The Dome 10:05 p.m.

You could say that my first female strip club experience was a little different than I expected. I pictured the pole-bearing runway illuminated by neon lights, and naked girl after naked girl dangling over the edge making her breasts heave while accepting dollar bills with her teeth. From what I hear, the upstairs of the Dome used to have a stage—and a pole, but the ladies moved downstairs to make room for Mr. C’s, the new bar and grill.

A dancer performs a lap dance for one of her customers. {larger}

Beautiful, self-assured bikini-wearing women strut around the first floor making small talk with the men whose normal days had just turned extraordinary. Because there is no stage, the dancers give personal performances. A new song means a new dance. And patience is a virtue common to each patron.

Two guys, Chris and Billy, patrons from Brimfield, are chilling on the far side of the bar checking out some very close-up T&A. Billy is nice enough to get a lap dance so I can observe its fundamentals.

“You’ll have to wait a minute,” he says seriously. “She’s working right now.”

“She’s not working, she’s workin’ it,” Chris jokes, bobbing his head to the music.

Although Billy’s friend Chris, a 23-year-old “technically married man,” goes out for a little “looky-no-touchy,” he doesn’t forget about his wife while he’s at The Dome.

“It’s kind of like having a new car,” he says. “You can’t leave the old one behind.”

Soon enough, a dancer named Jackie comes over. She’s cute, 19 and not afraid to show her personal side in her working environment. She was, however, hesitant to tell her mother about her new line of work.

“My brother and I are pretty close so I told him first,” she says. “We all went to dinner one night, and my brother kept saying, ‘Hey, Jackie, how about a strip steak.’ She knew something was going on. So I told her I served drinks in a bikini. I didn’t lie.”

“When God blessed America, he blessed me.”

She continues to dance while Billy stays focused and quiet until after his song is over.

“When God blessed America, he blessed me,” he explains with a grin stretching from ear to ear.

I give these girls and guys snaps. The girls make almost half my rent in one night. They must be good at what they do, and I must be in the wrong line of work.

These women have the confidence to know they’re beautiful. The men have the confidence to let them know they appreciate it. Nothing is wrong with that.

Off to Akron to check out those “professional bars” I heard about.

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