More than a few years ago when I was a senior in college, my best friend Jan and I were live-in cooks at a fraternity house. One of the members, John, was from my hometown, and his parents were friends of my family. He facilitated my getting the cook job, and I brought Jan along as my roommate and "sous chef." We had a separate apartment in the house's walk-out basement with our own private entrance. For our fledgling culinary skills and kitchen work, we received free rent, meals, and a small salary to boot. Not a bad deal compared to most part-time student jobs.
In the past they'd hired older, often retired women to do the cook's job, so having two college-age young women was new territory for all. One of the initial agreements the fraternity brothers made with us was that we couldn't date one another. This was to avoid an inevitable bad break-up leaving them high and dry at subsequent meal times. It also made good sense to Jan and me to avoid potential unplanned unemployment and eviction.
This didn't mean we didn't get to be good friends in a platonic sort of way. Many of the guys would come to us for advice or shoulders to cry on where the "house mother" seemed too old to fully understand their situations. As we got to know them better, we became their trusted advisors on relationships with the young women in their lives. We were kind of like their personal Dear Abby and Ann Landers. We also did some socializing and barhopping with a half dozen or so of the fraternity guys. Jan and I liked partying and drinking beer, and I even smoked occasionally back when it was less taboo. Boys being boys, a number of our closest friends in the house liked to go to one of the topless bars at a small town just south of our university community, especially on Thursday nights.
Thursdays were amateur nights, where women in the audience could get up on stage and dance for a chance at $250 to win, $100 for 2nd place or $50 just for entering. The state law at that time allowed topless dancing in bars, but not exposure of the goods below the waist. The guys would ask Jan and me to join them every Thursday and strongly suggest that if either of us would enter the contest we'd have a great chance at winning $250, and the other the $100 for second place. They assured us their cheering alone would put us in the money. We took this banter as just the good natured yet titillating teasing it was. Being good sports and the strong-willed women we were, Jan and I would often opt for going along with the gang.
The bar, Big Jim's, was a definite cut above most "titty-bars" and didn't allow too much funny business with the dancers, and even less with the amateurs. They demanded spectators respect all the dancers and applaud each one enthusiastically. It was a clean place, both physically and culturally. Dancers were deemed to be performing artisans, and the customers were then expected to act as patrons of the arts. This didn't mean there wasn't whooping and cheering, but there were limits, and while tips were supposed to go in the tip jars, some still found their way underneath G-strings, but again in moderation. So amateur nights there were definitely much more appealing to prospective contest entrants, of which many were college students seeking both fun and an ego boost, as well as a possible small tuition stipend.
The bar had professional dancers performing until the amateur event began at 9:00, and then again afterward. There were also a couple of off-duty artisans wearing "civilian" dress in the audience to fill-in as shills if not enough amateurs showed up to fill the allotted time. The regular customers knew they were expected to cheer more robustly for the true amateurs.
Our coed group would usually arrive at the bar at 7:45 or 8:00. This assured we'd get a table with a good view of the stage, have a beer or two, and watch the last pro set to get in the spirit before the amateurs started. Part of this warm-up exercise included the guys vigorously challenging Jan and me to enter the contest. While they did this in a light and teasing way, we knew they would love nothing more than seeing us strip on stage. Since none of the guys were allowed to date us, there would be no jealousy issues of our showing ourselves to other men. To these guys we were something like "forbidden fruit," off-limits but seeming even more desirable or attractive than the attainable. Plus, we were good-looking women, who any man would love to see topless and more, so we not only didn't blame them for their encouragement, but we also took it as the compliment they intended.
Over the school year, Jan and I probably went to Big Jim's at least a dozen times, mostly on Thursdays, when we got the "you ought to enter the contest" raspberries every time. And if I were being totally honest, I'd have to admit that on more than a few occasions it was very tempting. The $250 was more of an incentive than I'd have ever expected, or at least it would have given me cover as to why I had entered. But the heart-felt, sincere flattery from the guys really got me excited with the prospect of proving to myself that I might just be as sexy as they assured, and maybe as sexy or even a little bit sexier than the other women competing.
This was not at all in keeping with my usual self-deprecating if not demeaning self-image and was no doubt greatly enhanced by the present company's sweet encouragement, the bar's conducive environment, and a few cold Budweisers. All of this ignited a hidden spark of temptation to be a little "wicked," and that too was so out of character for me. I was forced to conclude that maybe there was a little bit of an exhibitionist hidden deep within me.
I often thought Jan may have been feeling the same temptations, and if we'd only compared notes at the time, we may have found the courage to both enter the competition. But we never got our hormones in sync, and I kept thinking of my high school friend not only seeing my bare breasts as I danced topless, but also his inability to keep it a secret from his bar friends at the Top Hat tavern back home. And I knew only too well that what was said at the Top Hat wouldn't stay at the Top Hat. My parents knew I partied with plenty of beer, and I suspect they knew I smoked, and they could deal with that. But near-naked dancing for a barroom full of leering, horny men would definitely "shame the family name." And that was over the line for my family.
After I graduated and started working, it was on very rare occasion I frequented a strip club, and not on amateur nights, and certainly not with half a dozen half-drunk friends goading me to participate. So, I put those Thursday night sojourns to Big Jim's out of my mind. I kept in touch with Jan and John fairly regularly, at least by phone with Jan. While I lost touch with most of the others, John kept in contact and would update me on our group's whereabouts, jobs, and families.
Fast forward about twenty plus years, and I'm married to Dave, well into my career, and with a daughter just entering college. Out of the blue John called me to say that the fraternity was having a 75th anniversary celebration and he and the "Big Jim's buddies" were planning to attend, and they'd like me and Jan to come as honorary members of their class. Of course, Dave was invited too as were all spouses.
My conversation with John brought back all kinds of great memories and I knew right away I wanted to go. John said the small group was planning to come back on Thursday evening for a private get together, then join the whole fraternity on Friday for a golf outing and barbeque, and on Saturday there was a home football game and the dinner, dance, and ceremony that night. I told him to count us in for all of it.
Dave had gotten to know John over the years, and had met a few of the others too, so he was up for the long weekend plans as well. We booked a hotel room where most of my small group was staying and they planned to reserve a private meeting room for Thursday to have beer and pizza, catch up with each other and just hang-out and be casual.
Most of the group checked in around 3:30 and were gathering for drinks by 4:30. I was so glad when Jan and her husband, Mark arrived. By 6:00 everyone was together over pizza and beer. The meeting room was off on a separate hallway from the guestrooms, so we had lots of privacy and didn't have to be too quiet. Most spouses did not know each other very well or not at all, and as typical for class reunions were feeling a little left out. After the pizza was eaten, the "brothers," Jan, Mark, Dave, and I were pretty much in conversation at one table, and the wives at another.
After a while we were diving deeply into nostalgia when one of the guys brought up Big Jim's which got our table laughing and reminding each other of particular nights, dancers, and spectator behaviors. This part of the conversation was not lost on the wives' group. John playfully and in overly graphic detail reminded Jan and me of how they regularly pestered us to enter the amateur night contests. So, when he said almost reverently, "We'd have done anything to see your tits," one of the wives said pointedly, "I think this is where I came in." As she got up to leave, the other wives rose, and they all looked at Jan and me like we'd been two college-aged Jezebels who had led their husbands astray and lured them into going to Big Jim's. Who knew where that line of thought would lead.
The guys sloughed off their wives leaving as though it was expected, if not welcomed. Discussion got back to the amateur nights and their likely well-embellished and lurid memories. They must have thought they needed to go into great detail for Mark's and Dave's sake, assuming Jan and I hadn't shared these stories with them already.
They also recounted their peeking out of upstairs windows when we would sunbathe in the yard outside our apartment. They confessed to hoping we'd have a wardrobe malfunction when sunning our backs with our tops unhooked. Not knowing we had spectators; I couldn't imagine we'd always been sufficiently careful when we had our tops unfastened and turned over. Now learning we had been the subjects of this voyeuristic endeavor, even at this late date we first didn't know whether to be flattered or offended. Given this evening's conversation and comradery we soon chose to be more than flattered and maybe a little aroused by this revelation too.
Most of their recollections centered on how much they regretted that Jan and I never danced on amateur night, and they never got to see us bare our tits. It was like "déjà vu all over again," as they remembered every detail of their urging us on. Finally, John asked, "Does anyone know if Big Jim's is still open?" as if a road trip was in the offing and pointed out, "After all it is Thursday -- amateur night. "
Another of the guys, Jim said, "Joan and Jan can win that thing hands down, they're even better looking now, and we can still out-cheer the rest of the crowd." This brought out all kinds of compliments on our looks, and tasteful admiration of our bodies. And I have to say it was a pretty convincing and exhilarating ego boost.
I wanted to move this discussion on to other less risky topics, so I googled Big Jim's and couldn't find anything and said, "Sorry guys, it seems Big Jim's is gone; it looks like you're stuck with just Jan and me tonight."
When Jan gave me the evil eye, I knew I hadn't picked my words wisely. The exceedingly wishful ears and aroused hopes of these guys selectively heard me offering-up Jan and me as a very real and present alternative to Big Jim's, and its amateur night fare in particular.
