My Maryland roommate grew up in North Miami Beach and currently resides at The Flamingo in South Beach, so he knows the area very well. This is one of his pools, and those empty chairs are filled daily with South Beach’s most ridiculous strippers.
Last Labor Day was my most recent excursion to South Beach, where The Flamingo did not disappoint. He had just moved in and hadn’t even paid his security deposit yet, so I joined him for a 20 minute meeting with the landlord at around 10 am. After swindling them out of a few months rent, we had breakfast, met his former roommate, and went to the pool.
Now when I say this scene was breathtaking, I don’t mean the immediate view of the ocean 10 feet from the pool, or the clear blue skies overhead. I am talking about the cheeks that all seemed to live in this one complex.
Not only that, but I didn’t look like some dirty scumbag because my brilliant friend had equipped me with a girl for the whole week. For security purposes, we will refer to her as “Next.”
It was like never-ending softcore porn. I kid you not. I was seeing spots similar to when you look directly at the sun for too long, except these spots were asscheeks. Even Next was impressed and she is from Los Angeles by way of Miami. These strippers weren’t just on the chairs either. They were playing in the foot shower, on the beach, getting drunk and enjoying the calm before the storm.
This calm before the storm is the Thursday before the Friday of Labor Day weekend. It’s the day where the strippers get to finish up their last details before the weekend’s debauchery begins. For most, that means cleaning up tan lines, relaxing, and finally spending a day dodging dick instead of not.
But Next would initiate conversations with these ladies and it always turned back to the U. I was surprised how intelligent the strippers were when their guard was down…oh, and they seemed to be perennially forming pony-tails, dipping themselves in and out of the pool for hours on end in what they called a “bikini.” Such solid marketing tactics.
Many of them were educated and actually went to the U. How they found time between demonstrating crotch thrust techniques on stage and then sleeping it off is beyond me. But, I couldn’t believe where my pimp friend, let’s call him “P,” was living. No wonder he gets laid so often. It’s a pimper’s paradise.
It didn’t stop there though. At night, it was no different. One of his best friends, we’ll call him “Bare Bones,” was in from New York and was “drunk off his tits” in one story after another. This guy is a modern day miracle and together, these Miami pimps revealed their empire to me.
We went wherever we wanted and got whatever we wanted. The bouncer would greet us personally as he declined $500 tables to the local meatheads and tourists. And this was no small group either. P always rolls with his blazing Russian-American friend, “Red,” and several other friends, with which I had specific interests in common.
Most nights lasted ’til the wee hours of the morning, and some broke dawn like the night before never happened. For the first time, I saw more people partying and dancing at 8 am than at 6 am, each equipped with his or her own designer sunglasses for the obvious reasons.
When it was finally time to leave the beach, the restaurants, the clubs, the hotels, or whathaveyou, I never had any interest. Thank you as always pimps, for I will see you again this year for a repeat performance.
South Beach is such a spectacle and possesses an amazing aura that DC could only wish to replicate. That being said, my comparative research on the subject will begin this week.