"Those were the days, my friends..."
by Dennis
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Monday, May 22, 2000
Saturday night was my son's bachelor party and they dragged "dear old Dad" along for the ride.
Before we went off to
Atlantic City and the casinos we went to a "Gentlemen's" club (I use
the
term
loosely) in Philadelphia.
I had never been to a
club
such as this and was not
prepared for the events. The women were gorgeous as they danced down
the
runway, did gymnastics on a brass fireman's pole and flirted for tips.
I was a
perfect gentleman sipping my diet coke and watching while the 25 year
old
friends of my son carried on while pouring liquor down my non-drinking
son's mouth.
Suddenly, the boys grabbed me and dragged me to another room where
there
was
a 40 foot long circular couch with women dancing in front of men. The
kids
had paid for me to have what is called a "couch dance." I have
honestly
never had
an experience like this in my entire life. I guess in some ways I'm a
little square.
A girl dances wearing little more than an postage stamp with sewing
thread around her waist
and nothing more. The girl who danced for me was drop dead beautiful.
She danced sensuously
for me and her perfumed scent was terrific. She had a sweet voice and
we
spoke at length
while she danced. She turned out to be 23 years old. She was younger
than my son.
Imagine now: the music is erotic, the girl undulating in front of me and I
sat there unaroused.
I remembered my younger days when the scent of a woman would bring me
to
attention
without hesitation. The slightest erotic touch would arouse me into a
frenzy.
Now here I am with more concentrated stimulation than any man could
dream of and
I got no physical response at all. What a shame. With that thought in
my mind, I then
reflected upon this strange turn of events and wondered if I should
take 100mg of Viagra and
come back in a hour. Maybe I should have brought my VED [vacuum erection device].
Well the
bottom line
was that after she finished I thanked her for her efforts and said
good-bye. Amazingly, I was able to
walk out of the room without carrying something like my book bag which
I
did in high school
in front of my pants to hide the bulge I would get from fantasizing
about about the girl who
sat just across from my desk in English class.
Ah, those were the days.
Regards,
Dennis
(who can be reached at houdini@home.com)
(reposted and email address included with permission)
[Images are for illustration only and do not represent those involved.]
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