“Well, you shouldn’t be wearing them for toolong then.”
Emily nods zealously in agreement. I thinkshe likes the shock value of her headband a little too much.
It’s early May, so the temperature in thecity is comfortable. No one needs jackets or scarves or pants, andI think even underwear is optional. As the line behind us growsrapidly the bouncer finally gives the okay to go inside. I’mbouncing in my shoes trying to muster enough nerve to actually walkthrough the door. I’m a little out of my element here. We file inone behind the other, all walking carefully down the dark stairwellin our designer heels, making our way into the club’s privateroom.
The room is dark but not cold; there areblack leather couches and coffee tables spread out in front of asmall stage that’s maybe a foot off the ground. Very intimate, veryclose andverypersonal. We all sit down on an L-shaped sofato the right of the stage, and a few moments later someone ispopping open a bottle of champagne and handing out plastic cupswith pink bubbly liquid in it. I’m suddenly all nerves as therealization of what’s about to happen kicks in. I gulp thechampagne; I don’t think I am going to like this one bit. I glancearound anxiously at all the excited women in the room. A few havesashes or tiaras that say bachelorette or birthday girl. Emily fitsright in with her headband. She seems relaxed; I think I’d behyperventilating knowing some guy is going be grinding all over mein a few minutes.
I take another sip of champagne.
I watch the bartenders as they mix drinksbehind the bar, hear the muted conversations of the girls around meand feel the temperature rise as the room fills to capacity.
What the hell am I doing?Just beforeI get up to go get some air, a smooth male voice washes over thecrowd. “Ladies, ladies, ladies,” the MC announces.Shit.He’s short, with caramel colored skin and big green eyes; veryhandsome and very charismatic. He introduces himself as Hugo,walking back and forth across the stage like he owns it. He tells afew dirty jokes to warm up the crowd, some of the women firing backfueling his raunchy lip service. “Okay my fine females, this iswhat’s going to happen,” he says with a tantalizing edge to histone. “There will be a group performance and then private dances,and then one on one time, where,” he smiles wickedly, “you get tomingle with all the fellas.”
I really think I need a cigarette.
Hugo tosses the mic to someone on the side ofthe stage then disappears behind a door to the left that’s barelynoticeable. It’s been painted black to blend in with the wall. TheDJ pumps a hard core club mix of Rihanna’sRude Boy, whilesmoke blows over us from different corners of the room, it’s coldand smells bitter. Then that little back door swings open and fourmen with no shirts, ripped bodies, and black tuxedo pants file out,bumping to the music. The room goes absolutely berserk. Women startscreaming, bouncing up and down and waiving dollar bills over theirheads as the four guys bump and grind and hump around the stage ina sexed up routine. They’re hot, there’s no denying it, but I can’thelp but wonder how anyone can do this? Don’t they feel like a slabof raw meat?
When the Chippendales’ demonstration is done,the dancers disappear into the camouflaged door, leaving the crowdhot and bothered and apparently ready for more. The lady sitting infront of us is actually panting.Really?
I glance at Emily as Hugo reappears. It lookslike she’s really getting into this, which I’m silently thankfulfor. Emily’s not a prude by any means, but I think even this coulddefinitely push her limits. It’s certainly pushing mine, and I’mjust watching.
Hugo calls the first bachelorette onto thestage. Lila, I think her name is. She’s a cute young girl, almostinnocent looking. She’s wearing a tiara and a pink sash that saysbachelorette. Her fake blond hair is loose with curls and she hason a white button up shirt and jeans. Not very club couture, butwhatever. Her entire party is called up on stage with her, and Hugoinstructs them to decorate her body with dollar bills. The groupsticks money where ever they can, in her pants pockets, between thebuttons of her shirt, in her collar and under her sash; she lookslike a walking ATM by the time they’re done. Then Lila sits down ona folding chair on stage. The DJ hits the music again, a fastversion of Sean Paul’sTemperaturepumps through thespeakers as a guy dressed in a cop’s uniform explodes onto thestage, all high energy and sexual, popping his body as he jumpsright in front of Lila. He looks legit in his navy blue uniform,aviator sunglasses and officers cap. Sergeant Striptease wastes notime working it; he gets right in Lila’s face, bumping his junk tothe rhythm of the music.
I can’t believe I’m watching this, Ithink as I down more champagne.
He rips his shirt off displaying his definedchest and six pack abs, then he straddles Lila with his facetowards the crowd, taking her hands he runs them down his front,over his pecs, stomach and hips. His skin glistens under the stagelights.
I’m not really sure what’s more shocking, thestage show or the reaction it’s getting. Women are bouncingexuberantly on the leather seats, shrieking and clapping almostlike a bomb went off.
Sergeant Striptease then stands Lila up andrubs himself all over her; moving up and down against her body,grabbing the dollar bills out of her shirt with his teeth. Lilalaughs nervously as she holds on to him by his very nice shoulders.Very, nice shoulders. Then he does something that takeseveryone, especially Lila, by surprise. He grabs her waist andflips her upside down, her crotch ending up right in his face. Heslashes his tongue between her legs, causing most of the women inthe room to scream.
Like, bloodcurdling screams.
I’m not even capable of an auditory response;my vocal cords have shorted out and my jaw has dropped to thefloor.
Raunch-y.
Then he puts her down and whispers in herear, she nods back at him with a smile; her eyes wide and alight.He sits her back down in the chair and proceeds to take off therest of his clothes, which is actually just a quick tug of hispants. All he has on underneath is a black g-string with, holyshit,tasselscovering his penis. Where do you even find aget up like that? He does one more bump and grind on Lila,practically naked, and then the show is over.
Emily looks over at me. Her eyebrows liftedhigh - like she can’t believe what she just witnessed.
“Yeah girl, that’s all you,” I yell to herover the music and she laughs.
I wonder how much laughing she’s going to dowhen it’s her on that stage.
Hugo reappears, announcing the next girl,Holly, and she looks absolutely petrified. She too, has blondehair, but I think it’s natural; no dark roots. She’s wearing awhite eyelet dress and fresh faced makeup. She looks almostvirginal and I feel sorry for her already.
Holly sits in the folding chair, woundtighter than a spring and littered with dollar bills all over herbody. I couldn’t do it. I could never sit up there and have someguy I don’t know hump all over me. It would just feel wrong. Forme. I admire the other women in the room who are rearing to go.Maybe I am a prude?
The lights dim as Holly sits alone on thestage, but no one comes out the camouflaged door. There’s lowhaunting music playing and smoke curling up from the floor. Then Inotice Holly’s face. She’s gone pale. Everyone turns around to seewhat she’s looking at. And there, sauntering toward the stage is aguy dressed in black leather pants and a mask covering his wholehead, a whip in his hand.
Holy BDSM.
“Ladies, the Dominator,” Hugo announces andHolly absolutely shits. I can’t say I blame her. All I want to dois run up there and rescue her.
The Dominator gets onto the stage and startsdoing a seductive dance over Holly, grabbing her hair and yankingher head back as he straddles her with his mask on.
My mind goes numb as I watch; it feels likean out of body experience, it’s so far out of my sexual scope ofunderstanding. The Dominator then pulls Holly to her feet, bendsher over and starts smacking her ass, hard. Then he mercilesslypumps her from behind and I have to look away.