The one and only time I saw male strippers live and in person was, I guess about 25 years ago. I went with a good friend from college who was single, and a group of her co-workers, who were also all single. Looking back, I'm not surprised that B used to tell me what a bad influence C. was on me. He always says that when I do something he doesn't approve of. Only nowadays he blames it on "those nasty websites you go to". What he can't seem to accept is that I do occasionally have my own thoughts.
Anyway, the club was in a part of the city known for its seedy bars and strip joints. The decor was early eighties cheap and flashy with one of those revolving mirrored disco balls in the middle of the ceiling. The predominant colors were pink and purple.
The thing I remember about the show was that I had a really hard time keeping my eyes on the action. I was so flustered at the idea of that many nearly-naked men all gathered in one place that I made it my business to look everywhere but the stage. I'm not a prude and I like the concept of naked men as well as the next person, but the reality of seven or eight sweaty men in dollar-bill-stuffed g-strings sent me into sensory overload. I think I was in permanent blush mode.
C. teased me all night about being brave and waving dollar bills in the air to catch one of the dancers' attention. "Come on, Mimi, what are you, chicken? Do it!" Absolutely not! Hand it to him with two fingers, maybe, but actually touch his g-string? I was hyperventilating, I'm sure. I sat and watched, and was more than happy to leave the dollar-waving to the others.
As the last dancer finished his performance he danced through the audience and of course all the rowdy drunken women went wild. The song was All Night Long by Lionel Richie. I remember he was very attractive, had a streaky blond mullet and a very nice body. And he smelled really really good. I know this because as he passed our table he hugged me. He asked me if I had a good time, and as he pulled away he winked at me. I think I said, "uh, yes...", and promptly wilted. I somehow managed not to slide onto the floor in a quivering puddle.
That night as I was getting ready for bed, I noticed that my sweater still carried the scent of his cologne. For a long time after that night, my secret thrill was taking that sweater out and holding it to my face and breathing deep.
I think I'll call C tonight, and see if she remembers that night.
