Why Lap Dances In Nashville Are Illegal But Group Sex Isn’t

“Oh God,” the woman cries out, her voice a high, thin tremolo.

The man is naked while she’s wearing only a thin halter-top, pushed up past her small breasts, revealing a mass of white skin beneath. Her head is in the lap of another woman who is clothed and holding a plastic cup. The clothed woman sips out of the cup while laughing and talking with a man who, also fully clothed, is lying next to her.

Amid this act, the half-naked woman narrates, saying that her sexual suitor is “fucking me so hard.”

“I know!” says the clothed woman. “He fucked me hard last week, but not that hard!”

A chuckle goes through the dozen or so men and women who surround the bed.

Then a wail erupts from the woman, her face mashing into her friend’s lap and contorting in beet-red ecstasy. Her body begins to shake as the man continues to pound her relentlessly. The woman’s hand slaps the mattress again and again as her body trembles. Finally she tenses, cries out, and wails, “Oh God, I love this place!” before collapsing onto the mattress.

The crowd lets out a collective laugh.

This isn’t the plot of a Ron Jeremy classic. This is the second floor of the Tennessee Social Club at 1 a.m. on a Saturday night. Downstairs, the dance floor is packed and half-naked women are grinding and kissing to T-Pain’s “I’m in Love With a Stripper.” Meanwhile, older couples, some partially naked, sit together with friends, watching the scenery while laughing or fondling each other’s dates under the cocktail tables.

The club has been part of this city’s sex culture for over 20 years. It’s changed location a number of times, though now it can be found just off of Eighth Avenue South, across the street from a discount liquor store. It’s a private club—meaning that you pay a $25 monthly membership fee and an additional door charge—but anyone can join.

There’s a “couples-only” room with half-a-dozen beds draped by sheer, flowing curtains. There are private rooms for those who are a bit more discreet and, of course, a fully equipped dungeon with crucifix and leather cat-o’-nine-tails. And on any given weekend night, the place is packed until at least 2 a.m.

But just down Eighth Avenue at another adult establishment, business isn’t quite as good. While consenting adults engage in a bacchanalian orgy over at the social club or at nearby Ménages, the ladies of Christie’s Cabaret pole dance before an empty room.

“Julie to the main stage puh-leeze!” shouts the DJ over the club’s too-loud PA system. His voice echoes throughout the cavernous, empty room. “And guys, don’t forget to take advantage of our Saturday night two-for-one specials….”

The three or four “guys” in the audience don’t budge, and they hardly seem to notice when Julie takes the stage at the beginning of the next song.

“Look at this,” the club’s manager says, dejectedly. “Saturday night and I’ve got more dancers out here than customers.”

What separates a business like Christie’s from a place like the Tennessee Social Club? Just three letters: SOB.

Under Nashville’s Sexually Oriented Business ordinance—which began being enforced last year—any strip club or cabaret must comply with a rigorous set of guidelines that limit everything from a dancer’s proximity to a client (three feet) to the required height of a stage (at least 18 inches.) The SOB guidelines also require that dancers register with the city, have a criminal background check and get fingerprinted.

While most in the adult entertainment business think that some regulation is a necessity, almost everyone—from club owners to managers and especially dancers—feels that the SOB guidelines and enforcement are overly punitive and have decimated their businesses. In the past year alone, at least three strip clubs have been shut down because—those in the industry say—men don’t want to pay to get into clubs where they can’t have lap dances.

And these business owners become nearly apoplectic when it comes to the issue of equal enforcement—in other words, the strict regulation of strip clubs vs. no regulation of sex clubs who promote and facilitate the kind of behavior that the SOB laws were designed to prevent.

“I thought we were all supposed to be equal before the law,” says Joe Savage, who has worked at a number of Nashville clubs. He teaches the dancers new routines, creates elaborate costumes and consults with club owners on lighting and sound. Savage most recently worked for Club Platinum, which was shut down by a Nashville judge last October for failing to comply with SOB guidelines. “Some businesses get away with murder while others get shut down over meaningless infractions. It’s ridiculous.”