It was a Thursday night and my wife Charlotte and I had just left a special dinner to celebrate the ground breaking of a new manufacturing facility that the company I worked for planned to open in a suburban location on the outskirts of our city. It was a high profile situation for me personally, as a young exec in the company, and because the facility would create over 500 new jobs the dinner was something of a fancy affair with many local dignitaries present.
Being a junior member of the deal team, I had been pleasantly surprised when I received the invitation, that included my wife, and we decided to make it a special occasion by arranging for her parents to watch our two young children for the evening. Due to the event, I had the next day off so Charlotte decided to take the day off as well so we wouldn't feel pressured.
For the event, I had worn my standard suit and tie and Charlotte had chosen a simple black cocktail dress that looked very good on her. We are both thirty-two years old but, while I definitely look my age, my wife looks more like twenty-five even after producing two adorable children. She is a slender 5'7" with a 34C bust, a narrow waist and firm, trim hips that merge into long lovely legs. In addition, she has raven hair, full juicy lips and cute dimples that light up her face when she smiles, and to top it off, the is a successful business woman so, not only is she beautiful but also quite intelligent.
Despite our excitement about being invited, the dinner had been boring speeches and rubber chicken food but, since it was part of my job, both of us had worked to be friendly and gracious, although we had our share of liquor along the way to get by. Of course, my wife got a lots of attention and always seemed to have two or three men around her. We stayed until most of the guests had left, making a graceful exit around ten, and headed anxiously towards home where I hoped to enjoy a night of uninterrupted pleasure.
Unfortunately, in typical fashion, my wife announced five minutes after departing that she needed to go to the bathroom.
"Why didn't you go before we left?" I asked with some annoyance. You see it wasn't uncommon for her to do something like this and it always drove me crazy.
I got one of her typical "you just don't get it" looks so I went silent and started looking for somewhere to stop. The trouble was that we were now in an industrial area and there was no guarantee that we would find a place "acceptable" if I pulled off the freeway.
"How long can you hold it?" I asked, glancing quickly at her.
"Not very long," she replied, and the grimace on her face indicated that it was indeed a critical situation.
I took the next exit hoping to find an open gas station close-by but, when we got to the end of the ramp there was no place within eyesight. Picking right, we drove for several blocks until we hit a primary intersection still with nothing in sight.
"This must be the only place in the city with no gas station," I said in exasperation.
I was left to contemplate whether to return to the freeway and try to get closer to downtown but, decided to try just a little further. Rounding a slow bend, a low, darkly painted building came into view on our right that was partly illuminated with neon lights. I say partly because it looked like half were broken so that it gave the place an odd, uneven look. There was a smattering of cars out front, and as we got closer we could see that it was a bar. Since, we weren't in a position to be choosey, I whipped into the lot and parked in an open spot on the side of the building, and noticed that further back was an additional dirt lot with several large trucks parked with their lights off. I half expected to hear her complain at my selection so, when she opened the door without comment, I felt that she was indeed pretty desperate.
At the door, I quickly cringed as on the wall was a sign that informed us that it was amateur night, and there was a five-dollar cover. I realized that we had stumbled into a low end strip club, and knew that I would pay for it later, even if none of it was my fault.
"Uh, my wife just needs to go to the bathroom," I said to a scruffy fiftyish man at the door.
"Five dollars," he replied, showing no interest in our predicament.
Charlotte gave me a look that let me know it was not the time to argue so I pulled out a ten and gave it to him, and we walked into the dark interior.
"Hey. Ladies free," he yelled after us, and I turned and took the bill he offered.
"Where are the bathrooms?" I asked with a tone of urgency.
"To the right," he answered with the same air of disinterest.
By the time I caught up with my wife, she had already spotted the restrooms and was headed towards them with purpose. Waiting near the entrance, I surveyed the place and saw that it was indeed a strip club. Besides the restrooms to the right, on the left was a small seating area with cheap tables and chairs, and an L-shaped bar started halfway down the room with the far end disappearing around a bend into an area that was beyond my sight. In the corner, across from the bar was a stage that was a simple platform about twelve feet square with cheap lights flashing around the perimeter on top and bottom.
On the stage, was a blonde with large fake breasts and a noticeable tummy dancing with an attitude of indifference. She was wearing a white g-string that appeared to have rhinestones along the side and nothing else, and two middle age men, sitting in the first row, were watching her. In addition, between me and the stage were two men at separate tables and three men on stools at the bar, and while one of the men was watching the stage, the others were talking to the large bartender who looked perfect for the part with his long hair and beard. From their appearance, I guessed all the patrons worked at the industrial facilities in the area.
Charlotte is by no means a fuddy-duddy but, I knew she would tease me mercilessly on the fact that I had brought her here; not because she was upset, but because she could use it to try and gain some moral high ground in our ongoing, good natured give and take. For that reason, and perhaps because of the liquor I had already consumed, I decided to find a table and play with it some. I picked one along the wall between the two single patrons and as soon as I sat down, a thin, older woman approached from the wait station at the bar. She was dressed in a Harley t-shirt and jeans with a hard look indicating she had been in this environment a long time. She spoke with a raspy voice that made me think of cigarettes, and I quickly ordered a beer and a vodka tonic wanting the drinks to be on the table when my wife arrived.
I had been to many of these type of places in my past both as a single man and with guys from work after getting married. They had generally been much more upscale but, all clubs seemed to follow the same general set of protocols. As far as I knew, my wife had never set foot in such a place although, I was certain she would have an opinion when we left.
Charlotte soon appeared and, with a quick glance around the room, spotted me and moved to join. On her approach to the table, every eye was on her and all movement seemed to cease as if we were in a scene from a movie. When she sat, the crowd returned to what they had been doing but, I still saw the occasional furtive glance in our direction.
At first, my wife refused to acknowledge the surroundings we had found ourselves in but, after we sipped our drinks in silence for several minutes, as if on cue, we both started giggling. That broke the tension and we started openly laughing about the bizarre sequence of events that had landed us in the club. By then, the rest of the bar seemed to have forgotten about us and we made jokes about the various characters and what we thought was their lot in life. The noise from the music required us to lean close to each other to speak which made it seem all the more intimate, and we had just ordered another round of drinks when the announcement came that the amateur strip contest was starting.
An emcee came over a loudspeaker system and informed us that the prize was $50 dollars to the winner, and there were two women in the contest. Laughing, we decided to stay and watch much like one's attention is drawn to a car wreck - for some reason you just can't look away.
The first amateur dancer was middle age, homely and uninspired. She had small breasts and overall her body just appeared to have too many hard miles on it. In addition, she looked wasted and staggered through the standard two song set finally finishing wearing just her red G-string, with no one paying any real attention.
"You should enter the contest," I said to my wife with a silly smile, emboldened by the alcohol.
"I knew you were going to say that eventually. Men are so predictable," she replied, shaking her head and smiling. She was on her third drink now and I could see she had taken my comment with amusement.
"I'm serious," I answered, as I put my hand on her thigh then pushed my fingertips under the hem.
"No you're not," she responded, and started to laugh while putting her hand over mine.
The second girl climbed on the stage and might have been even worse. She was younger than the first, maybe in her mid-twenties, but so overweight that her tits sagged loosely and her large belly rolled over her G-string. It was truly a sad sight and we had to stifle our laughter as we watched. Since she was down to just her G-string by the time the first song ended, I wondered what she would do for the second.
"Come on. You'll win and it will pay for our drinks," I said, trying hard not to laugh.
Charlotte views me as overly practical and analytical, and in her view I am not spontaneous enough, especially where money is involved. I knew I would get a reaction when I said it but, it was too good an opportunity to pick at her to pass up.
She shot a look at me and opened her mouth to speak then realized I was intentionally trying to provoke a reaction. She paused and a slow smile came to her face before she spoke, "That's a good idea."
Since it wasn't the response I was expecting, I was now at a loss for words and when she saw the reaction on my face she started giggling, very pleased with herself for turning the tables.
The heavy girl had started her second song and we stopped talking to watch her for a few minutes but, unfortunately this second effort was no more inspired than her first and the ending couldn't arrive quick enough.
"Who are you voting for?" I asked, as the song was ending.
"Can I dance and vote?" she responded sarcastically, then grinned once again feeling like she had won the war of wits.
The music finally stopped and the emcee called for a hand for the girl which only a few responded to. He then announced it was time for the vote which would be done by applause but, just as he was starting, an impulse hit me and I jumped to my feet and tried to stop him.
"There's another contestant," I yelled towards the bar since I wasn't sure where the emcee was actually located.
Regardless, it was enough to get the bartender's attention who whistled and raised his hand stopping the emcee in mid-sentence. Some of the others heard it too and a low buzz started in the room. Now, I'm not the type of person that likes to be the center of attention so I felt incredibly awkward when I realized everyone was now looking at me.
The impact of what I had done swept through me and I slowly lowered my eyes to see my wife staring at me with a look I had never seen before. If I had to describe her stare I would call it equal parts surprise, confusion and defiance.
