Thursday, April 06, 2006

3 Eroticas: The Club

In the end, it was a girl who asked for us.

We had four guys – me included – and none of us had the stones to go and just ask where the nearest strip club was. FC – always brave and impulsive- asked a coupla guys standing outside a pub smoking. A 15-minute walk later, we were paying the cover charge.

The club was actually pretty nice, one of those modern retro type setups. Whoever commissioned the work had some taste. The girls danced on a stage that was lit from the bottom, kinda like a glowing runway. We bought a jug of beer and sat down.

Three girls came out, but I only remember one.
I remember her because she looked nice.

I don’t mean hot, though she was definitely that. Her body wasn’t gym-toned. It was more curvy. And I don’t know why, but it surprised me that her breasts were real. So yeah, she was hot. But that’s not what I meant.
I remember her cos she was nice.
Now I’m sure she’s met every single guy you can think of, knows every angle that can be played, so I’m not implying Julia Roberts-in-Pretty-Woman-heart-of-gold type stuff.

I meant that she didn’t seem like she wanted to strip for you. You felt more like she wanted to talk to you first. That if you wanted to, she’d pack up and meet you downstairs for coffee. Just give her 10 minutes ok? Oh my God, you like Alice Sebold too? That’s awesome!

There was this one guy, whom she straddled – yup, beautiful girl in a thong, right on your lap – who was completely in love with her. She used her hands, but not like you see in the movies. She swept back his hair, held his face. She didn’t turn round and reverse-cowboy him, or grind her hips like some Missy Elliot video.
She was a girlfriend.
And when she lifted herself off, I’ll bet you it felt like she was just going to the ladies. Or to get a drink. “I’m gonna come back ok? Just wait for me.”

And then she was in front of me.

Ever been to a show where the person on stage goes ‘I need a volunteer’ and then their eyes lock on you? That’s how it felt like. Her eyes volunteered me. She knelt on that runway with her back facing me. As she unhooked her bra, she turned to look at me and it felt like the most private thing in the world. Like third-base private. Like a girl showing herself to you for the first time private. She raised herself on her knees. Then the thong came down.

She knelt down a girl, but stood up a woman. Walking towards me as naked as birth, she then sat down on the edge of the stage where I was. She inched forward and all my seen-one-seen-em-all cover was blown away. All this girl did was move six inches closer and I turned into a little boy.

Then a wad of blue paper hit her face.

“I give you money! You fuck my friend!”

Some. Complete. ASSHOLE was getting in her face and making thrusting motions with his hips. He moved into our space for like, a second and that was it. We didn’t see him anymore. Two guards appeared from thin air or hyperspace or threw off their invisibility cloaks or whatever (cos they sure as fuck weren’t there before) and just yanked him out.

After that, we were so embarrassed we left.

She’d moved on.
She sat with her legs wide, one hand on the customer’s shoulder to steady herself, the other to sweep back her own red hair behind her left ear.
The woman she was sitting on glanced at me for a moment before the stripper gently turned her face back towards her.

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