Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
“Holy shit,” I whisper. “Why am I turned on?”
“I know, right?” Bridge nods.
Abbie laughs while draining her glass. “I have a good mind to give her my number.”
After about our sixth cocktail and having lost any inhibitions we ever had, we realize we are actually having a really good time.
“Girls, I don’t want to sound pervy, but I actually love this place. The girls are all gorgeous, classy and entertaining. The cocktails are amazing. And look at the crowd.” Abbie gestures around the room with her hands. “The crowd is all well behaved, all staying silently in their seats. If this was a male strip show the women would be screaming like lunatics and jumping on stage, trying to rip clothes off.” We all pull a disgusted face.
“I know, I always assumed strip joints would be the same, but they are definitely not on the same page. This is top shelf, though, remember.” We all nod.
A few acts of more beautiful girls and I make a surprising discovery.
“Did you notice something?” I lean in to whisper to my friends. They both quickly scan the room with their eyes, thinking I’ve seen Jeremy. “No, not that,” I shake my head. “There is not a welcome mat in this place.”
The girls both frown and look around, “You’re right, this place is pubeless. Not a pubic hair in the joint.”
“Why is that?” Bridge frowns.
“I don’t know—do men really like this?” I hunch my shoulders.
Abbie smirks. “Really, if I had to choose between a waxed one and a hairy one, I would go waxed every time.”
“I suppose.” We all nod.
“Anyway.” Abbie puts both of her hands onto the table, “I am booking us in tomorrow afternoon to Beautiful Behinds.”
“What for?”
“We are going to get Brazilians and anal bleaching.”
I choke on my drink. “Anal bleaching, are you mad?”
“No, did you look at these girls?” I nod. “Their bits are all porn star pink.”
“What, so it isn’t natural?” Bridget frowns.
“No, it isn’t natural. They get everything bleached so it’s a pretty pink color. Guys love it.”
“Fuck off, do you get it done?”
“Of course.” She smirks. Oh, I’m shocked, how do I not know this? “If you want to look pretty for Mr. Stanton you had better get it done too.” She grabs my arm on the table. “I’m pretty sure he is used to pink bits.” I frown as I drain my glass. Mr. Stanton looking at other girls’ bits is not something I want in my head.
“Knowing my luck, the bleach will give me a third-degree burn, and I will end up in hospital with a ring of fire.”
The girls laugh. “Bags not changing the dressing.” They clink their glasses together.
Every time a new group of men filter in, we all put our drink menus up in front of our faces as they walk past.
“They should rename this place,” I scoff. The girls frown. “The Dry Cleaners.” They frown again. “You know, where you would go to pick up a suit.” They both laugh. “Seriously, look at the demographics of this place. All men, rich, over thirty, in very expensive suits. Where do their wives think they are?” We all narrow our eyes as we take in our surroundings.
“Shit,” Abbie whispers. “They are all on frigging work conferences.” We nod.
“You’re right, these are all men who work together. Fuckwits,” Bridget snaps.
Blondie bartender comes over, “Last drinks at half price, ladies.”
“Half price, these cocktails are twenty dollars a pop,” I answer.
He smiles. “I know, at 1:30 a.m. they double in price.”
“Why?” we all ask, mortified.
“That’s when the shows start.”
We all frown. “Haven’t we been watching shows all night?” He smiles and shakes his head. “No, I mean the real fun.”
Sure enough, over the next fifteen minutes we watch as group after group of men in expensive suits fill the place. So many, in fact, we are flat out trying to keep up our spying duties and some are slipping through the cracks.
“Shit, is he here?” Bridget whispers.
“I have no idea,” I answer. “I’ve lost track. I think the place is full,” as I crane my neck to look around the crowd.
“I know, this is crazy. The drinks are hell expensive. Rich men are seriously stupid.”
We are all feeling quite tipsy and at one thirty exactly the lights all go out except the stage spotlights and silence falls over the audience. We are all experiencing a serious case of the fuzzies and very loudly shh, shh each other. We’re holding hands under the table and giggling, feeling quite apprehensive about what is about to unfold. Thankfully, it looks like Jeremy is a no-show. The track “My Pony” by Ginuwine, rings out on the high-powered sound system, a remixed version. Two girls walk out onto the stage and the crowd goes wild. Some of the men chant their names— it seems they have a following. The three of us sit still in silent amazement as our eyes are transfixed by the stage. A stunning brunette dressed as a hot policewoman complete with hat and baton leads a beautiful redhead dressed in prisoner get-up onto the stage by the handcuffs.