My friend decided one day that it would be a good idea to watch me get beaten by strippers for my birthday. Keep in mind that I am a nervous wreck around your average everyday person. I was so nervous in that situation, my mind wandered to other areas while attempting to talk to the strippers, but all that came out of my mouth were baby sounds.
Just imagine, it is hard to engage in a conversation in normal status quo, and I was definitely not in what you would consider a normal circumstance. I was getting beaten mercilessly by a woman named Daisy while watching Joe (my friend) laugh and cry uncontrollably.
This situation helped me understand two things. First, I don’t like BDSM and second, I need new friends.
While all of this happened, the strippers started to realize that I did not like being bent over and beaten, the proof was my tears rolling down the stripper pole.
THAT IS WHEN THEY STARTED TO COMFORT ME WITH THEIR BOOBS
while saying ‘Awww its ok, it will be over soon’ Cherry said. It was not over soon.
I forgot it to say I was handcuffed to the stripper pole… a well-oiled, probably STD filled, wiggly stripper pole. I was bent over facing the opposite direction of the carnage on my Angus beef area.
15 minutes later the cuffs came off and ice was poured down my tender regions. But the real question here is, do people actually enjoy this? They must! As this is the ‘special’ feature of the club.
Actually, I see the truth now: a) the strippers get so much needed therapy on my ass, and b) my friend is laughing so hard that he was gasping for air as an obese person would after running a marathon.
In conclusion, the only person that truly gets screwed in this situation is me.