Life Imitates Video Game

Her name was Layla. Or Delilah, I might have misunderstood, there was loud pop music playing in the background. Layla-Delilah was dancing to the music, sort of. She wore nothing but a bright yellow bikini and was just about to take that off, too. Her eyes were brown, her hair dark blonde, her skintone well north of pale but south of light bronze. She smelled like baby powder and roses.
There was not an ounce of extra fat on her.
She had nice firm breasts, not too big, not too small. Her nipples were hard.
But she couldn't dance for shit.

She had picked me up about 10 minutes earlier. She found me sitting comfortably in a chair, enjoying the show, nursing a beer. There was an Asian woman dancing on the stage, and boy, could she move. She was wearing a fedora and had just shed her long blue country dress. I was looking forward to see her vagina.
That's when Layla put her arms around me from behind and brought her face close to mine.
"Want to have some fun with me?"
I realized I had seen her before, walking around, offering her services to other guests. Tall, neon bra and panty, long legs, gold-coloured high heels. But not my type: wrong face. Lips to thin maybe, or nose too snub, or me not drunk enough: she was pretty, but she just didn't do it for me. Perhaps it was her attitude. Too fake.
I also knew it'd be expensive. But I was curious.
"How does that work?" I said.
"We go downstairs together where it's all private and then we have fun."
I risked a look at the Asian, she had taken off her top by now. I felt Layla's hand in mine.
"Come on, let's go!" she said and walked away.
Well, why not. "Okay" I said and followed her.

She led me down two flights of stairs into a dungeon and through a pair of metal doors. To the right I could see small rooms hidden behind curtains, to the left Layla, who had stopped next to a counter. Behind it stood a blonde woman with big breasts. She asked me something to the effect of "How much do you want to spend tonight?"

"What are my options?" I inquired.

"240, or 350 for the whole night."
"Do you want me the whole night?" Layla chipped in, smiling.
If to me you were superhot, hellyeah, but you're not even my type, so no, thank you very much, I thought.
"...or 120 minimum" the blonde woman finished.
To me, Layla clearly wasn't worth 120 bucks. I had seen a brunette girl upstairs, petite, pink underwear, beautiful face, I'd pay 120 bucks for her. But not for Layla.
I said: "Thank you, but I can't afford it. I'm gonna go back upstairs."
With that I turned to leave.
The blonde was clever though. "How much can you afford?"
Good question.
My curiosity got the better of me. I told her 50 bucks would be okay.
"Make it 60 and you get two!" she said.
"Yes, make it 60!" said Layla.
"Two what?" I asked.
"Two dances."
Well, why not. I pulled three twenties out of my wallet and chucked them on the desk. "Alright."

And that's how Layla and I ended up in a private room. The music was Rihanna, and then Kesha, and later something else I didn't immediately recognize, very likely Black Eyed Peas. The room was painted dark red and was square shaped with a furry bench on one wall. I sat down on it and spread my arms on the backrest and could touch the walls on either side with my hands. Opposite me was the curtain, and Layla, who immediately jumped on my lap, one knee to my left, one knee to my right. She started moving her body to the music and whispered:

"No touching, no kissing, no blowing, no nothing. Enjoy."

The space between her breast was right in front of my face. I wanted to look up to see her face, but she was too close. This was the moment when I noticed what her skin smelled like. I was waiting for some kind of reaction from my penis, but there was none.
She then danced in front of me, standing. It seemed all awkward to me. I wished she'd say something, but she didn't. Instead she turned around and bent over to give me nice long look at her ass, which was a very very nice looking ass. When she came back up I asked what her name was, just to make this a bit more personal.
"Layla."
"Nice name." I said. Couldn't think of anything else to say.
Then she took her top off and came close again and I got a bit distracted by her boobs and nipples. Still all quiet on the cock front, though. Maybe better this way, since this was "for your EYES only" entertainment. No kissing, no touching, no blowing, no coming, no toys, no vegetables, no fingers, no nothing. The most PG13 exotic entertainment gentleman's club ever, with crappy music and overpriced drinks.
She was now in the process of taking her panties off (she was wearing an even smaller second black one under the neon-yellow one).
I felt it was the right time for a nice pop culture quote, so I said: "This no touching rule is killing me."
She responded by bending over again, picking imaginary things off the floor.
I said: "Oh yeah."
Still nothing from the penis.

She danced on, placed herself sideways to the right of me so I could look at her vagina some more. I settled on doing that, because whenever I risked a glance at her face or into her eyes I saw nothing but detachement. Maybe I should start telling her what to do, I thought. Make her talk. Make her make me believe this dance was special and for me alone.
But then my time was up.
"I see you upstairs, sweetie." she said.
Yeah, right.

I sat back down in my chair just in time to see Asian Woman walk off stage. Too bad. Missed her pussy.
About one more Corona and two dancers later I felt like quoting from Grand Theft Auto IV again. I aimed for the exact tone of Nico Bellic's voice in order to match the extent of annoyance and boredom and questioning why he had gone there in the first place when he says: "I've had enough. Let's get out of here."


This is the place. Admissíon: $7. Corona: $7.50. ATM inside, fee: $7 minimum. Small posters of exotic dancers: $5-$25, depending on your dexterity and/or endurance (a game: after each performance the dancer makes the audience throw loonies into rolled up posters held close to pussy, or they stick fridge magnets bearing their picture to their skin (vagina, ass, boobs), and if you hit it with your coin and it sticks, you win. In one case 5 hits in a row earned you a freshly shot polaroid of Darla's pussy. I gave it a shot, of course. No luck, though, it only got me a poster of Darla. I still have it. Can't put it on the wall here, too many visitors. Maybe I'll send it to my father-in-law.
Altogether the atmosphere of Eden matches that of a second rate dance club without dance floor. Everything is very money-oriented and impersonal. Compared to a couple of places I've seen in Amsterdam, it is also kind of innocent. Still fun though, for a while.