The most surprising thing about the strip club was how similar it was to any other club. The music was loud. It was difficult to talk. The women were dancing and the men just sat there. The women were smiling and the men just sat there.
“Seriously?” I cried. “That guy is getting danced all over by that gorgeous near-naked woman, and he looks like he’s in some angry coma? What’s his deal? That doesn’t even seem polite. There are boobs in your face! Smile about it!”
“I think it’s a power thing for the guys,” Macon said.
“Yeah, this isn’t like burlesque, Adrianne.”
“Well I’m going to look interested,” I declared. “Because I am. Those people are naked, and they are doing crazy things with their butts.”
3 Comments
Awesome mental image, both the scene itself and your outrage. Thanks for the best laugh I’ve had all day.
I’ve never gotten a professional lap dance, but for the few elite women who’ve done me the favor over the years, I was very very appreciative. God bless them.
Those guys were there to prove they weren’t gay. Contact with a naked woman wasn’t a privilege to be enjoyed but a test of will to be endured.