A Tale of Two Strippers

Week three of the #postaweek2011 challenge and so far I've managed to discuss faith and social morality, so perhaps it's time for something a little bit more light-hearted! How about a couple of fairly humorous anecdotes about recollections of boys trips from yesteryear, loosely inspired by BBC3's fly on the wall documentary, Sun, Sex and Suspicious parents? Okay then...

Before I set my confessionary heart on the line, it would probably be a sensible idea to tell you just what Sun, Sex and Suspicious parents is all about. It's fairly straightforward, each week we follow two teenagers heading off into Europe, with their friends in tow, as they undergo a modern day rite of passage; the week long booze, drugs and sex fest – the single sex “lads or lasses” holiday.

Little do these innocent teens know as their (possibly deranged) parents are following behind and watching each move they make from a variety of secret vantage points. You could be forgiven for thinking, this guy watches too much TV, but my excuse is, it's January, money's tight and there will be plenty more interesting things to write about later in the year!

Anyhow, back to the programme and back to the first episode. Two teens heading off to Malia, parents following, one set watching as their sweet and innocent daughter eyes up suggestively a Greek water sports instructor and the other, watching their son, dressed up in drag, with his head down the lavatory regurgitating his previous half hours excess.

It was at this point that I had a horrible flash back to Wednesday 5th September 2001. The night England beat Albania 2-0 at St James Park in a World Cup Qualifier. That same night, by way of a thank you, the Greek proprietor in which we sat within the confines of his bar gave our party of eight a Raki each, thanking us for our custom. Four people wimped out, so me, being a 21 year old idiot that I was decided to waste not, want not. Down the hatch, we're on holiday, lets have it!

Bang, lights out!

Next day, I wake up. What the hell is that? Covered in slime, grime and God knows what else! From what I have garnered from the resulting decade since, is that after the football, those fateful Raki's flipped a switch. Next bar along the strip witnessed another strip. That of an inebriated football fan who should have known better. The only thing that I have in common with a Greek Adonis is that our names begin with A, so I dread to think just what the hell that must of looked like. But friends or foe reunited me with my clothes and I walked back. Got the beer bus, one way please, did not pass go. Found my bed, collapsed, clothes disappeared all over again.

Reaso came back, just to make sure I was alright, a good friend, or perhaps not? Noticing my rather, spread eagled demeanour, switched all the lights back off, except the one above my bed. Illuminated like a prize turkey. Went back down the strip, left the door open as he went, left me be. He wasn't to know, or maybe he had a prophecy, but those girls, they won't forget. The excitement of their first all girls holiday, the joy of arriving at their hotel in time for a night out, vodka down the hatches and “Oh dear God!”, the horror of the boy in the room next door, “Welcome to Malia”. We won't actually go out on our first night, we'll spend the night making “Ugly naked bloke” look pretty, graffiti and make-up, won't he like that when he wakes up!

Watching then, as this poor lad, on holiday with his mates, blind-folded, doing a shot during a drinking game only for his parents to remove the blind-fold as part of the “grand reveal”, I felt his pain! Fortunately though for him, he knew where the line was, and didn't venture too far across it. His parents actually congratulated him on his conduct, said that they were proud. If only I could have said the same for mine!

This week, a new episode and as opposed to last week I thought this one was going to be okay, which it was, to start off with! This time around, same format, different parents, different teens and a new location, Ibiza! This time though, the memories were still beautifully raw and instead of the same feeling of trepidation, I had a huge feeling of longing as I wanted to go back and relive the stag weekend all over again. I didn't have the worry of thinking, “glad my parents aren't watching this one” as of course my Dad was with us when we went.

It wasn't until the very end that the old flashback's kicked in and the cold sweats of recollection hit hard. Basically, the grand revealing was to take place in a lap dancing club in the West End. The unsuspecting teen, his friends watching as he enjoyed his first experience of a lap dance. Big grin on his face, mates cheering, “Go on son!” at the very moment his parents walk in and “Surprise!”

Although I couldn't relate to the entirety of his embarrassment, poor fella, it was a little too acute for even my liking! But he doesn't quite hold the monopoly on embarrassing first lap-dancing experiences!

For Reaso's 21st birthday, we spent four nights in Las Vegas, home of the Showgirl. But for a trio of 21 year blokes, the thought of witnessing scantily clad ladies in the flesh was a little easier imagined than done. After all, this was Las Vegas, this is where the mobsters live and dark dingy spaces are used for lewd and despicable act's... Isn't it?

We convinced ourselves that we were better off out, we didn't know what we were letting ourselves in for, but mystically, every time we opened our guide book we'd open randomly at page 69. Gentleman's lounges, lounges for Gentlemen, rooms with a view, whatever, however you wanted to dress it up. Come on guys, “We are in Vegas”, we chorused to each other until it stuck.

Last night, off we went, Cheetahs, the Gentleman's lounge for beginners as it didn't say in the book. Your stereotypical nondescript building, covered in neon lights, some not working, some blinking when they shouldn't be. Your big, bulky motorbikes parked outside, the glitz and glamour of the strip a shadow away.

In English terms, a dive. The exact reason why we weren't enthused to begin with, but “we're here now guy's, we can't just leave. One drink and we're off” a mutually signed contract by the three of us that was never binding.

Three bottles of bud, standing at the bar, looking at the floor, don't want to look elsewhere in case the punk with the leather jacket and eyeballs tattooed wants to know just what the hell we are looking at. Couldn't drink the beer as felt too sick through fear, so just stood there, making small talk “beers nice”, “like your watch Roz”, “maybe we should have one dance, we're here now”. “you first”, “no, you go”, “no you”.

Standing there like three prize plums, it's any wonder we wasn't thrown out for being homosexual, let alone being approached by a lady wanting to engage in conversation. But engaged we were, and so taking the bull by the horns, I sauntered off with the first female that spoke to me, to find a quieter space so that we could discuss Leo Tolstoy or the like.

The room in which she led me into was full of like minded couples sitting on rather comfortable, but cramped benches, the ladies, quite chivalrously decided to make more room by sitting on their chosen partners laps where discussions were whispered in ears and demonstrations of flexibility and subtlety were commenced.

I sat on my hands (because I was led to believe that a bouncer can chop them off if you accidentally touch) and nodded like a parcel shelf ornament as she whispered something I couldn't quite work out in my ear and began her routine. “Wow, Vegas is awesome! I love this place. This lady is really bendy! Did she really just do that? Might have to remember that one” And so it continued, still sitting there, time going slowly by, the fun and excitement turning to mild panic as I realise that I need to pay this lady for her time “excuse me, when does this finish?”, I asked “I told you honey, its twenty bucks a song” she replied. “oh... okay luv, we'll make this the last one then!”

Her routine finished, currency exchanged hands and off I went, back to the others, who were waiting for my return. My reaction would determine whether we stayed or went and despite looking forlorn and embarrassed as I trudged back, I informed them, that in my role as pioneering gentleman's club guinea pig I had spent a small fortune and proceeded to teach them of the pitfalls and protocols which I had only just learnt myself.

Some people seem to get themselves into a pickle no matter what their best intentions are. Looking back, Reaso seems to be the common denominator, maybe he has been an unlucky omen! But no matter what bad luck as befallen me, I can be thankful that at least my parents were not watching via secret cameras in the room next door! At least they were bold enough to let me make my own mistakes. Unlike those poor teens, who we shall continue to watch as they head off to Ayia Napa, and other places I haven't been to, hopefully not being reminded each week of ghost's in which I though had been long suppressed!