Friday night, April 30. Two days before the anniversary of my birth. I arrive in Washington D.C. to engage in some raucous events to celebrate said anniversary. Well, I'm not sure we intended them to be raucous. I mean, I am a good Southern woman. I don't do such things.
Do you really believe that?
We started off at Eatonville, a FAB-ulous Southern-style restaurant that serves up some mean drinks and even better fried green tomatoes. Since my friends and I readily admit to be the lushes that we are, we sat at the bar where our bartender Lauren took care of us. Drinks, apps, shots, drinks, food, shots, drinks, drinks. People wandered off on their merry way. Lauren explained her philosophy of people that "ain't shit." People joined our group. More food, shots, drinks... I think you get the idea.
Once we were well sauced, we piled poured into cabs and went... well... to a strip club. A male strip club. A male strip club in Washington D.C. For those of you that may not know, in Washington D.C., the strippers wear, well... shoes and socks. That's it.
It was definitely something to behold. If anyone says that there aren't enough guys willing to dance around on top of a bar, waving their business around, then you need need to head to D.C. The place, while not huge, was fairly large and had quite a few guys dancing around, shaking their money-makers.
Having never, ever, ever done anything like this before ever in my life, I had a few questions. What was allowed in my interaction with the entertainers. What should I expect? Where do I put the tip?
As it turns out, it's all very easy. One can touch below the knee and above the waist. The entertainer will likely just wave his ooh-hooo in your face. Place any money one tips the entertainers in their socks. Well that's all very nice. And boring. And Puritanical.
Well, leave it to me to push the boundaries. But I totally didn't start it. At some point in the evening, after a drag show (yes, they had drag queen shows as well) I was upstairs, enjoying the scenery, and decided to show my admiration to one of the dancers. I went up to him, smiled, and looked up at him as he was dancing on top of the bar. He waved... something... at me. I smiled again. I attempted to place the dollar bill into his sock. I missed. I looked up at him and smiled again. He laughed at my drunkenness lack of coordination. On the second try, actually having to watch what I was trying to do, I successfully tipped him. To show his appreciation, he smacked me on my head with his penis.
I was taken aback. I looked up at him in amazement, his cock just dangling in front of me. I looked him in the face. I looked at his cock. I took my hand and smacked his cock like a cat smacks a play toy.
He tried to scold me gently, telling me that I'm not supposed to touch him there, but I guess the look of bewilderment that I had on my face was humorous. He just laughed and shook his finger... yeah, his finger... at me.
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