Strip Joint

Posted: September 28, 2014 in Uncategorized

I was working the 5-11 pm shift at the local strip joint when he walked in. I barely saw him out of the corner of my right eye – I was too busy working the pole. It had been a rough week, and I was about three hundred dollars short of my rent money. My boss, Glen, wasn’t willing to give me any extra shift coverage – in fact, he was hinting that I might be “out of a job if I don’t start shaking my ass a little harder” or “wearing my clothes a little too looser. Regardless, the bastard wasn’t about to do me any favors.

When the guy walked in, what I could see of him wasn’t usual for this backwater town. Here I was, practically in bumfuck Louisiana, working a sleazy pole for meager tips, and this guy in a full military uniform walks in and takes a seat in the back, dimly lit corner of the bar. He was with two other officers, and based on his behavior, I could tell he didn’t want to get caught.

My manager, sensing this new guy’s importance, and being the kind of support your troops kinda guy he was, immediately went over and introduced himself. He wanted to know more about this guy.

Hey, I’m Glen, the manager of the Sit and Spin. And you are…?

Name’s Ben. Ben Stalin…I’m just passing through…how are the girls tonight? Any of them up for a lap dance? My pants are ready.

The manager looked at me, then back at Ben, and said, “See that woman? Yeah, you can have her. She’s just the kind of girl to do anything someone such as yourself wants.

I looked at him, and said, “Sorry, but my behavior won’t allow me. I’m a pacifist.”

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Comments
  1. Doug Romig says:

    I am always amazed at what you come up with.

    Like

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