend. Loudly apologetic and zany, is how I’d describe her. The Blonde took me to the end booth, “where the cameras couldn’t see us.”


The Brunette was still pretty sexy, regardless, and they shoved their tits then their arses in my face.


Do you like arses?” asked The Blonde, smacking The Brunette’s butt-cheeks.


I’m more of a tit man, to be honest,” I said.


Are you? Do you like boobs?” She held The Brunette’s full breasts in both hands, right at my eye level, and sucked them enthusiastically. It was so good.


As they danced together, touching and stroking each other and occasionally grinding on me, I thought I’d try pushing my luck. “I dare you to kiss each other,” I said.


You want us to kiss?” asked the blonde, gently holding the brunette’s chin. They dropped low so I could see, and they gave each other a closed-mouth but slow and sensual kiss. It was beautiful.


After the dance I headed out towards the exit. In the corridor stood a tall, black doorman with a very pronounced American / West-Indian accent. “Excuse me sir,” he said. “Would you like to try this room?”


He opened a side door and inside was another entire room, complete with bar, poles and girls dressed as Playboy bunnies.


Well, why not, right?


So I went to buy another drink, but had to stop the barmaid mid-pour as I realised I had whacked out ALL of my cash upstairs. I did a quick calculation, and was pretty sure I’d spent it all and could account for it, but, Jesus, it was a lot. So I didn’t stay. The bar is well worth a look, though.


Have you been? Agree? Disagree? Want to recommend another venue? Comment below….

One thought on “Fantasy Bar Pulls Through

  1. Pingback: What happened to the Secret Door? | Patrick Bateman's Blog

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