I absolutely love Marilyn's events! It's that one bar that never fails to reinvent itself week after week, always bringing something fresh to the table. Trust me, I'm no stranger here. I started coming here back in the 90s. The club has seen it all—six hundred different shows, cage dancing, even a beauty pageant for chests. You could feast your eyes on the ladies, play some cool roulette, soak in the vibe of a bordello—it's like stepping into Wonderland.
So, they threw a spring bash recently. Now, I don't know what springs to mind for others when they think of spring, but for me, it's all about shedding layers. Finally, the ladies get to peel off those layers! Now, if someone thinks I'm a hardcore strip club enthusiast because I've been camping out here at the bar for the past two weeks, well, I won't deny it. If there were a Strip Club Addicts Anonymous, I'd probably introduce myself like, "Hey, I'm Szabolcs, 49 years young, and addicted to strip bars. Marilyn's my jam." And I can totally picture the chorus of others chiming in, "Hey Szabolcs, great to see you here. Marilyn's our favorite too! This place always had stellar shows and was always the first to bring in the latest from abroad.
Anyone who roamed the Budapest nightlife scene like a proper liberated Hungarian back in the 90s, losing their mind at every joint, knows exactly what it was like back then. After the Friday and Saturday night disco, everyone was still hunting for options. Some went to after-parties, some ended up at grandma's pancake buffet , but the real die-hards hit up the strip clubs.
It was around this time that I met Scott, the mad, red Scottish devil. I had this sort of halfway house-like job back then where I mainly showed up to sleep during the day after nights out, and still got paid for it. One day, my boss sprung on me that the Scottish folks from our partner company were visiting, and we needed a kickass team-building program. As a joke, I suggested a strip club. Obviously, I wasn't serious, but my colleagues erupted in cheers, so the decision was made. At first, the boss shook his head, saying, "Kids, we can't do that," but then we spun it as a brilliant idea to the Scottish headquarters. The rest, as they say, is history. We had the first-ever team-building event at Marilyn's, and let me tell you, it was epic.Scott was the head of the Scottish branch, and we hit it off instantly. It quickly became clear that he was just as much a strip club junkie as I was. The company probably went bankrupt ages ago since no one worked there, they just schmoozed around. But Scott and I remained friends. Scott still visits Hungary occasionally for business trips. So, last week, this red devil rings me up, saying he's coming to Budapest and asking if I'm up for a wild night. Well, of course, my friend, I said to him, and practically landed at Marilyn's straight from the airport. Scott isn't much of a true Scotsman, he can't handle his alcohol properly; usually gets plastered within half an hour. He always caps it off by asking one of the dancers to marry him. Usually falls head over heels for the one who gives him a lap dance. These nights are tear-inducingly hilarious, believe me. We've toured most of Europe's nightclubs together, but somehow Marilyn always feels like home.
Sometimes, all you crave after a long day is to lounge on a comfy couch, sip your drink, and have a half-naked girl dance in your lap. Now, I'm no relationship expert—if I've managed to stay single this long, it's not changing anytime soon. But I'm sure even married guys yearn for these intimate evenings sometimes. There are moments when you don't want to ask, "Honey, how was your day?" and couldn't care less about the answer. You just long for a cold drink and a girl dancing naked, who won't ask questions if you don't want her to. We're men, we need this "nothingness" every now and then; it's ingrained in us. And there's no better decoder than a stripper.
Marilyn's my sanctuary, where I come to contemplate, confess, and cleanse. Let me tell you, you can really cleanse at Marilyn's—they've got this nifty shower stall where you can go in with a dancer to get your back scrubbed. Then they give you a pair of dry boxers as a gift. I won't tell you how many Marilyn-branded undies I have at home, okay?
