A Women’s Experience in a Strip Club

The Hen’s Night: Pre-Game


It’s the big night. I have sat through cake tastings, dress fittings, agonized over napkin choices and spent months

on call to chase away pre-wedding jitters with a bottle of red wine and some sarcasm. I have done all this

(somewhat) happily, after all she has been my best friend since we were five, but tonight is the big night, the hens

party. I had it all planned out, every detail. First was high-tea and party games to keep the in-laws feeling included,

then off to the hotel with the inner circle. Champagne, loud music, killer heels, laughs and anticipation  were

tossed around until we were ready to hit the scene. A stretch limo ride with obligatory bride-out-the-sunroof

shenanigans carried us here, and we stand poised, our outfits walking the line between too-much and not-enough

like a circus act, ready to enter the fray. The assembled-from-spare-bulldozer-parts bouncer gives us nod and a

knowing wink as he opens the door wide for us to tumble through.


The Hen’s Night: First Dance


Our heads spin from our not-drunk-just-a-little-tipsy buzz as the lights flash and the waves of bass crash over us.

On stage a well muscled male stripper turns up the heat on stage as he rhythmically transitions from fireman to all-

man. A hunky waiter with a cute smile appears and we follow him to a table shamelessly checking out his butt and

giggling like a gaggle of school girls. A round of drinks, (“shots!” Declares the bride-to-be), act as liquid courage as

I scan the room looking for a target for her first lapdance. I spot him from across the room, moving with a slow

sexy swagger that’s born from the confidence of wash-board abs and perfect teeth. I approach him and as he

flashes me a big smile I point out the lady of the evening. She is hard to miss, wearing all white with her dollar-

store veil. “My friend would like a lap-dance”, I blurt out, and he winks and makes his way over. He introduces

himself and offers his hand, she takes it and is led to a chair set apart from the table. As she sits he walks slowly

around her, all eyes on him as he prepares to practice his craft.


The Hen’s Night: In Full Swing


As the night rolls on the drinks flow and the nervous giggles become a raucous of laughter. The liquid courage and

casual-confidence of the male strippers washes all of our inhibitions out the door. Notes are stuffed in G-strings,

lap-dances abound and some very creative party games have us in stitches. The DJ spins some karaoke classics

that we belt out at the top of our lungs, complete with all the dance moves we pretend not to remember and we

drown in a tidal wave of debaucherous frivolity. I look over at my childhood friend hooting at a male stripper, bank

note in hand, beckoning him toward her. She is so far removed from the woman having a panic attack about where

to seat her estranged aunt and uncle of a week ago, and I am thrilled. This Hen’s Night will be legendary, talked

about for years to come and I mentally pat myself on the back for a job well done. I am disturbed from my moment

of self-congratulation by a hand on my shoulder. Well hello blue-eyes, why yes, I’d love a lap dance…

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