Bachelor’s Party

Over the weekend I went to a good friends Bachelor’s Party.

I’d have to say, it was the third best one I’ve attended. The first being the one I planned, of course. I thought laser tag with strippers was particularly inspired. The second best was the one were two strippers went down on each other while grinding all over the bridegroom’s face.
And this one was pretty good. We chartered a boat, and drank a lot of liquor out on the water. We ended up at a strip club, of course. I’ve been to a fair amount of strip clubs- not a lot mind you, but a fair amount. And, as I’ve gotten older I’ve had less and less fun at them. It’s to the point where I just don’t like going to them at all. In fact, after I was married I’ve been to maybe 2 strip clubs.

Getting all riled up by a naked woman in my lap has just lead to a great deal of frustration. I don’t deal well with that kind of frustration.

However, this night wasn’t about me, and since it was important to the Bridegroom that his friends were with him I went. And the club we ended up at was fairly upscale for this sort of thing. I’d say the breakdown was 5% smokin’ hot, 15% hot, 5% eeew, and the remainder falling into the middle. So the balance was in favor of good lookin’ women.

We put the Bridegroom out front, and took turns buying him lapdances. He was having a good time. We bought a lot of drinks too. And, after a few more drinks I bought a lapdance or two for myself. Hey, I’m in a strip club, I feel obligated to spend some money. I don’t want those ladies to feel rejected while standing around 3/4ths naked.

But for the most part, there wasn’t a woman there that really caught my eye. They were all too tall, too short, or in the case of one, their hands look like the hands of a 12 year-old girl.
That kinda creeped me out; having a woman bounce her breasts in my face with hands that look like they belonged on a girl.

And then I saw her. She had beautiful golden skin, even in the dark light of the club she shimmered. Her hair had just the slightest curl, and fell in a brown cascade over her shoulder and down her back. She looked as if she had just come from a day at the beach, glowing with the sun infused vigor that only youth has. She said her name was Emma. She dipped into the booth next to me, and we talked. We chitchat for a bit and I find out she’s from Hawaii. She prefers the mainland, and has been dancing professionally for about 4 years now. Her and two friends, Rayne and Isis, tour the country together working all the clubs in a city for a month or two before moving on.

I told her that my name was Eric; that I worked for Dell as a project engineer, and rent out half the house I own to one of the other guys in the party.

I figure if they get to create a stage identity, I should get to create a floor identity. It’s only fair.
And after a few minutes of that, she pushes me back into the booth and gets to work.
And it was the best lapdance I’ve ever had.

Her boobs pressed against my chest, her arms wrapped against my head, she ground her hips against my crotch. Her breath hot in my ear. You damn well better believe I was turned on. She knew how to work it. But despite that, despite the way crawled down my leg, dragging her body along every inch, all I could think about was how much I missed my wife in that moment. Not just a frustrated sexual want, but just a simple desire to see her. To be near her, to hear the sound of her laugh.

Emma ended the dance down on her knees between my legs with her head resting on my crotch, with my very hard cock going up the side of her face. She looked up at me, simulated sexual frenzy on her face, her hair spread out and spilling over my leg, and her hands pulling at my hips. She was good. Very good. We locked eyes.

And something behind her eyes changed. And for that silent moment we stare at each other.
Then she says, “Your wife is a very lucky woman.”

And I think, “you’re damn right I got a huge cock! It’s a two-hander, not no one-hand job here, sweetheart.”

She slides up and gives me a soft kiss on the cheek, her lips just touching my skin, then brushes the hair out of my eyes, takes the 20 and slips out into the crowd.

We finish the night as all good bachelor parties should end, at IHOP at 4:30 in the morning. I got the best thing on their menu; Quick Two Egg Breakfast. Pictures are available in my pictures section.

And, it’s not until Sunday night when all the guests are gone, the house is quiet, my wife and I are cuddled up next to each other. We’re holding hands under the covers, and I can hear her breath slowing down as she falls asleep. She snuggles up against my neck, running her nose just along my jaw line, and throws her leg over mine.

It’s this part about being married that I really love. That intimate moment, that silent moment of trust. When you know she is happy, happy in just being with you.

And just as I am about to fall asleep I think, “I never said I was married, and I wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. How the hell did she know I was married?”

Was it that obvious on my face? Or was it something else? Was it something behind my eyes, something that her four years of experience told her?

Maybe it’s not the sexual frustration that I don’t deal well with. Maybe it’s the fake intimacy. That maybe it’s the lack of real desire, or rather the only thing she cares about is my wallet- not me- that I don’t deal well with. The idea that I paid $20 for a woman to pretend that she’s become so overwhelmed with sexual desire for me that she has to rub her body against mine and it could be anyone is what really frustrates me.

And a person deserves more than inauthentic intimacy. We deserve more than the illusion of sex, the illusion of a private moment between two people who care for each other. The illusion that you are important to another person. Everyone deserves those quiet moments of trust. Those soft breaths, those smooth touches. Being important to another person.
And not pay for it.

We are worth more than $20. We are worth more than the value of our cash limit at the ATM. We are worth the time and attention of another person. Each of us deserves to be with someone who wants to be with us for who we are, not the contents of are wallets.
And then I thought, “does that mean I have a small cock now?”