Knocked Candy Right Out of My Hand

Alcohol and strippers...what's not to like?

     When I was separated from my first wife, my best friend took it upon himself to be my life coach. His new responsibilities involved a lot of drinking and occasionally discussing how bad I had it because, for once, my life was more fucked up that his. Anyway, one of our therapy sessions ended up at the strip club and we were sitting at the bar taking in the local flavor. At this particular fine establishment the strippers do their thing on the various stages scattered around the room then they actually walk on the bar carefully stepping between drinks to dance right in front of you. I’m a big supporter of single moms so I’m giving each of them a couple bucks when I see this tall blonde take the stage nearest us. She is all legs and a perfect a*s but as flat chested as a twelve year old boy. As she’s stripping she keeps looking over at me which Kert has to point out because I’m too busy looking at her legs and a*s. After she finishes on the stage she walks along the bar past ten or twelve other guys and stops right in front of me. Kert and I, simultaneously, under our breath, “Holy s**t”. She starts dancing and is all eye contact with me. I go to give her a couple bucks and she tells me to keep my money. As she finishes dancing she kisses her hand, brushes my cheek and walks away. OK, I’m not new to this. I’ve been to a couple strip clubs in my day. I’m not naive to the ways of the stripper and how a fool and his money are soon parted. Never the less, I’m sitting there with boner a cat couldn’t scratch. After she walks away, it’s high fives all around. I’m suddenly the star of the north end of the bar. The guys next to us. The guys sitting behind us. Everyone is like, “Wow, did you see that?” Yes, I saw it. Her cooch was right in my face for God’s sake how could I miss it?

     The excitement dies down, so to speak, and Kert and I are sitting around shooting the s**t when I catch a glimpse of her from across the room. She is standing on the floor talking to someone and catches me looking her way. She smiles, I smile and here she comes. Kert and I, simultaneously, under our breath, “Holy s**t”. She walks over, puts her arm around my shoulder and asks if she can buy me a drink. I make some lame comment about how that should be my line as she settles into the seat to my left. As we make small talk I notice she is a little older than most of the other girls in the club maybe late twenties, pretty, clear blue eyes with soft features. She doesn’t look like she has worked at the club very long. Actually she doesn’t seem like stripper material at all; intelligent, articulate, good sense of humor. What is she doing here? Recently divorced, two kids and laid off from her regular job, that’s what she’s doing here. She averages $500 a night, claims $200 and only works three nights a week. Not bad if you can tolerate the occasional stray hand or the guy who thinks you’re going to have sex with him because he gave you a $20 tip. I tell her my sob story, she tells me her sob story and we have a few more drinks. She’s irritated each time a big burly guy in the black polo stops by to tell her it’s her turn on the stage. She does her thing and comes right back. I ask her if she is going to get in trouble sitting with me instead of working the room. She smiles, looks me straight in the eye and says, “I’m sitting here with you because I want to sit here with you. Do you understand?” All I want to understand is that a hot chick in a powder blue bikini is sitting next to me, buying me drinks and maybe…just maybe.

      As the drinks flow, conversation naturally turns to sex because, let’s face it, we’re in a strip joint and she’s half naked. She asks me what am I doing here since I look as out of place as she does. I tell her it’s a slow night because my trapeze is broken and my monkey is sick. I get a big laugh. Wow, I just came up with a line a stripper hasn’t heard before. I’m batting a thousand. She tells me what she likes. I tell her what I like. She tells me what she doesn’t like. I can’t think of anything I don’t like and so on. It’s getting late and she makes me promise one thing, I have to have her home by 8am. “And this one belongs to the Reds!” suddenly goes through my mind.

      The club is closing, she has to change and then we can head over to my place. Little did I know Kert was listening the whole time. As she walks away to change clothes he turns and says “What the hell are you doing?” “What am I doing? I’m going to bang the s**t out of a stripper. That’s what I’m doing.” He then starts to tell me I’m making a big mistake and how I said I wanted to get back with my wife and this is not going to help and how he can’t let me do this and on and on. I look at him like he is from another planet and walk away to take a piss. I come back, she’s back and he’s sitting next to her at the bar burning her ear off. She gets up without even looking at me and walks out the door. “What the f**k is your problem? What did you say to her?” He said he told her the same thing he said to me and he kept repeating that I would thank him some day. Well, as it turned out, I ended up getting divorced anyway. To this day I still hear, “By the way, I’m really sorry about the stripper thing.”