A Year to Remember(40)

I hadn’t had so much fun in ages.

Then, feeling bad for their single friend, my horny cohorts ordered me a lap dance. He came to the table dressed as a marine, reminiscent of Richard Gere from An Officer and a Gentleman.

Uncomfortable, I babbled incessantly as he led me to the private backroom. I did not feel like Debra Winger. I felt sort of creepy, especially as my babbling led me to ask him his age and I discovered he was only nineteen. I could have been his babysitter.

I sat completely still as I watched him gyrate and thrust his hips in a feeble attempt to simulate sex. I didn’t know the proper etiquette of private lap dances. Should I watch him hungrily as though he turned me on? Should I watch with detached indifference? What should I do with my hands? Did he expect to be groped, or was that against the rules? I chose detached indifference, pretending to be watching a clinical demonstration of exotic dancing, which is how it actually felt.

I almost stopped to lecture him on the degradation of stripping, but I held my tongue. After all, how could I lecture him when I’d spent twenty dollars for the privilege of admission? Then, my friends spent another forty dollars on the lap dance, not including the tip I’d have to give him. Let’s face it, if he’s stripping, he must need the money pretty desperately. Otherwise, why would anyone take their clothes off for money?

When he completed his dance, I thanked him and realized my face had grown hot despite trying to stay disinterested. I started to think that if a nineteen-year-old boy could get me hot, then I definitely needed to get laid sooner than later.

Even though I really liked Caleb, I fantasized about having raunchy and erotic sex with Ryan. Despite what I had said to Missy, the cold showers didn’t always work. Sometimes, I had to bring myself to orgasm to get some sleep after being with Ryan. My fantasy always started the same. He’d tell me he just had to taste me and not give me a chance to say no before removing my jeans and panties and going down on me. I think I always included the part about him not allowing me to protest, so I wouldn’t feel guilty about not fantasizing about Caleb.

Maybe I had come to a decision.

Here, in a strip club.

Or, maybe not.

An hour after my lap dance, one of the strippers brought Jill onto the stage to serenade her. He placed her in a chair, put a veil on her head, and handed her a bouquet of flowers similar to the one Ryan brought on our first date. I was sure it was just a coincidence. After all, I know practically zilch about flowers. If I touch a flower, it dies within twenty-four hours. Still, something about those flowers nagged at me until an anticipatory dread seeped into my bones and I started to feel a little bit nauseous.



The one stripper welcomed the rest of the performers to join him on the stage to sing and dance for Jill. The men danced out onto the stage wearing nothing but their smiles as they surrounded Jill, and the women in the club went crazy. I must be going crazy, too, because I could have sworn one of those men was my Ryan.

Bartender, my ass!

No wonder he always paid in cash!

My face must have given my shock away because Missy mouthed the word “what?” to me. I couldn’t talk. I just shook my head back and forth in denial. She followed my gaze and, sure enough, recognized Ryan, too. At least she confirmed I wasn’t going insane.

She gave him a once over. “No wonder you can’t keep your hands off of him! I’m gay, but man, what a body!” she yelled.

Luckily, it was so loud in the club our friends didn’t hear her comment. I didn’t want my friends to know I was dating a stripper. Especially since I didn’t know I was dating a stripper until two minutes ago.

At first, I felt betrayed by his omission to tell me about his job. After all, I was the one who believed that your job doesn’t define you. He should have trusted me, rather than assume I wouldn’t date him if I found out he was a stripper.

Then I realized he was right, because I never would have continued to date him once he’d told me the truth. When was he going to tell me? After we decided to date exclusively? Engaged? Married? Or was he going to hope I never discovered how he made his money?

I ran off to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. Missy followed me and held my hair back to avoid getting it soiled. After I rinsed out my mouth with some water and sprayed some Binaca in it, Missy gave me a hug and I cried.

“I’m sorry, hon.”

“At least I don’t have to make the decision anymore.” I laughed, then started hiccupping.

“Do you want to leave? I can go get your coat and meet you out front if you want,” she suggested.

No, I didn’t want to leave just yet. I needed to talk to Ryan first, and I knew just the way to do it.