It's something that every man dreams about and wishes for on a daily basis, but which in reality occurs only rarely: when she makes the first move. You're just sitting there, minding your own business, not really working it too hard, when- whammy- she let's you know she wants it. Cha-ching. Unfortunately, in our uptight and backwards culture, young women are encouraged to project an image of chastity and refrain from "chasing boys," leaving it up to the males to initiate intimacy.
But every once in awhile a girl will forget what she is supposed to do and instead does what she wants to do. Such an event occurred just this past weekend... or so we thought. This particular Friday night called for a trip to the strip club. But owing to the fact that we are broke students/young professionals (I use the term "professional" loosely), a classy joint was out of the question. Enter Taj Mahal. The place is an institution in Washington and a rite of passage for every young man who has lived/worked/gone to school in D.C in the last three decades. Imagine the bar in "Roadhouse" (RIP Patrick Swayze) with dimmer lights and tits. The ATM dispenses singles and the employees are typically the kind of girls who can't get work in the other, more reputable gentlemen's clubs in D.C. Get the picture?
On this night, we brought along some young ladies because 1.) we wanted to show our romantic side, and 2.) everyone knows that, deep down, girls love strip clubs. If you're reading this blog, you've probably been to a strip club before, so I won't go into details of what occurred other than to say it involved the usual: getting too drunk, showering the strippers with abusive language, and eventually getting kicked out for "not respecting the girls."
One of our guys- we'll refer to him as "Big Daddy"- was really hitting it off with one of the girls, whom we'll call "Bouncing Betty." She was obviously into him and he was doing his best to play it cool despite the fact that he was near-blackout and she was definitely out of his league. As we were being escorted out, Bouncing Betty somehow made it past the bouncer with a bottle of Bud Heavy (classy girl, huh?). Not wanting to cock-block, we all piled into cabs and left the two of them standing on the corner to get the next one. What ensued can either be seen as hilarious or tragic, depending on your perspective.
As Big Daddy related to us later, they got into the next cab, Bouncing Betty still nursing her beer. They snuggled together in the back seat. After a few blocks, she calmly leaned forward, turned to face him, and without batting an eye, told him "I'm wet." How is a guy supposed to take this statement other than "it's on like Donkey Kong?" Believing that he had been struck by incredibly good luck, Big Daddy immediately went to work: making out, groping, and eventually sliding his hand up her thigh and under her skirt. As he later related to us, "she didn't do anything. Nothing. Just sat there and took it. Didn't say anything, didn't reciprocate." After a few minutes of this Daddy began to feel awkward, so he leaned back and asked point-blank "what the fuck, I thought you said you were wet?" "I am," Betty replied, gesturing to a wet spot on her dress. "I spilled beer on myself."