Strippers

This one time a stripper showed me something that I thought was cool. Wait, scratch that. A stripper annoyed the shit out of me until I admitted that something was cool.

Alright, this isn't a crazy stripper story, but if I may, let me tell you a crazy stripper story that has nothing to do with my stripper story. My friend Ben is a degenerate. A lovable one. I mean that in the best way possible.

Ben has a ritual that dates back to I don't know when, but in my mind it's eternal. Every Christmas eve, Ben and his close friends in a small town outside of Dallas take a trip to Showcase II. No one knows where Showcase I went, but no one really ask. Ben's mom tells the boys to have a good time and slips Ben a $20 bill. Thanks Mom.

This time was different. The strippers and good time sleaze filled the room like it usually does. You sit in a stained, velvet chair with high sides that sits low to the ground. A small round table completes a circle of similar chairs and that's where you set your overpriced drinks. Ben had been drinking fire water, a regular libation in our circles. An incognito flask slipped in a back pocket provided fuel to the night's debauchery. Safety first kids. Amongst the neon g-strings, the botched boob jobs and the hairspray their was something different. A stirring among the herd of men being petted by the women past their prime and way past their wild steak.

She walked with a swagger that comes with knowledge. Knowledge that inherently knows she has something to offer. Ben sat in his chair laughing and drinking in the women around him when she stepped in front of him. Her nipples stuck like long pencil erasers. With a darkened tint, they promised something different.

Placing the darkened nipples in front of Ben's face she asked him if he was thirsty, and then squeezed her breast at to a point. A white liquid splashed Ben in the eye and a look of surprise and helplessness filled Ben's face.

A stripper had blasted my friend Ben in the face with human milk. That's pretty fucked.

Somehow I think my story's worse. I came into the strip club Ecstasy worse for wear. I had consumed alcohol to a point where things were fuzzy and my friend Clayton goading me into the titty bar. We sit next to the stage and buy the pricey Buds. I curly haired blond is dancing behind me, but my mind is fuzzed off of earlier beers. I give her a couple of dollars and she smiles. "Hey, you seem cool. I'm about to be done, let me show you something."

Uh, whatever. After her show she bounces off of the stage and bounds into the stripper convalescence. She comes back with a magazine called Vice. Mind you this is 2002 and I was not learned. She ecstatically shows me the "Do's and Don'ts" section of the magazine and wonders why I don't laugh hysterically. Why? A stripper show's me a do's and don'ts and how can I not laugh. Later, she's ask for a lap dance and I decline. She tells me to fuck off and I laugh. Then she half heartedly takes it back.

Thanks stripper for showing me that. Thanks.