I’ve never jizzed while receiving a lap dance, but apparently this happens a lot to other men. In Las Vegas, Nevada, a few bros were so worried about splooging their underwear that they invented "the Liquid Lapdance," which is essentially a cum diaper.
“It started because my buddies and I would go to the strip club, and one of my buddies didn’t like to get dances. He said that they hurt him. That’s how we started coming up with how we could make dances better,” Reg, one of Liquid Lapdance’s employees, told me. “The rubbing [part of lap dances] hurt my buddy’s sensitive skin.”
Hence Reg and his friends designed the Liquid Lapdance to give men more comfortable lap-dance experiences and, ideally, to help them cream. “We don’t consider [ejaculating while receiving a lap dance] to be a problem,” Reg said. “We consider that the point of a lap dance.”
I didn’t understand any of this. Lap dances are never “dry” at gay strip clubs. At Johnny’s in Fort Lauderdale, I have seen strippers rim each other on stage, and every time I have paid for a lap dance, I ended up naked in a backroom with a stripper. Why would anyone ejaculate—or want to ejaculate—from a bare-bones lap dance that didn’t even come with a rim job?
Apparently this is a huge problem on the stripper side too, according to some straight dudes I asked. One of them recounted an all-black (except for him and a friend) strip club in Memphis, at which one of the girls accused him of trying to come in his pants while she death-gripped his hand down the front of her underwear and forced him to rub a stud piercing on her clit. He didn’t know if it was a scam or she was trying to roll him in anger after he turned down a threesome with her co-worker for $80.
But Reg and his pals say they’re simply on a mission to give men orgasms, which is very interesting if you think about how that could be interpreted. Regardless, it’s a mission I could get behind. In fact, they believe in the male orgasm so much, they offer an “orgasm guarantee.” Basically, spray cum all over your diaper while paying someone to writhe on top of you, or you get a refund. Liquid Lapdance’s website claims fewer than than 1 percent of customers have asked for refunds.
“Imagine a pair of oiled titties bouncing up and down your cock,” said one customer review. Another happy buyer described the Liquid Lapdance as feeling “like two lubed ass cheeks sliding up and down,” which is one of my favorite sensations in the world. So I decided to slip on a little number from Liquid Lapdance’s signature line, head to a gay strip club in Manhattan, and try out the Liquid Lapdance for myself.
The Liquid Lapdance consists of two parts: a latex bag for your cock and balls and a black bikini-like back that covers your ass. When you’re a 6'2" grown-ass man like myself, walking around in such a contraption can be a complicated process. According to the instructions, the latex bag had to be sterilized before slinging it over your junk.
I didn’t have any rubbing alcohol and really didn’t feel like going to a pharmacy or wherever to buy it because I was horny to come in my pants at a place called the Adonis Lounge, so I grabbed the closest thing within reach—a bottle of Cachaça—and poured a healthy shot into the diaper. I rubbed the latex back and forth, rinsing it with hot water. Afterward, I poured a large helping of lube into the bag and cinched it around my penis and testicles. Finally, I tied the bag’s strings around my waist and pulled up the bikini back. I looked like an idiot. But I was pretty sure I was gonna come like an idiot, too, so it didn’t bother me so much.
Before heading to Adonis, I walked around the room to see what the diaper felt like. At first, it felt like my penis was permanently stuck in the beginning stages of a blow job, which quickly became annoying because it didn’t go anywhere. Meanwhile, the spandex stuck to my pubes, and it ripped one of them off as I strutted around the room. Now I understood why the Liquid Lapdance comes with a free packet of bikini wax.
But those minor gripes became moot once I arrived at Adonis Lounge and immediately realized I was about to feel totally confident and comfortable with coming in my pants during a lap dance. As a bonus, Adonis lacked the smell of chlorine and semen that pervades most gay strip clubs. They played J.Lo songs and offered clients a variety of strippers: muscle queens, twinks, otters, and other breeds of men. None of them would really know that I was about to have several orgasms in a latex diaper, and I liked that very much.
Shortly after arriving I was greeted by Tim, the club’s owner. Between his short hair and the muscles peeking out of his tank top, Tim looked like he belonged more in the WWE than at a gay club. While trying to find a strip club that would let VICE take photographs for this article, I had to be transparent, so Tim already knew about the diaper. He asked me what the spandex diaper looked like.
I pulled down my pants.
“Can you take a shit in that?” he asked.
“No, I would have to wear it in reverse for that.”
“It’s kind of a shitty design,” Tim’s critique continued. “I’d want it to be tighter if I was gonna bust a nut in it.” Then he pointed at the guys around the room and told me to pick out my favorite strippers.
“Give me that one,” I said, motioning toward a stripper wearing briefs and glasses.
“You like twinks.”
Tim hollered at the stripper. His name was Matthew. He approached me, smiled, and pulled on my hoodie strings.
“I’m here for work,” I mumbled.
“You work here?” Matthew asked.
“No, I’m writing something about this spandex diaper that lets you jizz in your pants during lap dances. Some company mailed it to us.”
Tim leaned over, telling Matthew: “Everything he’s saying is ridiculous but true.”
I told Matthew I had enough money for six lap dances. He smiled, grabbed my hand, and led me back to the champagne room. I sat on a foam cushion that was covered in what I heard another person at the club later describe as “love stains.” He drew a black curtain. Then he asked to see the diaper.
I unbuckled my skinny jeans and pulled down my pants.
Matthew grabbed the spandex bag and laughed at its size. “Nobody can come that much,” he said.
I started to slide my pants back on. Matthew pushed my hand away, giggled, and started making out with me. He pushed me onto the foam, removed his glasses, and then jumped on me like a bunny rabbit. He ground on me, but the spandex diaper was inhibiting any sort of sensation in my dick, even as it was pushed firmly against his ass.
I looked down and noticed Matthew had grown a boner before me. A stripper had never gotten hard while giving me a lap dance. I felt obligated to jerk Matthew off through his underwear. In return Matthew jerked me off through the diaper.
He gave a good handie, but I’m not in seventh grade—I wanted a lap dance that would stimulate my penis like anal sex—so I told Matthew to turn around to see if the new position would allow me to feel his ass through the spandex bag. He slid his undies off a bit and then rubbed his ass on my dick.
“Are you in college?” I asked.
“Marymount,” he said.
Then I gave him a blow job. He tried to give me a blow job (which was technically against the rules), and we made out some more. Then we stopped, frustrated by what amounted to one of those plastic baggies newspapers are delivered in strangulating my junk. “You have to give me a lap dance,” I said, followed by a few words I do not think I will ever have the pleasure of uttering again for the rest of my life: “I have to come in the bag for my story.”
“I’m a journalist.”
“Can’t you just lie like that other guy?”
I wasn’t sure who “that other guy” was. (Did Jason Blair love strip clubs?) “No,” I told Matthew. I pulled back on the diaper, and he started to give me a lap dance again. I didn’t feel like I was going to come anytime soon.
“What song are we on?” I asked. He said we were on the sixth song. I told him to stop giving me a lap dance. “I need to come now!” He jerked me off through the bag for a few minutes, but then the sixth song ended, and we were done.
“I’m not gonna come,” I said. “I don’t have enough money for another song.”
“This bag is retarded!” Matthew said.
I couldn’t agree more. We both sat on the foam cushions with erections that weren’t going to go away anymore. After accepting that the only orgasm I’d have tonight would be when I masturbated before going to sleep, I paid Matthew. He exited the champagne room, leaving me on the foam cushion alone. The Liquid Lapdance had promised me a orgasm, but instead the diaper had screwed me out of a blow job.
After I left the champagne room, I went to Tim at the bar. He asked me if I had busted a nut. I told him that the diaper was a nuisance in a gay strip club. He agreed. “Straight strip clubs suck,” Tim said. “You can’t touch shit. Gay clubs? You get a blow job.”
If I learned anything from Reg and his Liquid Lapdance, it’s that being a straight dude sounds like a giant fucking hassle.
Like dicks and want to get your dick wet? Visit the Adonis Lounge!