The club didn't have a license to sell alcohol but we were allowed to bring it in so we each carried a bottle of something or other. The girls danced, eventually fully nude, and then had to wipe down the poles themselves with disinfectant before the next girl got on stage. This made me sad since it just seemed extra degrading. Couldn't a designated pole cleaner come on stage and wipe it down? Usually I would comment about this demeaning state of affairs but not tonight. Tonight I wasn't a conscientious woman wondering about these girls and their messed-up childhoods. Tonight I was one of the guys participating in a long-standing bachelor party tradition. Some of the strippers were smokin' hot, others not so much. A few C-section scars were visible as well as lots of bruises, faded butterfly tattoos and bad boob jobs, but nothing was going to thwart me from shoving bills into g-strings. Lap dances were being bought by the baker's dozen so it only made sense that I get one too. I picked a pretty little blond named Treasure. The best stripper name ever.
Treasure smelled like baby powder and strawberries, had a firm body and was fully waxed. The champagne room was set up with booths and partitions, giving the illusion of privacy, but really anyone who craned his head could see everything going on. Over the course of the 48 hours I had convinced myself I was one of the guys but regardless of my steak eating, cigar smoking and poker playing, I was very much still a girl with long red hair, lipstick and high heels. Unbeknownst to me all the guys were hyper aware of this and they all watched me get my lap dance.
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The song started. Treasure dripped over me, caressed me, and dragged her knee in between my legs. I felt the distinct notion that if I put a little effort in to it, and Treasure continued to do exactly what she was doing, I could actually have an orgasm. But that would be crazy! Getting a happy ending in public at a strip club would be insane! Right? Treasure, as conscientious as she was, sensed that she wasn't far away from fully satisfying her customer so she continued the knee action, slowly and softly. My breath quickened and I whispered to her, "Oh my God, I could come." And she whispered, lips glossy and full, "That’s the idea."
I made a decision then and there in that disgusting Atlantic City strip club booth to let go of any and all restraints good society had placed upon me. All weekend I’d been trying my hardest to fit in at a bachelor party and "finishing" at a strip club is as stereotypically male as you can get. So I let go, and let Treasure do her thing. She was extremely talented. Happy Ending Massage For Women: One Woman's Tale
To the amazement of everyone in the room, including me, I got a full on happy ending, something none of the other 27 bachelor party participants were lucky enough to get. The last five holdouts admitted to Josh that I might be the coolest chick ever. I manned up, even more than the men, and the irony was lost on no one. Well, maybe on Treasure, just a little bit.
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