I've long said that my ideal strip bar is a small coffee table. You pay an exorbitant fee up-front, but the stripper comes over to you, fully-clothed. You both order espressos and discuss who you are, how you got there, talk about politics and women's rights and religion. And then, after about a half an hour of get-to-know-ya talk, she says, "Would you like to see my breasts?" and then lapdances me.
That would be tremendously erotic. I'd go every night.