I’m all about romance—full-on candlelit stuff, cooking-you-dinner vibes, rubbing-your back, and then the jacuzzi soaking part.
But yeah, pampering has overhead, and the price tags aren’t magic. If you want the “Happily Ever After” experience, the meter starts at two hundred bucks. If you’ve only got fifteen minutes because your wife thinks you’re buying milk, it’s a quick hundred—don’t overthink it, just do the math.
At a strip club, you’re paying $180 just to sit in a shampoo room while a giant named Boris watches you blink. Cool, but at my place you get privacy, safety, and a private lap dance—without a pimp or a cop in sight.
Wait — there are house rules, and I actually mean them. Be clean, be respectful, and don’t ask me to buy your drugs. I am an independent entertainer, not a cartel. I tolerate a little social drinking, some mushrooms, and maybe a quick trip down a snowy ski slope, but that is it.
Anyway, I’m here to make you happy, but my clock doesn’t stop ticking just because we’re having fun.
House rules still apply.
