Sometimes it's best to hold back from going all the way, which is exactly why it's wise to not divulge political/religious views early in relationships, although how's anyone supposed to know you're not going all the way because you support Rand Paul? Giving you the feel of a strip club, but being coy about the nakedness, Rocafella's.
Staffed with scantily clad waitresses & table-dancers, Rocafella's is a well-past-Hooters/not-quite-strip-club "bikini bar", serving cocktails and a free catered buffet all day, with decor that's candy red with white accents, from the exposed-ductwork ceiling to the gator-skin-topped chairs, tables & bar stools; the name was selected for the owners by their children, so just be happy you're not looking at chicks in bikinis at "Justin Bieber". Swimwear and lingerie-draped ladies perform table dances whether you arrive at 10am for breakfast (grits, bacon, hash browns, salmon croquettes), or later in the day for lasagna, mac & cheese, and wings; the management decided against full nudity due to their belief that "men want what they can't see and can't have", logic that predicts menopause shops will soon be everywhere. Bottle service (Moet Rose, Grey Goose, Ciroc Red Berry...) goes down in one of six mirror-backed private areas, or hit the bar for standby brews/mixed libations like the "Southside" margarita (Patron, Grand Ma, sour, soda, simple syrup), and the secret-recipe "Rocafella On Fire" -- the only ingredient they'll divulge is Cognac, but promise "you'll need a cab home", so watch out for that other ingredient that steals your car.
House DJ A1 spins hip-hop stripper anthems, and they're starting a "15 Days of Rocafella" grand opening fortnight-plus-one shortly, which'll include performances from local musicians, plus a car & bike show featuring custom cycles and classic Chevys, reminding you of at least one solid excuse for you not having gone all the way, spelled Beretta.