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Happy Birthday, Dickwagon – Part 2

October 25, 2012

If you missed part 1, click here and check out how we got to this point.

When my thirtieth birthday rolled around, I was hanging out with a REALLY fun group of friends.  They were great companions for drinking and partying… and a lot of them were strippers.  Is that the politically correct term?  Strippers?  Exotic dancers?  Pole swingers?  I never know.  But, whatever I call them, you know what I’m talking about.  So, let’s see if I can connect the dots and explain how I ended up with a group of strippers as friends…

My Twenties, Revisited

Remember when I was stranded in the middle of nowhere?  I had first arrived in Arizona, and my car broke down, and I found myself in the worst motel in the world? If you missed the blog where I talked about that experience, you can find it here.  Anyway, that story takes place one month before my 22nd birthday, and ends when I was rescued by a couple at a gas station.  Only, as it turns out, they weren’t actually a couple.  I maintained contact with them, and true to my brand new “Fuck yea!  Birthdays!” policy, I invited them to hang out with Hollie and myself on my birthday a month later.

They were close friends who had grown up together in the vast desert area near Picacho, Arizona.  She was a lesbian named Kelly, and  Jimmy, her lifelong friend, ran an S&M website and mail-order sex product business.  Yep.  Perfect party buddies for my 22nd birthday.  That year was actually fairly tame, as money was in short supply, but we still managed to all get incredibly drunk, and have a bonfire in the desert. It was a good birthday.

The following year, I was living in Indiana.  But as soon as I returned to Arizona, I made contact with Jimmy and Kelly again.  I spent my 24th birthday with a LOT of friends, including Kelly and her new girlfriend… who we’ll call Kris.  We’ll call her that, because she had one of those names which can be either a girl name or a guy name, and she was a self-proclaimed “butch dyke.”  She kept her hair cut in short spikes and wore men’s clothing all the time, and was CONSTANTLY being mistaken for a boy.  She was actually underage to drink, but of course we let her join in the drunken debauchery which was my birthday.

Over the years, I lost contact with Kelly… as she or I changed phone numbers a few times… until eventually we never saw one another.  But one day, years later, I was shopping for clothes in, of course, the men’s section of a store, when I suddenly recognized the person looking at the rack across from me.

Me: Hey… aren’t you… Kelly’s girlfriend?

I was having one of those OH SHIT moments.  I had said the word “Hey” involuntarily, and suddenly realized I didn’t remember her name.  And then there was the HORRIBLE possibility that this wasn’t her at all.  AND there was the EVEN MORE HORRIBLE possibility that this was actually a guy, who was just shopping for men’s clothes when some idiot thought he was a she.

Kris: (Looking at me suspiciously) Well… I DID date a Kelly a few years back.  Where do I know you from?

Me: Remember, we used to hang out?  I lived way out in the desert with the miniature golf course in my yard?

Kris: (Suddenly remembering) HOLY SHIT!!  Yeah!

So, as old friends do when they suddenly reconnect, we spent the next few hours talking about old times and what we had been up to since that time.  She was no longer dating Kelly, and was going out with an exotic pole specialist.  Now, for the sake of this story, I’m going to give all the strippers horribly stereotypical stripper stage names… none of whom actually went by these names.  So we’ll be calling Kris’ significant other “Candy.”

The Truth About Strippers… Which No Man Wants to Know

What I’m saying is… THIS is the only pole they’re interested in.

An ASTONISHING number of people within the community of pole dancing Americans (now THAT’S politically correct) are, in fact, non-heterosexual.  Frankly, gentlemen, they view what they do in the strip club setting as about as far from erotic and sexually exciting as doing taxes.  Now, some of them are straight, of course.  And some are bisexual.  But, men, you would be surprised by the number of gay exotic dancers.

So, a few weeks after running into Kris, we met her and Candy at a bar.  With them was another couple they were friends with: Cinnamon danced at the same club as Candy, and she was there with her girlfriend Stacy, who was not a dancer.  So, for the weeks and months leading up to my thirtieth birthday, we would meet the four of them at various clubs and bars, and pretty much spend almost every night I had off from work with our new partners-in-crime.  During that same span, we hung out with various other bartenders, waitresses, and dancers from the same club.  So I was quickly getting to know a number of people from the same gentlemen’s club (I use that term because it’s on their sign… though I don’t think I could find a single gentleman in the whole place).

So, when it came time to plan my thirtieth birthday, everyone decided that the best place to meet would be the gentlemen’s club in question.  I wasn’t consulted, nor did I complain.  I am, after all, a guy.

The Thirtieth Birthday

The festivities began something like 4 seconds after I walked through the door.  Once I had been hugged and greeted, we were immediately given a round of tequila shots by the bartender.  By the way, this was the one and only time in my life when I never had to pay for a drink all night (I must say, I rather enjoyed that).  After the tequila shot, I was given a Jack and Coke.  Everyone I had met from the club was there… and it seemed they had all gotten the night off to join in the celebration.  Every time I finished a drink, another one appeared, with an occasional round of shots making its way to our table.

Kris sat to one side of me and was the designated driver for the evening, so she was enjoying watching the alcohol take effect.  After several minutes she leaned over and, above the throbbing music, said a phrase I’ll never be able to forget.

Kris: I got a new packing penis today!

Me:  A what??

Kris: Here… feel.

And then she grabbed my hand and brought it to her crotch.  What.  The.  Fuck.  There, within her cargo pants, I could distinctly feel a penis.

Me: What the fuck?!  You have a dong!

Kris: It feels real, right?

Me: Strangely… yeah.

That’s when I noticed a pair of cowboys sitting at the bar looking in my direction.  And I realized I was, at that moment, sitting in a strip club, grabbing the junk of what appeared to the world at large to be another man.  I was copping a feel.  On my man friend.  Surrounded by strippers.  Just two dudes… feeling each other’s wangs… nothing to see here.

It was at this moment that the club DJ came over the sound system to announce that there was a birthday in the house.  I was then summoned onto the stage, where a chair sat waiting for me.  I’ll readily admit that this embarrassed the hell out of me.  I was all for getting fed free drinks all night, but I wasn’t really ready to shake my ass on the main stage.  Luckily (for both myself and the other patrons), I wasn’t being asked to dance.  I was placed in the chair as all the other dancers got on stage and encircled me.  Then one of them stepped toward me, carrying a highlighter marker.

At first, I was confused.  But then, as she began to write on my arm, I saw the result: highlighter pen glows like crazy under a black light, which the strip club was FULL of.  So, one by one, each dancer took their turn adding to the graffiti covering my exposed skin, which included my forearms, my legs below the end of my shorts, and my face.  As the song finished, I stood and caught sight of myself from the mirror on the opposite side of the room.  I looked like a complete jackass… glowing everywhere.

I laughed off my embarrassment and returned to my table.  More drinks were brought over, and I continued down the road to total intoxication.  At this point Kris leaned over and said something to Cinnamon, and I heard my name somewhere over the din of thumping bass.

Me: What was that?

Kris: (with an evil grin) Want to leave here and go to another bar?

Let’s see.  I had been seen groping a dude.  I had been put on the stage and made a spectacle of.  Now I was glowing like a neon sign.

Me: Absolutely!!  Let me try to wash this highlighter off first.

Kris: (suddenly a little disappointed) Oh, okay.  Well hurry up!

As I walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, I realized you can’t see highlighter on skin AT ALL under regular fluorescent lighting.   SO I had to try to remember where they had marked on me.  I scrubbed my arms and legs, and then scrubbed at my cheeks and neck.  As I emerged from the club’s restroom, Kris saw me and smiled.

Me: Did I get it all?

Kris: Most of it.  It doesn’t show up under regular lights anyway, right?

Me: That’s true.  Okay, let’s go.

So Then We Went to the Gay Bar

The car ride itself was a bit of an event.  Cinnamon decided she really wanted to show everyone in the car her new piercing… on her personal private region.  Kris nearly drove my van into the curb craning her head to get a look.  Candy threatened to castrate Kris of her plastic penis if she didn’t keep her eyes on the road.  Then, at some point it occurred to me that I had no idea where we were headed.  When I asked, I was told the name of a bar I had never heard of: Ain’t Nobody’s Business.  I think I slurred something to the effect of, “sounds sassy!”  I had NO idea what I was in for.

Yep.  Thanks sweaty Lincoln. So, Ain’t Nobody’s Business… or “the Biz” as everyone calls it… is, in fact, a gay bar.  But, it wasn’t the stereotypical gay bar you see in movies where oily men in assless chaps are dancing in cages.  It was a fairly equal mix of men to women, and since the dance floor was clear in the back of the place, I didn’t see the same-sex couples dancing and immediately think “holy crap, this is a gay bar.”  Plus, thanks to movies, I would still be looking for oily men in assless chaps for confirmation.

No sooner had we settled at a table with a couple of pitchers of beer than a guy came over to our table and started talking to me… which was a bit odd considering I was surrounded by 6 beautiful women.

Guy: Hey there, I’m Guy

Me: Hi, I’m Todd, this is…

I proceeded to introduce the girls, he pretended to care.

Guy: So, what are you doing tonight?

Me: It’s my birthday!  We’re out celebrating.

Guy: Oh!  Well happy birthday!

Me: Thank you!

Guy: So… celebrating your birthday.  Wanna dance?

Me: Me??  Oh, no.  Sorry, I’m straight.

Guy: Really?

Me: Yep.  Really.  Sorry!  I’m really flattered though.

Guy: So, then… why are you in a gay bar with a glowing penis on your forehead.

Me: . . . WHAT?!  Gay bar?!  PENIS?!

I looked around and found mirror on the wall.  There, in the center of my forehead, was a glowing penis, drawn in highlighter, ejaculating glowing drops of highlighter semen.  Somehow, when I scrubbed the invisible florescent ink from my skin, I had forgotten to clean my entire forehead.  And OF COURSE this place was full of black lights.

Me: Oh my GOD!  FOREHEAD PENIS!

Guy:  Mmm hmm… well, enjoy your birthday!

I looked at the group.  They had all known… they were all now laughing uncontrollably.  I went to the bathroom and washed my forehead.  But, as I came out into the black light, the penis was still there.  The ink had set during the drive between the two clubs, and now the glowing piece of orgasmic male genitalia was stained into my skin.  The entire night was a blur of man after man asking me to dance, while my birthday cohorts laughed.  I was like Hester Prynne, only instead of a scarlet A on my shirt, I had a glowing peener on my forehead.  Actually, no, because I was experiencing the opposite of being ostracized… I was the belle of the ball.  The uncomfortable, repeatedly propositioned, florescent penis wearing belle of the big gay ball.

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24 Comments
  1. Karyn/@analogyqueen permalink

    Oh. My. God. That was awesome . I’m gonna quote the movie Stripes when I say, “I wanna party with YOU, dude.
    Great story and very well told.
    Nice work:)

  2. I may have a girl-crush on your friends.

    That.

    Was.

    Awesome.

    • They were awesome. Somehow, every time we went out anywhere, we ended up being the center of attention thanks to these awesome friends.

  3. You gotta love gay friends. They’re the most fun. That was awesome. Do you still talk to them?

    • Cue the Animal House end of movie sequence…. what later happened to the 6 girls I was at the gay bar with….

      Hollie eventually became Todd’s ex… though they now live together in a horribly awkward arrangement (as previously blogged about).

      The girl never mentioned in the story (whom I’ll call “Bubbles” to keep the whole stereotypical stripper name thing going) moved to California and got married just this weekend.

      “Cinnamon” also moved to California, and eventually Todd lost track of her because he never actually knew her last name (searching for people on Facebook kinda requires knowing the full name).

      “Stacy” still lives in Arizona (and, obviously, is no longer still with Cinnamon). She is Todd’s Facebook friend, and still frequents the gentlemen’s club in question.

      “Candy” moved to Las Vegas shortly after breaking up with Kris. Todd has also, unfortunately, lost touch with her over time.

      “Kris” is probably still in Arizona, though Todd has also lost touch with her in the 8 years since his 30th birthday.

      “Todd” (his real name) is now an ice cream man and wildly popular blogger. And by ‘wildly popular’ I mean, well, at least you seven keep coming back and reading my stuff…

  4. “Belle of the big gay ball,” so freaking funny. Nicely told.
    A stripper friend explained the inevitable girl-love thing to me once. She said the job naturally sort of puts them off on dudes.. she was bi while dancing, then ended up married with kids a couple years later.

    • I had heard that as well. It makes sense… guys are assholes. I mean, not me. But them. Ugh. Assholes.

  5. Well, at least they didn’t draw it on your cheek pointing at your mouth? Oh, friends.

    • Actually, I was later told that my entire face had been a collage of penises. Both cheeks had featured man meat pointed at my mouth… I had just managed to wash all but the dreaded forehead penis. It was the dong-fest on my face that gave them the idea to take me to The Biz in the first place. With friends like those…

  6. HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! FOREHEAD PENIS!!! Now THAT’S how you do a 30th birthday! :o)

    Hugs!

    Valerie

    • Absolutely! Now how many men do you know who can say they’ve spent their birthday in a gay bar with a glowing penis on their forehead?!

  7. So, it took me THIS long to make time to read this with undivided attention. I need to have a smoke now. Gawh!

  8. I’m afraid I will never have a birthday as epic as this. The most eventful thing to have happened on any of my birthdays was getting dumped, a friends car coming out of park and slamming into another friends car, getting a stomach flu, getting accidentally kicked in the stomach, and having to climb a tree to retrieve a gift someone thoughtfully threw up into the air.

    • Holy crap! Did that all happen on the SAME BIRTHDAY?! If so, that may go down in history as one of the most horrible birthdays EVER.

  9. HA! This is great.
    Two things I know about strippers: 1. they know how to party 2. they are complete assholes. Most of the time, in an entertaining way, as outlined in your story.

  10. Good and funny read!
    I have actually been to the Biz! A straight buddy of ours made a bet with our lesbian friend that he could win the Tuesday night pole-dancing contest there- At first, this former college football player wearing a John Deer cap was not welcomed by the bar regulars but he was so funny and his ‘moves’ so ridiculous, he won the crowd over- and about 40 bucks, I think.
    Would have been way funnier if we thought to cover his face in day-glow penises, though

    • Everything is funnier with glowing penises involved. Also, though my recollection of the Biz is a bit foggy, that bar was actually friggin AWESOME. I enjoyed my time there… glowing penis and man-propositions notwithstanding.

  11. Stefanie Stebbins permalink

    I stumbled into your world by accident ..and i am so glad that i did!
    I had a really day .actually ..a crappy week…as i was reading about your birthday adventures i was laughing so hard i was crying…..thank you
    Stefanie in Arcata Ca.

    • I’m so glad you found me. Though, sadly, it was during a bit of a blogging downtime that you did. I plan on writing much more in the new year, though! So, enjoy!

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