SexO
We’re not fans of the Westport Neighborhood Association, the gadfly group that periodically gets angried up about rowdy bar crowds and thinks pushing last call back to 1:30 a.m. will solve everything. One of this killjoy’s favorite targets is the XO Club, and we wonder: How can anyone be against one of the most unintentionally hilarious places in Westport?
We’d heard that XO attracts a lot of Asians and Asian-Americans on weekends, and we decided that any bar capable of pulling off such a feat in nondiverse Kansas City was worth checking out. This job called for a GNO (girls’ night out), so one Friday we assembled a team of Lady Research Assistants and steeled ourselves by getting liquored up elsewhere.
As we approached XO, we encountered a group of goths fleeing and waving glowsticks. We were puzzled by the goth presence but were soon distracted by a rotund woman who had practically passed out in front of the club. The giggling XO bouncers valiantly tried to help her up, with little success. Somehow, she had lost her shoes.
Once inside, each of the assistants independently noticed the same thing. “There’s a definite overweight crowd here,” Hilary said. There was a definite skeeze factor as well, as demonstrated by all the faux-sexy writhing in two cages by the dance floor. Though XO staffers would step in and quell any overly enthusiastic cage usage, the enclosures’ inhabitants still felt the need to lean back and thrust with all their might.
Unfortunately for our research purposes, the Friday-night crowd was sparse in Asians. We were, however, entertained by Team Backless Halter: three white women dressed in tight white pants and trashy halter tops that tied up in the back. They all had prom ‘dos (upswept hair with ringlets) and were stripper-dancing in one cage. But later, when we encountered them under the harsh light of the bathroom, we were scared. Not only were they slathered with body glitter; they were also pumping up each other in helium-squeaky voices: “You hot!” “No — YOU hot!” (Fortunately, this inane conversation took place in the upstairs bathroom, not the downstairs one, with its dilapidated, stained futon that’s been the scene of who knows how many dry humpings. That would have made us more ill.)
The best cage dance belonged to the woman who was grinding her butt against a guy’s groin while gripping the side of the cage with both hands — in one hand she also held a bottle of Miller Lite, from which she occasionally took a swig, blow-job style. We even caught a glimpse of her white thong as she tossed her hair from side to side. “It’s the ‘I’m a Slave 4 U’ dance!” cheered Kelly.
Upon further investigation, we heard Saturday was the night the Asians would emerge, so we were forced to return.
The rumor was true. And it was also total loutville in there. We discovered that the best way to fend off the alpha males was not to make eye contact. We ordered mixed drinks (which we recommend — they were fairly strong) and wandered around XO’s multiple rooms and levels, trying to get to the bottom of the Asian draw. It turned out that most people were there because they’d heard about it from their friends, who had said it was the closest thing to a club in KC.
It was around that time when all the things that made XO clublike started to grate on our nerves. We somehow resisted the urge to get in the cage or buy a glowstick from the condom machine in the bathroom, and we left as fast as our shoe-clad feet could carry us.
