Dearest randy readers, I want to share something with you. This may at first come across as self-serving and ego-boosting and own-horn-tooting, especially after you’ve seen the video of me and j. vegas riding to Sapphire Gentlemen’s Club in the back of a gigantic Lincoln SUV limo with Katsuni the other night. And I’ll admit it is a little horn-tooting. And I might have been a little drunk when I saw what I’m about to tell you about. But I don’t think that affects what I’m about to say in any way, because the fact of the matter is this:
Katsuni is a goddess. A for real, legit, 100% deliciously divine, bona-fide goddess. I’m pretty sure she eats ambrosia and her sweat probably cures cancer.
Ok, ok, I’m pandering. But isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for those on Olympus? Isn’t that kind of expected? Look, I’m sure some of you are raising your eyebrows and thinking I’m gone off the deep end. But, ok, look at the woman. She is so gorgeous she kind of makes your stomach flip over and your nether regions spring to life no matter where you are or what you’re doing. And she’s still that gorgeous in person, as I discovered when I met her this past weekend. Those are no camera tricks, my friends: she really is astonishingly lovely. And she’s friendly—so friendly she gave vegas and I a lift to the club in her limo and was just as excited about it as we were. And she’s smart, like really smart, and accomplished, and oh my god she has this dishy French accent that just makes you want to… take her home to your mom but then spend the night doing absolutely wicked things to her afterward.
She’s astounding. And I’d have said all of this before I saw her feature dance, you guys. Really. I mean I’m kind of in love with her. But let me tell you something: I’ve seen a lot of exotic dancers in my time. I’ve even seen a pretty good amount of adult film stars do feature dancing gigs. And they’re all very good, and very lovely, and most of them have thigh muscles that could strangle a donkey if properly applied (Don’t google that. Seriously, don’t.). But even the horniest and most intoxicated of us will usually reach a point in the evening when the barely contained crotches gyrating on the stage and in the patron’s faces reaches a point of “meh.” By the time Katsuni took the stage at Sapphire’s on the night of Saturday, October 15, around 1:00 am, I was pretty beat. Don’t get me wrong, the ladies at Sapphire are all stunning and I would love to treat any one of them to a fine lobster dinner with some Chablis sometime when I’m rich, but I was pretty much done for the night…
When suddenly, out of the darkness of the backstage area, there erupted onto the stage a glittering black-and-red vision of Victorian burlesque-y beauty straight out of an opium dream. Katsuni was wearing a bustle skirt and corset set, a coy little hate poised atop her head, and lips so sparkly they could leave afterburns on your retinas. She was absolutely breathtaking. And then… she did a three-song long striptease so lusciously slow and sensual that I lost all sense of time and place and found myself glued to my char, leaning expectantly forward as she removed layer after layer after layer, teasing and taunting her audience to the heights of hysterical frenzy. Somewhere in there, she took to the pole to this song by Muse that I’ve been wanting to watch someone strip to for at least three years. I was awash in happy. (And Jack and ginger.)
Honestly, by the time Katsuni left the stage I was almost catatonic. Between the booze, the limo, the broads at the club, and Katsuni’s big, bountiful breasts, I was sated and complete.
I know this is a ridiculously over-the-top ode to a woman I adore, but I am so serious when I say it. I have no shame. Here is the point: I don’t care if you like guys or girls, or if you are a guy or a girl, or if you even hate strip clubs. Next time Katsuni comes to your city to feature dance: GO.
—Miss Lagsalot