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a series of contortions on a raised stage, involving a vertical pole rising from the stage to an overhead beam.
    As my vision improved I saw that she wore nothing above the waist and only a G-string below. The G-string didn’t look much different from the thongs that girls today wear under their clothes and even in plain sight on the beach, except it was decorated with sequins. On her feet she wore the tallest heels I had ever seen.
    Her ample breasts bounced in time to her movements, which were supposed to be erotic, but to me looked humorous. The platinum-blond color of her hair led me to believe that she wore a wig since only a few people, mostly from Scandinavia, have hair naturally that color. Even Sandra’s hair was a few shades darker.
    Men sat at small tables near the semicircular stage, which had a brass rail around its edge. It would have been difficult for them to touch the dancer, had they an inclination to. However, customers reached out and placed bills on the stage from time to time.
    Albert took me by the elbow and led me to one of the small tables well away from the dancer. I guess he didn’t want me putting money on the stage. A young waitress, clad in a short skirt and a low-cut top, instantly appeared. She eyed me as Albert shouted an order at her; I stared calmly back at her. She made her way through the tangle of tables, changing direction like a frightened rabbit, but returned quickly, carrying two glasses of beer on a tray. Albert gave her several bills. I couldn’t hear her thank-you because of the din.
    The song ended and the dancer bowed to weak applause—the room was sparsely populated—and a few cheers masquerading as catcalls. She picked up the bills from the floor, held them up in acknowledgment and disappeared behind a red curtain at the back of the stage.
    The noise level was greatly reduced with the music gone, for which I was profoundly grateful. I looked around at the other patrons. They were all men—I was apparently the only woman customer—but I had expected that. Their ages ranged from college-age to grizzled, with most in between. I realized that I had too small a sample to draw inferences from, but I suspected that most of the college boys came on Friday and Saturday nights.
    Some men sat alone and stared into their beer glasses; others sat in groups of two or more. I felt sudden pity for the loners. Was this their idea of a social life? Were they living in a fantasy world because the real world was too—sad? Judging from some of the expressions on their faces, the fantasy worlds couldn’t be much better.
    All the men were well behaved, almost docile. Even when the dancer had been on stage I hadn’t seen anything approaching rowdy behavior. It wouldn’t do me any good to watch Albert’s reaction; he wouldn’t lift an eyebrow with me there. The place must get a lot livelier later on. But between the brass rail on the stage and the doorman, who probably doubled as a bouncer, I suspected management was prepared to handle anybody who misbehaved.
    I happened to see the dancer reenter the room through a doorway on one side of the stage. In addition to her G-string she now wore a skimpy top. She swaggered directly over to one of the tables, took a middle-aged man by the hand and led him back through the same doorway. I quickly nudged Albert to get him to look in her direction and said, “Where is she taking him?”
    Albert looked over in time to see them together, thought about what to tell me for a bit, then said, “She’s probably going to do a private lap-dance for him.”
    “Is that what it sounds like?”
    “Yes, but there are specific rules. The dancer can touch the customer, but the customer can’t touch the dancer.”
    “Or he’ll get his arm broken.”
    “At least he’ll get kicked out.”
    “So it’s completely under her control.”
    “Yes.”
    Just as men were becoming more and more under the control of women in all phases of life. As exemplified by the