Chapter 11

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{Think Brad Pitt in Fight Club}

So what does the inside of a strip club look like?

Well, since I’ve never actually been into one, minor detail really, I can only speculate. Although, my speculations are based on some very reliable sources; like gossip magazines, entertainment news and reality TV. Some or other celebrity is always getting caught with his pants around his ankles in some or other seedy cesspit, and there are always photos to prove it.

So no doubt it would be dirty. Very dirty. G-strings and discarded nipple caps probably lay strewn across the floor, while the rats used them to make their little nests. The air would be smoky and filled with the smell of testosterone, cheap cologne and breath mints. And I would hate to think what would happen if CSI (Insert name of preferred American City here) had to barge in with their special blue lights that illuminated bodily fluid! My skin felt sticky and itchy at the mere thought.

{Think Brad Pitt in Fight Club}

No, I was absolutely not looking forward to venturing inside. But I didn’t see another option. The man outside had crossed the street and was winking at me with his one eye, okay I’m making that last part up, but he really was awful. I clutched onto my shopping tightly, and with great fear and trepidation, shuffled inside. But the interior was nothing like I’d imagined. Not at all. It was clean, shiny, well decorated and there were no rodents or discarded tassels in sight. It was also gay, which I hadn’t expected, but was very happy about. I’d always felt comfortable around gay men.

I scanned my surroundings; there was a lot of pink. The tables were full of older men with large sunglasses perched on top of fashionable haircuts -- even though it was night and we were inside. There were many tight vests, a lot of unnaturally white porcelain veneers and spray tans.

Because there was nowhere to sit, I slunk into the shadows, hoping to somehow blend in, and preferably disappear. I had no idea what to expect next, and that made me very, very nervous.

{Think Brad Pitt in Fight Club}

“OMG, sweetie. You look like a hobo Marilyn Monroe loitering there with all those bags.”

Huh? Was someone talking to me? I stuck my head out of the shadows and surveyed the area. Someone was waving in my direction; a rather flamboyant, red-haired man dressed in a purple silk shirt.

“No, this simply won’t do. Don’t you think, Bruno?” He said, turning to the man next to him.

The man I assumed was called Bruno nodded.

I pointed at myself, “Are you talking to me?” I shouted over the music.

“No Nora, I’m talking to the girl standing next to you!”

Red jumped up and sashayed over to me.

“A virgin, right?”

“What?” How did he know?

“First time in a strip club? You have that poor, frightened deer in the headlights thing going on. Nothing to be ashamed of, we all need a dose of beef from time to time.”

“No it’s not like that," I quickly corrected him, “I’m not supposed to be here. It’s an accident really.”

“Mmmm," he eyed me knowingly, "That’s what they all say sweetie. Come sit with us. I swear we won’t bite,” and then he quickly added, “Unless you want us to!” He threw his head back and shrieked with laughter. Without giving me much of a choice, Red grabbed my bags and dragged me to their table. “Come, babes, it looks like you’re in desperate need of rescuing.”

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