"I'm going to hurt you."
I'm not really a strip club guy. I've made fewer than ten trips to such establishments in my lifetime and have not once had a lap dance during those ventures. The only lap dance I'd ever had was for my first bachelor party, way back in 1986. She was a petite blond with Shakira-like hip-wiggling skills. Suffice to say, she made an impression. I saw her a few months later on campus and was compelled to follow her, mute and dumbfounded, all the way through the quad.
So I felt like an amateur on a packed final-round leaderboard at The Masters when I wandered, child-like, into Las Vegas Scores on Thursday night with Pauly, Grubby and Pauly's longtime partner-in-crime, Senor. change100 was there, as well, and the Doctor's skillz at palm-greasing soon got us past the cover charge and into cushy seats around a well-positioned table. Before my ass even made an impression in the chair a skeletal Eastern European entertainer was in my ear, offering her services. That, or a promise to get Moose and Squirrel. I couldn't tell due to the thick accent, or maybe it was just her large, protruding front teeth that appeared as though she could eat corn on the cob through a picket fence. I convinced her to leave, with a little help from Senor, and tried to get comfortable.
It didn't work. I passed on another couple offers for dances (and word must've gotten around, because I was hardly propositioned the rest of the night). I dunno, twenty bucks for three minutes worth of hair fanning and crotch-kneeing isn't exactly something I see as a good cost-to-benefit ratio. Especially when a Newcastle was already running me $8 a pop.
I was, however, getting a kick out of the PA announcer and his patently lascivious attempts to drum up business. He had an Australian accent and his catch phrase was a clipped, "Nice. Idea." Cracks me up even now.
After a time, a well-appointed young lady came by with test tubes full of tequila, which I'll refuse almost never. And I didn't this time, either. Cost me $15 to first watch her deep-throat the test tube and then serve it to me from her mouth, followed by a quick slap and grind. Pretty good deal, relatively speaking.
At further risk of outing myself as a goof, I confess I thought the coolest performance of the evening was the guest dancer/acrobat from Cirque du Soliel. This brunette had amazing abs (though a little short on the upper deck) and she put on a couple brief shows, one with patchy, hairy chest guy and another with two magenta-hued strips of fabric hung from the ceiling. She as frickin' amazing with the spinning and the lifting and the posing.
All this time, the strippers were flocking to Pauly. He had the hardest-to-reach seat, the bottom of the 'u' in our semi-circle, but the man is a magnet. He turns strippers into bloodhounds. Every time I turned around, he had another female on his lap. And then every time I turned around, he had the same female on his lap: Nikki.
She was an exotic Eurasian mix with long black hair and flawless skin. Not a blemish on her anywhere that I could see. She danced a few songs for Pauly and left, only to come back again. She was a New Yorker and was digging her fellow East Coaster. I don't think Pauly minded much and she was soon dancing for him again. I had trained my focus elsewhere, but when I caught Nikki again out of the corner of my eye, I snapped to attention (not a euphemism...yet). Doc had sent her over to change100 and it was clear Nikki was enjoying her new assignment. I have to say, it was hot. Fingers were put into mouths and...well...I...unintelligible gurgling.
Transaction consummated, Nikki went off to wherever strippers go when they're not on Pauly's lap. It wouldn't be long, however. "You again?!?!" Pauly shouted when she re-took her customary seat. I chuckled, and as the laughter died away, she was standing in front of me, uttering the threat that led off this prurient post (and yes, I'm aware I've been traveling pretty exclusively on the indelicate side of the street lately). I blurted a surprised, "Okay," not having any idea what was planned. She moved in quick, without a map, not even pausing to gauge the terrain, and snapped her fingers down on my nipples, giving them a hard twist that brought both tears and memories of titty twisters on the 4th grade playground. "Ow!" I screamed in my head as she flung her silky hair in my face. She turned to show me her perfect backside and...man are my nipples on fire!...gyrating in a manner that would have pleased Martha Graham for its sheer beauty of movement...it burns!...flashing me a feline grin that hid a thousand secrets...it's like somebody took a belt sander to my chest!...as I tried, unsuccessfully, to hold her eyes to mine.
And it was over. Except for the burning. That lasted another 45 minutes.