Chapter 119

Back on our way, ‘Kevvy’ took us to our destination,, ‘The King’s Court.’ It was a place I’d been before, with Jess, many times. It was the only strip-club in town.

Despite our sexual openness, I was always uncomfortable at strip clubs and Jess knew it. I’m sure that’s why it was always her who insisted on going there. I can’t say exactly what bothers me about them; be it the bare vagina being bounced in my face in front of my wife (the King’s Court was full nudity), the fact that other strange guys were learing on, or the money involved, but invariably I would flush a deep crimson which seemed to encourage the strippers just as much as Jess.

Tonight would be uncomfortable for a totally different reason. Tonight was ‘Ladies’ Night.’ The town didn’t have its own male strip club so the King’s Court devoted one night a week to the gals. This would be my first time to that show; odd that it had never occurred to Jess to humiliate me that way before. She must be slipping.

Anyway, we all funneled in, the girls giddy like teenagers, me somewhat less so. I had been put in charge of handling the finances for the evening and paid all of the girls’ cover charges.

I had called ahead and arranged for a reserved table right near the stage. When you say “money’s-no-object,” you get whatever you like. Praise Capitalism!

We all took seats around the table as a chisled, oily guy in a red Speedo and a cowboy hat gyrated on the stage overhead. His package bulged out of the front of the Speedo and I was convinced he had to have it padded with socks or something. Had to be.

The girls immediately started cat calling and whistling, dollar bills waving in the air which attracted the attention of Mr. Hottie McHotstuff, or whatever his silly stage name was. I sat in the seat furthest from the stage and turned my attention to my phone to look at anything but guy flesh.

Mr. Spraytan eventually showed up at our table with a shirtless six-pack and cut-off jean shorts to take our drink order; him I couldn’t ignore. His name tag said he was “Rodney.”

“Hello, sir, ladies, what would you all like to drink?” he asked. He was pleasant and charming, his voice confident but polite. And it made me hate him all the more. Isn’t there some sort of health code against serving food and drinks shirtless? If not, there should be.

“I’ll take a huge helping of this-” Jess said, reaching for Spraytan’s ass cheek. I grabbed her wrist an inch from it, stopping her.

“I’m sure that’s frowned on, Honey,” I said with a forceful tone Jess was unfamiliar with. “Do you want to get us kicked out already? ‘Cuz I wouldn’t mind.”

She blinked a couple of times before relaxing her arm.

“You’re right, babe. Thank you,” she said, momentarily brought back to reality. She withdrew her arm and I turned to Rodney.

“How ‘bout just getting us two bottles of White Zinfandel and some glasses?” I said. I have no idea what the other girls drank, but I knew that would appeal to Jess’ cheap taste.

Rodney nodded. “Absolutely, sir, we’ll have them right over.”

He started to turn away but Emma called to stop him.

“Rodney, one moment, please!” He stopped in his tracks and turned back to her.

“Yes, Miss?”

Emma gestured to her shirt. “You may have gathered that we are here for a bachelorette party. One of the items on our list is to get our shirt’s signed. Would you do that for me?” She flashed him a huge smirk. I don’t think she needed to try that hard. Rodney struck me as a guy who knew how to earn a tip.

“Absolutely, Miss. Pen?”

Emma handed it to him and she pulled her shirt taut for him to write on. The other girls watched as he scrawled his first name in giant letters across the fabric.