Monday, May 30, 2005

Hens ? Night Out!

The plan was for me to be the designated driver Saturday night. Last time I went, I drove Dena's car, since my truck won't hold but 3 people. As I was almost ready to leave, she called and said that instead of 4 women, we now had 6. So her friend Cricket (that's her real name) was driving her brother's van. They would pick me up at 7:30. Then she informed me that everyone was wearing skirts and tank tops. I laughed. Not this honey! No way was I going to wear a skirt and have some male stripper bending me over a table and pulling up my skirt to spank my ass while he humped me. (I saw it happen a few times to some unsuspecting women and it wasn't a pretty sight).

I had on low rise jeans, a hip scarf with gold sequins and coins, an off-the-shoulder pink top and sandals.

Didn't know the other girls very well. But one great thing about male revue shows is the bonds they help create. By the end of the night, we were tight.

Wendy--the one celebrating her divorce, kept calling us "Hens." It's "Hens' Night Out." "Look out Peckers, the hens are here." Personally I prefer being called a Chick. Sure we were all over 35 and I was the oldest, but Hens!!!! Not me!

I won't go into all the dirty sordid details. Ok, I would but I don't remember them all. Since I wasn't driving I had a few extra drinks... Cosmopolitans. Now listen up...they are mild going down, kinda like punch. And that's what they pack--a potent punch. And they work great on killing them.

We got there really early and with a lot of flirting we managed to get the manager of the club to move a table reservation to the second row and give us the ring side table. Cleavage and the hint of more to 'cum' can even give some 'hens' advantage.

The virgin--Marcy sat beside me. As we had our first rounds of drinks, Dena asked me to explain the rules of Revue to her.

1-- A Male Revue show is equivelant to Vegas---Everything stays there!

2--If you bring it they will cum.... money. Especially if you flaunt it! Lay it on the table, so they can see it from the stage. I promise you that you'll have plenty of thonged dick in your face.

3--Be prepared for the hot seat. (A chair they put on stage after each dance, so you can seat in it and let them use you as a humping cushion). The hot seat is a chance for the dancers to show the audience just how freaky they can get. I've seen women lifted --chair too and spun around into a 69 position. I've seen panties exposed, breasts flopping out of tops.... Once you get in that seat, babe you're a target.

4--The dancers are there to make money. Don't think for one second that because one keeps coming over to dance for you that you've found Mr. Charming. Enjoy the attention but remember... it's no fairy tale.

5--If you really want special attention, put your money between your teeth. The dancers will know you're a virgin and will make sure you get a good show.

Ok... the last one is a lie. I get them every time with it. In fact, I have a picture of one of the virgins of old doing it. And did this one fall for it? Oh

I'll say this about the show. It was fun. I bet one of the girls that if I put my dollars in my cleavage that the dancers would use their teeth to get them. After getting slobbered on a few times, I regretted that bet.

I would write more about the show but due to rule #1, I can't.

At midnight, they let the guys in. A ton of young military guys....who made a bee line for the restrooms. I think all the clucking hens made them nervous. I don't remember much after's all scattered fragments.

I do remember dancing a lot--by myself. Dena said we were sitting around, laughing about the show and the stuff we did, when I suddenly stood up and said, "I'm going to dance." Then proceeded to the dance floor and started groovin' to the beat. It was hip hop dance stuff. And I let the music take me where it needed too. My hips were sore yesterday. Dena said I soon had some guys dancing around me, probably drawn to the gyrating hips as I circled them down and then back up. I remember doing that. I don't remember a guy trying to hump my leg or the crushing hip bump I employed that sent him back a few feet.

After the night was over, the hens were hungry for IHOP and ignored my protests to go home. We got in at 4 or so. I was exhausted. And slept late yesterday. No hangover. I'm happy about that. I think dancing helped move the alcohol through my system.

On the kitchen table were the content of my jeans pockets--a lipstick, some dollar bills that escaped the strings of thongs and napkins with the cell phone #'s of some GI's who were young enough to be my sons. Those I tossed away. Ha...a hen? Yea right!

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