I first went to the Harmony (Church St.) with my brother-in-law in late December 1990, having read about it in Screw. If memory serves, we primed the pump first at the Xmas party at The Doll House, now NY Dolls, on Murray St. The Harmony review in Screw referred to the "buck a minute" dances, and I definitely recall some test drive dances of three dollars or so. Needless to say, we were hooked from the first.
Soon after arriving I was set upon by a dancer who at the time was 34 and at the beginning of the end of what was a very successful stripping career. I was 26, and apparently very much her type. But after I declined a dance with her she gave me the cold shoulder the rest of the night. Details are vague here, but that night, the Church St. location closed earlier than 22nd St., so we went up there to continue our debauchery. The aforementioned dancer also showed up, and said to us, with great disdain, "Came for some more pussy?" Indeed. Long story short, this woman was ultimately Fatal Attraction-style hot for me. She'd ignored me because my earlier rejection was too much to bear. We ended up spending an hour or so all the way in the back, very hot and heavy, for which I gave her five dollars. We saw each other outside the club for about a month or so before I broke things off when I realized the extent of her obsession. On days she worked she used to call me to meet her at Church St., and would give me the entry fee in singles so I didn't have to pay, then we'd spend time making out in those uncomfortable theater chairs. She'd later tell me that other customers who were waiting their turn were not happy that they didn't get the same treatment. So, 17 years later, and I sometimes run into her in my neighborhood. Time has not been kind to her, but she holds a special place in my heart when all is said and done, it was great in retrospect, and I'd love to be the object of such passion these days.
Tabu was my ATF, and as I'd posted elsewhere on this board, was the one and only dancer in my pathetic strip clubbing career to work me up enough to come in my pants. Sometime in '01, I think, a friend invited me to a club downtown, and I realized with dismay and nostalgia that it was the old HC space. Structurally it was exactly the same inside, and I could only wander around wide-eyed, heartbroken, recalling all the dirty fun I'd had in all those dark corners . . .