Thursday, September 09, 2004

Me, Max and Strippers

Si reminds me that I promised to talk about Max's latest visit to a strip club…

It happened like this - Max and I usually schedule our dates with our secondaries on the same night. But one night a few weeks ago, I had a date and he didn't. So, being a guy of many resources, he decided to amuse himself by going to a strip club.
Now I wouldn't say Max used to go to strip clubs a lot – but let's say that he was not a stranger to them in days gone by. (Neither was I, of course, but I was on the other side of the rail. And no, that is not where we met!)
So anyway, Max goes along to a local place, gets an overpriced cup of coffee and looks over the available ladies. He settles on one, and when she makes the approach, ("Would you like a dance?") he says yes.
He gets a dance from her, and then afterwards she sits down to chat with him a little.
Presently she asks, "So, are you married?" I don't know why a dancer would ask anyone that, but he says they often do. I myself always tried to avoid reminding guys of the wife and kids at home, figuring it would just spoil the mood.
He said no, he wasn't, but that he had a girlfriend. As a matter of fact, his girlfriend used to be a dancer herself.
"That's interesting. What does she do for a living now?"
Ah, that is the question, isn't it? Max had had to field this query unexpectedly before, of course, as have I. So he debates with himself for a second and then thinks, well, if you can't tell a stripper, who can you tell?
"She's a professional dominatrix."
She stared at him. "Not Mistress Matisse? Omigod, are you Max?"

(At this point, as he was telling me the story, I absolutely broke up laughing. "You can run, baby, but you can't hide," I said, gasping. "I have eyes everywhere.")

She went on to say that she'd read all my columns and she thought I was great. It's always nice to hear that, even second-hand. Sometimes especially second-hand.
"So, wow, you scored major John points!" I said. "Did you get some better dances from her after that?"
"Well, yeah," he said, smiling wickedly. "I tied up her hands and had her dance for me like that."
"Tied up her hands? With what? Did you take rope in there?"
"No, just my handkerchief."
I did not laugh. Max has tied up my hands with his handkerchief and you know, it's been pretty damn effective. He's done whole bondage scenes with me with just what we had on us – belts, bootlaces, the hanky, my bra – whatever. Max, the Improvisational Bondage Top.
"Sounds like she's a little kinky herself," I said.
"Well, she's at least curious."
She offered him her phone number, and instead he gave her his and said, "I imagine you have a lot of guys calling you. If you want to talk to me, you call me."
Thus far she hasn't, and Max isn't exactly holding his breath. But I was highly amused by the whole thing…

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