Striptease

My sister decided to go out?!?!  She is far from someone that just goes out and drinks for the night.  It isn’t a bad quality; I have a lot of fun with her at our houses, playing cards or just hanging with the boys.  I felt I needed to jump at this particular opportunity to actually go out with her, but there was a catch in the evening.  My sister wanted to go to the Male Review at the local small town bar.

There are four bars in my town.  We have two stop lights and about five thousand people.  The bars are pretty segregated.  It reminds me of The Outsiders.  We have one bar for the preppy people, one for the middle class, another for the vets, and one for the diehard rednecks.  We joke about easily bar hopping in our tiny town in which even the wealthy are a little redneck; this only emphasizes the term “diehard rednecks.”

The RatTrap is the middle class bar, but on the night of the Male Review, women from every social class and every age were present.  When my sister and I arrived, the performance had already long begun.  The men had already redressed for at least a second time.  The women were wild.  Upon on our entrance and lame cover charge, another friend mentions that one of the strippers picked her up.  My sister and I laugh and find stools, so we can sit down with her and some of her friends.  I am not introduced to the girls, but as the night continues I know we could never be great chums.

At this time the strippers are dressed in various outfits, like the Village People: the policeman, the cowboy, and the construction worker.  One “man” in a sequined vest yelled into a microphone, “Ladies, what’s better than one dick?” pauses for effect and answers himself, “ Four dicks!”

The crowd goes wild, and the strippers  rip off their pants, exposing their undies.  One stripper has on a thong with an extra long, clearly fake, package hanging to mid thigh.  They start through the crowd, dancing with the women, dry humping people, tucking their thumbs into their boy shorts, and definitely driving the women crazy.

I am just taking the whole scene in.  One girl seems quite forced into allowing the stripper to kiss her neck.  While another girl was screaming in excitement as the stripper lifted his leg over her shoulder. Another girl was desperately trying to back up as the cowboy stripper, only donned with a cowboy hat and boy shorts now, shook his ass in her face.  When I look to my left, I see the thong stripper who now definitely reminds me of Mr. Clean with his bald head and tiny gold hoop earrings (side note: his beer gut was unlike Mr. Clean’s).  Mr. Clean proceeds to pick up a small girl a few tables away and lift her to his shoulders.  Then in the midst of the whole sight he rubs his entire face in her crotch!

I ask our friend, “When they picked you up, is that what they did to you?”

She nodded, “I didn’t see what you saw, but I am sure it was the same thing.  They caught me off guard.” She shrugs in acceptance of the embarrassment she had to face.  I could tell she would be paying better attention from now on.

At that point, only ten feet away from this poor forsaken girl, I knew I had to get away.  The strippers were converging on me like wolves from all sides.  Knowing I could be the weak link and not sure that I could get away without resorting to violence, I instantly move to the door, away from my sister and the other girls.  One of the other girls was now spread eagle by unidentified stripper that had lost all of his accessories.

I leave just in time because Mr. Clean is coming to the girls directly in front of our group.  I learn later that he actually pulls one girl’s hair at the table.  Her BFF, in tight white shorts and a flowering busty tank top, jumped up in her defense ready to throw down, but the stripper was smarter than that.  He moved onto our group.  This was when my sister joined me at the door.  The one friend there who had already been molested darted through the girls around her that she knew, skirting any contact with the strippers.

We are safe for the moment.  My sister is trying to snap pictures of a stripper rubbing his junk in a girl’s face.  She seems to be enjoying it since she is grabbing his ass.  We order drinks, safe at the bar, near the door.

Now the stripper has moved onto dry humping the next girl in my very old group of associates.  My sister and I start our trash talking instantly, checking this guy out.  We can be pretty funny when we want to be…maybe a little mean, but funny.  Harmless…  Anyhow, we don’t have a lot of work we need to do more than observing him.  His shaved legs, tattoos, boy shorts…..and the hunting boots do it all on their own.  He grabs the girl’s ass, as his stripper’s friend tucks his thumbs in his shorts revealing his plumber crack.  Some of these girls are wild.  We are the only ones hiding at the pool tables and the bar.

But wait, I am wrong.  The dance floor is packed with girls, while all the strippers are parading themselves through the audience.  After a quick snippet of “Humpety Dump,” the dance floor clears and the men begin to sell tickets for their undies.  Who wants some stripper’s sweaty nasty boxers?

The doorman tells me that I can get my own ticket for $2.  I explain that they couldn’t pay me to take a ticket.

Soon numbers are called and the lucky women are rewarded with the experience of dirty dancing with each stripper, removing their tight boxers, revealing again the boy shorts and Mr. Clean’s thong.  What’s worse than winning the men’s underwear?  Having to remove them in front of 100 screaming girls!

The show is clearly winding down.  The strippers complete one more circle around the room for last minute tips and good-byes.  I am positive some numbers are traded.  Heck, Mr. Clean just gets dressed and hangs out for the rest of the evening.

A girl who won a goodie bag from the local sex shop stops by the doorman.  Pulling a box from her bag, she smiles at my sister and I. “I just won my very first dildo!” she exclaims.

My sister inquires if that is really true.

“I have always just needed these,” she says as she shakes her fingers in the air.

We all laugh.  Someone tells her she will never go back, and we laugh louder.

The night was supposed to be funny.  I was sure that we would spend the evening laughing with our new friends and AT the strippers.  I guess I was surprised that we were only a few of the people there for that purpose.  Some of the girls had every intention of enjoying the erotic evening with Mr. Clean and his friends.  I had no idea that I would be fearing for my life, clinging to my sister for strength in numbers.

As the bar clears out, literally all the town’s players shuffle in trying to get the last of the horny girls.  The night continues with my sister and me.  Of course, most of the topics discussed are off topic of this particular blog; another time if you’re lucky. For now, my sister and I are much closer and probably should have a monthly outing minus the nasty strippers.

Pinch Me, I Love You

I haven’t written for awhile, but this isn’t a late blog, I didn’t mean to submit this months ago.  This incident just happened this past weekend.  I don’t know how things like this happen to me.  I can’t be totally innocent; it isn’t a coincidence that bad dating situations follow me.  If I knew how to stop the insanity, I definitely would.  I thought I took a break from guys three months ago.  Isn’t that like being on base in tag?

The Dumbass mentioned in “The Deed is Done,” and other blogs before it, finally ran into me last night at the local pub, three months later.  Upon his arrival last night, I repositioned my chair so that maybe I could avoid him a bit longer.  It even worked for a bit.  Some boys have this tunnel vision that stops them from checking out their surroundings.  Whereas, I believe, girls like to take an immediate inventory of the room to attempt to foresee and solve any possible problems, perhaps that bitch from high school is lingering around or that old boyfriend or, in my case, the guy that wouldn’t leave might be hanging around.

Of course, I decide to finish my drink and move to the pub next door to solve any issues.  My Best Friend for the Night, BFFN, without hesitation understands our predicament.  Successfully, I hide while our drinks our finished, I say my good-byes to others, making my presence known, and head for the door assuming I could just maybe avoid the problem altogether.  I am naïve.  I know this.  Before my exit, he makes a comment about me not talking to him immediately; still I think I could be safe.  I am happy to switch locales.

Entering the other bar, we scope out the surrounding, greet a few acquaintances, and find a seat. It is less than thirty minutes, and everyone from the other bar has moved to this one, the downfall of a small town.   As soon as we split up for the purpose of the bathroom, Dumbass is instantly hovering over my table.  Not caring for formalities or friendliness (it has been three months since we have even spoke), he jumps to why I would break up with someone like him.  He tells me, “I know you think you can do better than me, but have you changed your mind?”

I did use every excuse known to man when I broke up with Dumbass after barely two dates.  I told him it was me not him, I told him we lacked passion, I told him I was out of a bad relationship and needed time, I told him I liked his buddy more than him, and I told him it was just not going to work out.  Hasn’t anyone read He’s Just Not That Into You.  People make up harmless reasons to be polite.  In reality, I never could get myself to find any entertainment in kissing him; I did not specifically tell him this.  By the end of our second date I was dreading his puffy vacuum suction lips like my boss avoids buying clothes in her actual size. As I attempted to dissolve this dating drama, he retorts every excuse I offered.   In his defense, I did start with a couple “let him down” easy reasons; still I moved through the real reasons and made up some for good measure.  Know a good reason to stop dating someone after the second date?  I used it.  It didn’t matter.

This particular night, he is ranting on about how I am wrong, and we could be good together, wink, wink. Doesn’t the Bible state something about winking being a sign of the devil?  I believe it.  After listening to his diatribe for the millionth time I have ceased to state anything but the truth.  He soon parts but clearly stays nearby.

He hugs some girl and looks in our direction.  He orders a drink and looks in our direction.  He laughs like the big fat Santa he is and looks in our direction.  I was good at dodging his “look-at-me” moments.  I really did not care.  It was just that they were not short little glances.  I could feel them burning into me.

Personally, I was having a humorous time making friends with a townie with a mullet. Tucker was actually quite interesting.  My BFFN and I met him earlier in a pool game.  Unfortunately, he was forced to leave to order to maintain a restraining order his ex-wife placed on him.  He really wasn’t being disrespectful and insane, just friendly.  Knowingly we were still on alert.

After Dumbass realizes that I am an absent audience to his bizarre mating ritual, he begins to have an insane stare down challenge.  It is too much for me to withstand that I have to look up.  Ignoring him, I return to my conversation and BAM!  He has rocketed over, crouched down like a charging bull without horns.  Nothing has changed from his stare; the same sinister stare from six feet away, only now inches from my face.  I back up to the wall, shocked.  “You don’t know what you are missing!” he taunts.

“I guess so,” I flatly state, “I’m okay with that.”  He darts away after brushing four jazz fingers over my shoulder.

My friend and I are a bit flabbergasted.  All the same, the night continues.  We visit with random people and soon Tucker returns.  Tucker explains that his wife now has come over to this bar, but he is not leaving.  He doesn’t care what she says.  My BFFN and I agree that she is following him and giggle.   Mistakenly, I decide to share our experience with Jeff with him.  He immediately transform into Head Bouncer and personal bodyguard.

Now, I have only just met Tucker.  I don’t know him all that well.  Nevertheless, Tucker is an inch shorter than me, sadly thirty pounds lighter.  He is trapped in 1988.  I could beat him up without much effort.  He is hardly someone to pick for a bodyguard.  Dumbass could be easily four times his size for sure.  My BFFN and I make a feeble attempt to stop him, but he has already crossed a river of people and is standing behind Dumbass making small talk.  However from our point of view very little happens.

The night continues.  Friends continue to pack the bar.  At least forty minutes have passed; we are having a fantastic time.  Ironically, Tucker’s ex-wife comes to warn my BFFN about Tucker’s cheating issues.  My BFFN insists that we are only Tucker’s friends.  It isn’t long before Tucker has returned, and we can see his ex-wife making gagging motions behind us.  We try to contain our laughter (who needs to get in the middle of redneck spousal abuse, she probably could take Tucker, too) when Dumbass has stared me down literally into the wall behind me.  None of us even saw him coming.  He has been apparently perfecting the stealth of a fat ninja.  He looks in my face as hard as he can. Tucker puts his hand on Dumbass’s back.

“I can’t believe you!  Now I won’t get to come to your dad’s party this year.  He invites me every year,” he sneers.

“I am sure I won’t ruin your invite,” I state knowing my dad’s memory of such trivial things.  He invites everyone in town to his yearly July Fourth Party.  I am also in my mid-thirties, so I am pretty sure I have little to say about my father’s guest list.

Dumbass shoots behind my chair and instantly begins to knead my shoulders.  It is a Monica Geller back massage, the best worst massage in the world.  I dodge away from his hold.  Again, he leans in towards my face and mocks scornfully, “You just don’t understand.”  Then he pinches me.  That’s right!  The forty-year old vacuum sucker from hell pinches me.  Not just a playful pinch, a pinch so hard with a twist on the end.

“What the hell?” I screamed, “Get off me!”  He departs, and I rub my arm sure there will be a mark in the morning.

I teach middle school.  Please tell me that adults do not act like this for real.  I can’t remember the last time I was so violently pinched, maybe fourth grade by my brother.  Holy Cow!  Is this supposed to make me change my mind about dating him?  The only thing it made me do is want to change my phone number.  People wonder why I don’t care to marry.