I’m guessing the girl either got creeped out by the guy or someone else turned them in.  The girl didn’t get busted though, so I’m leaning toward option A.  Either way, weird.

Without getting into too many technicalities, the juice bars are a lot less restrictive than the places which serve alcohol.  That’s because the OLCC can stick its nose into any place that serves liquor while they can’t do a thing about Jiggles or the various jack shacks around town.

I don’t know how many more police calls they receive at Jiggles than at say Stars or the Dolphin.  I can say it’s been a while since I’ve seen the police at any club that serves alcohol.  On the other hand, when I pulled into the parking lot at Jiggles on Friday night, a Tualatin police cruiser was pulling out.  They were there last time I was in too.  It could be coincidence, but as Chris Berman says, once is an accident, twice is a trend.  So that’s something to think about.

The parking lot wasn’t very full for a Friday night at 9pm.  Blame gas prices.  Blame the $700 billion thing.  Who knows.  I was definitely surprised there weren’t more customers.

I paid the guy at the door my $15, accepted my two drink tickets, and headed to the server.  The place hasn’t changed any since I was there last.  There are two “private” areas with couches on either end of the room, several tables lined up on the side closest to the freeway, and two stages.  A main stage with a pole in the center of the room, and a back stage with a full-length mirror on the north end of the building.

The girl working the pole looked like Jamie Lee Curtis in Trading places, only without the wig.  She was super-skinny, with short hair, tattoos and a pierced lower lip.  Ick.  It used to be dancers were content with the tramp stamp on their lower back.  Now the ink thing has spread all over.  Backs, fronts, sides, necks.  You name the body part, someone in there had a tattoo there.  Except the face.  But, of course, that’s the next frontier.

I moved to the back and took a seat at the stage.  As usual at the juice bars, I was the only one down there.  And thus the only one tipping.  I have zero idea how girls in here make any money.  Especially at night.  The place is crawling with community college students who want to drink Red Bull and pretend they’re players for a night.  There were a half dozen of them sitting at a table net to the back stage for the first few hours I was in there.  I’ve no idea why the dancers gave any of them the time of day.  They weren’t tipping and were sort of rude.  But they did.

A couple of the guys also brought their girlfriends.  I think everyone was trying to prove exactly how naughty nasty they were without having to really prove it.  The guys could get the dancers to meow for them, but would never in a million years ask the same of their dates.  I think if they did, they would have been shocked at the answer.  Not wanting to make waves with two nineteen-year-olds hyped-up on Red Bull, I decided not to put a move on anyone’s girlfriends.  I think it would have been interesting to see the outcome.

Most of the girls were younger than those you’d see at a typical club.  I think there was a certain amount of showing off with some of them.  Girls proving to themselves and their friends that they could be as sexual as anyone on MTV.  An interesting thought.  There were several who couldn’t have been more than six months out of high school.  What an interesting career choice.  Especially in there.  Again, after tipping out the DJ and paying the house, I don’t have any idea how those girls make a dime.

Things didn’t start to get interesting until I moved away from the stage and took a seat among the poor people.  Sitting at the rail is a sure-fire way to get some peace.  Sitting at a table is a sure-fire way to get some company, quickly.  Of the two-dozen girls working there Friday night, 3/4 of them hit me up for a dance while I sat alone.  On this, Jiggles gets an A-plus.  I hate chasing girls down and asking for dances.  That’s my shyness, I suppose.

I ended up passing on everyone.  I was trying to be frugal.  Besides, I was on recon.  I did end up having an interesting conversation, though, with a young blonde.  She said she primarily worked the day shift.  I told her I didn’t like coming to the club while it was light out.  Generally the girls aren’t as good and there’s a weird vibe.  She told me it was almost the complete opposite during the day at Jiggles.  Apparently they have a much older clientelle in there during the day.  She says the girls wear dresses, and the music is much quieter and more rock rather than rap.  Interesting.  I promised I’d file that nugget away and come back some Friday afternoon when I get off work a little early.

All-in-all Jiggles is alright.  It’s far from the seediest place in town.  The cover is definitely stiff, but it’s understandable given the fact they make zero dollars on beverages.  And the girls are a little less grizzled than you’re going to find around town.

Like The Dolphin 1 in Milwaukie, Jiggles is located inside an  abandoned buffet restaurant.  It’s across a sidestreet from the Tualatin K-Mart.  Despite being clearly visible from the freeway, it’s a bit of a work to find.  You go down a blind street and into a semi-hidden (at least after dark) parking lot and there you are.  The lot is cramped and could use a fresh layer of asphalt and some new stripes.  But as I’ve learned at other places around town, a rutted parking lot isn’t going to keep folks from visiting.

The lot was jam packed when I pulled in around 10:30.  I ended up parking on the street down below the club, in front of an idling semi-truck.  Other patrons were parking in the K-Mart parking lot.  It’s never a good idea, I’ve found, to park on someone else’s property when you’re going into another establishment.  I realize it’s way after business hours and such, but it’s exactly this scenario that keeps towing companies in business.  So it’s on the street for me.  I’ll let everyone else roll the dice.

Walking up the hill, I could tell immediately I was going to be out of my element.  There were three “make it rain-types”, with the untucked button-down shirt, the gold chains, and one with his hat turned to 5-o’clock, standing outside the front door, oggling the latest issue of Exotic magazine.  These guys are at every club in town and they annoy the living hell out of me.  I couldn’t tell you why.  I just don’t have anything in common with any of them.

As I walked through the door, I could hear some rap tune coming from inside.  Not all that unusual and it seemed pretty benign.  (Here’s a great article, by the way, on the life of a strip club dj.  $20 to play a request?  Uhhhh….no thanks.  I’ll save my Jackson for the couch.)  The doorman looked like a pro wrestler from the 80s.  Personable, though.

“Three dollars,” he said.

“What?” I asked, not believing there was a chance in hell he just said three bucks.

“Three dollars.”

Huh, I thought, as I handed him a twenty.  There’s no way I heard that right.  He rang up $15 and handed me back a five.

That’s what I expected.  It’s been a few years since I’d been in there and knew it was steep to get in.  Because they can’t sell liquor, they have to make their money somewhere.  In this case, the house makes their money at the door.  The guy handed me three tickets and I turned to size the place up.  I almost broke out laughing at what I saw.

There are two stages inside.  One in the middle of the room, and one in the rear.  The one in the middle is circular and has a pole in the middle, while the one in the rear features a full-length mirror.  What nearly made me laugh was the three rows of tables lined up against the far wall and the rows and rows of community college guys staring slack-jawed at the stage.  This truly is a club for beginners.  How do girls make their money in there?

I headed to the “bar” to trade one of my two drink tickets for a Diet Coke and to load up on singles.  The nice thing about the fact 90% of the patrons weren’t going to spend one-cent more than the $15 it cost to come inside was it cleared up the rail for me.  There were a couple of guys up front, feeding singles to the girls.  One guy, a little older than me seemed to be enjoying himself, but made it clear he preferred to be left alone.  That was sort of my mood tonight as well.  Because the girls make their money almost exclusively on the couch, there’s much more cajoling and such than would happen at The Dolphin or 205.  Girls were even walking up from behind as I sat at the rail and hitting me up for dances.  That’s verbotin at almost every club in town.  Here, its fair game.

Like the guys, the girls tended to be under-21.  Many of them looked like they had some miles on them despite their youth.  Hard childhoods?  Too much apartment living?  Dunno.  I do know there were some leathery 20-year-olds in there.  Two girls did stand out.  One was a young Sandra Oh-looking girl who was made-up in garish baby-girl make-up.  It was clownish and looked awful.  I realize there’s a whole fetish thing in porn for girls in pig-tails with that “baby” look, but in a place like this where literally everyone is under-age, what’s the point of trying to look younger?  I made an early decision she wouldn’t be getting any of my money.  Can’t reward Asian Tammy Fayes.

The second girl who stood out, and not in a good way, made a special effort to show off her pierced clit and the jewelry which hung from same.  I just sat there and thought it’s great and all that she’s nasty, but the pierced clit is so 1997.  Now she’s probably been dancing that long, but still.  Wouldn’t you take it out at some point?  Or are those things like the back tattoos?  Permanent.  Dunno.  All I know is if you’re thinking of getting anything below your ears pierced, please don’t.  That goes for the belly button too.

The original plan was to sit at the stage until all the girls had worked their way through.  The problem was girls kept showing up.  I hear the ads on the radio advertising how many girls they have working at Jiggles, and they ain’t lying.  Everytime I went to the restroom, there was another girl coming in.  So my plan wasn’t going to work.  Instead, I just waited until my singles ran out.  I went through over $25 and never saw the same girl twice.  You think about that.  Suddenly the math on the $15 doesn’t seem so unreasonable.

Well, actually it is.  But whatever.

I was getting up to leave around 12:15 when one of the girls who’d caught my eye pulled me aside and told me I couldn’t leave.  It was a line, but I was buying it.  We spent a few minutes discussing the deal, egging her to tell me why she gave the best couch dance in the club.  She told me she was a redhead and that should be enough.  Normally I’m all over redheads from the moment they come into sight (Jack Rabbit can atest to this), but somehow I didn’t pick up on her.  I did notice her mouthful of braces, which is hot.  But the red hair sealed the deal.

She took me back into a corner which contained only a handful of couches.  I pointed to a small room near the couches and asked about it.  There was a curtain pulled, but through it you could see a girl, completely naked, grinding on a guy.

“Yeah, that’s the private room.  It’s $110 for 4-songs.  But I won’t ask you to go in there.  I’m not greedy.”

But looking inside at the nakedness and such, I couldn’t imagine why this would be such a bad thing.  It’s probably because Ginger, the redhead, didn’t find me particularly attractive and didn’t want to spend 20 minutes grinding on me thusly.

“That’s funny actually,” she said.  “We’re supposed to have our underwear on during those dances.”

Well, I certainly wasn’t complaining.

Ginger sat on my lap as we waited for our song to begin.  She’s a short girl with perfect curves and a nice smile.  And the red hair, which I’m still not 100% convinced is real.  But who am I to complain.  We went through the normal small-talk.  Where I’m from.  What I do for a living.  How long she’s been dancing.  The normal stuff.  As soon as the next tune came on, her top came off and the show began.

She mounted me and started to swirl her hips into mine.  She ran her entire body down my face and neck, giving me lots of contact with her flesh.  This stuff only happens at the juice bars, I’ve found.  She purred into my ear as she cupped her breast.  She turned around and slid the whole length of my body and down to the floor.  A pretty good show, and one I’d definitely like to see more of.  Maybe someday when she graduates to The Dolphin.  Maybe.

Leaving the club, I saw a couple of Tualatin’s finest in the parking lot talking with the doorman.  That’s always a special sight as you’re leaving.  And more evidence that maybe it’s best to leave the youth activities to the young.  I’m glad I went and checked it out, but I think I’ll be leaving Jiggles alone.  Too many other places with girls that are just as hot but with a more mature clientèle.  I didn’t know how important that was.