This escapade takes place during the time period in which I had my art student roomie (refer to Bambi got run over). It was couples night out. So, it was myself and author (refer to skip lunch), roomie and her boyfriend. When I think of couples night, generally I think dinner, movie, bowling, even laser tag perhaps. Every once in a while it feels good to shoot your significant other for fun. It’s cathartic.
My roomie wanted to take us to her workplace. They had a great happy hour and she wanted us to meet her co workers. She thought we’d have a great time. There was dancing, no cover, energetic atmosphere. Inside, it’s an open floor plan there were flashing colored lights and the music was pumping. It has cozy nooks, with plush comfortable furniture. Thick luxurious red and black curtains separating the nooks for privacy. They were three stages at different levels. It kind of reminded me of stages at a rave. Except there was one small difference these particular stages had an added accessory. This accessory was a long silver pole…
For those of you who haven’t figured it out yet, we were in a strip club. My roomie was an exotic dancer.
Not a typical couples outing. The author’s eyes looked like they were about to POP out. She sat us down in one of her favorite areas. This put us directly in front of one of the stages. The stage was currently occupied by one of her co workers. She was on her way to being deprived of clothing. My roomie was chatting to her while she was on stage. Author took that opportunity to go grab us some much needed alcohol.
Roomie has an evil look in her eye. She proceeds to tell her co worker that it’s my first time in a strip club. They both smiled a Cheshire cat smile at each other than me. Oh shit. It’s about to get real. Apparently newbies get the full treatment. They get me to sit backwards with my back against the pole on stage. The no touch policy only applies to men. Women are home free. So her co worker is giving me a mini lap dance on stage. She then kicked it up a notch. She began to start playing and teasing. The author walked up with drinks in hand.
He looked a little befuddled. But he came right up to the stage and gave me my drink nervously. Her co worker bent down and asked the author if I was his date? He replied, yes. She than informed him that he was in for a treat tonight. He stuttered and his drink began to shake in his hand.
She kneels down in front of me, and asked if I have any objections to touching. I told her no, and if I did I’d let her know. She pulled down my tube top. She began to caress my girls. It almost felt like a chest massage. Constantly checking over her shoulders at the author to see his reaction. Then she asked if I trusted her? I told her yes I trusted her. She told me we are going to drive him crazy.
The bartender came over with three shots. She puts one between her boobs. She wants me to take the shot from between her boobs. But I can’t use my hands. It’s a “look ma, no hands” moment and she’ll reciprocate with the shot between my girls. Then she pours the last shot on my chest. At this point my ass is half way off the stage.
She proceeds to lick the shot off of my girls. But she surprises me with a unique sensation. I look down at my girls to find out what the sensation is. I discover that she has tongue ring on. But it’s no normal tongue ring. It vibrates. It really was like a mini massage for my girls. It’s one of the few places that a masseuse isn’t allowed to touch on a woman’s body. I guess the no touching rules really are different here.
Of course, she checks on me. She wants to make sure I’m up for what she has in mind next. She wants me to sit in the author’s lap with my back against his chest. The girls are still out and about during the moving process. She then proceeds to give me a lap dance while I’m on his lap. But he isn’t allowed to touch her. He can touch me though. I don’t have a no touching rule and while he is touching me she wants me to touch her. This continues to drive him wild.
Another round of shots down. This is the most female interaction I’ve ever had. I’m all for male interaction, it’s my preference. But with enough alcohol in my system, lots of happenings are possible.
I glance over at my roomie. She called another co worker over to entertain her boyfriend while she watches. Couples night really is NOT what I thought is was going to be.
I dance with my exotic dancer a little bit. Then we decide that the author has been teased enough. He was a good boy. Good boys deserve a treat. The treat in this particular establishment would be a private lap dance. I sit and watch while she’s teasing him. I’m enjoying a glass of complimentary champagne. All that dancing, teasing, driving the author crazy left me quite parched. It also earned me a free cool tasty beverage.
I’m starting to feel the effects of shots, vodka cranberries, champagne, and martinis. I tell the author I need a little air I’ll be right back. He looks scared shitless. I tell him not to worry I’ll be back shortly. I surprisingly made it outside. The cool air felt so good. I’m sitting on the steps with my head in between my legs. I’m telling myself I’m NOT going to throw up. Basically giving myself a pep talk on the steps.
I don’t know how long I’ve been outdoors when Author shows up and gives me a cup of ice water. In that moment he was my knight and shining armor. He told me that he had called for a cab and told my roomie that we were heading out. Next thing I remember we pulled up in front of his house. He wants me to get out. I told him I needed five minutes to get my bearings. Everything was spinning, I just needed a few minutes.
He said that he needed me to get out.
He pulls me out. He is paying for the taxi. I’m standing by his house. My stomach gives me that lurched feeling. I then proceed to hurl all over his neighbors bushes. Oops. My aim wasn’t the greatest at this point. He rushes me inside hoping that NO ONE saw me christening the neighbors bushes. But he moved me too quickly. The quick motion did not go over well with my stomach again. I then hurled in his hallway. I bet he was wishing he gave me those five minutes now.
He drops me off in the bathroom. So he can clean up the evidence. Next thing I remember…
I wake up on a cool hard surface. I’m laying in the middle of the bathroom floor. I recognize the small white bathroom tiles that are surrounding me. While my head is very close to the toilet. Author walks in, all I see are his shoes. They were brown loafers. He’s talking to me, and I’m talking to his loafers. He is asking if I’m okay, and if I feel up to moving to the bed. His let me sleep on the floor for three hours. But if I moved to the bedroom he’d make me soup in the morning.
I feel like DEATH.
I moved. I couldn’t believe he wanted my puke body in his bed. But he did. He also got laid. So, I guess my disheveled look of death didn’t bother him. I called into work, claiming food poisoning. I stayed in his bed for a day and a half. He made me food. Then he asked me out of blue while we are cuddling, did I have hot dogs last night? I’m a little taken back. I replied, yes. He said he thought so, he spent part of the night cleaning up the chunks.
Caution: Some songs could awaken your inner stripper… Not to be confused with the Kraken