is strip at a frat party with 60+ drunk nineteen year olds.
(…flashback to last November…)
It was like trying to communicate with puking kindergartners.
You know how when you were little and your teacher wanted everyone's attention and he or she would raise their hand, maybe making a designated hand symbol that means 'it's time to be quiet and listen?' And every kid who saw would immediately mimic the teacher, until the whole room was quiet with their hands in the air? Yeah, that's what they do at this frat. But instead of a peace sign or something, they put their fingers into the 'silent shocker'. Hand open and flat, fingers together, then take your ring finger and touch it to your thumb. You know: 'Two in the pink, one in the stink.' Seriously.
The party wasn't actually that bad. When I had first heard how many people the two of us would be dancing for, I immediately assumed we'd have to bring security. But when I talked to the contact, he assured me that there would be at least five ‘sober brothers’ to control the party and watch out for us. On the phone he was articulate and respectful, so I relaxed.
I can't say I've spent much time at frat houses, but this one fit the stereotype. The event was held in the basement, where they obviously threw all of their parties. A large drafty room with concrete floors (hell on our knees, man) that smelled oh so much like old vomit. Ugh. Lace, a sultry black woman in her thirties, and I were a 'surprise' for all of the freshman pledges, all of whom were upstairs in their rooms getting drunk with their upperclassmen big brothers when we arrived. I don't get frats, so I don't really know much more about it than that. Thank god there were no sorority girls at this party. The last thing we wanted to deal with was a shit-ton of drunk catty bitches making fun of us while we worked.
I have personally never been naked for that many people at once. Or had such a screaming and enthusiastic response to taking my clothes off. Fucking intense, but Lace and I held our own. To be honest, I’ve learned that I’m a far superior performer in a one-on-one environment. In fact, up until (and halfway through) my first bachelor party, the thought of dancing solo in front of even a small roomful of people made me ill. It appears I’ve come a long way.
We both enjoyed how young and attractive most of them were. And while they had the advantage of being a loud, drunken mob, we had the advantage of being naked women who knew better. I think we kind of scared the crap out of them. Whenever it started to get a little overwhelming, I just reminded myself I could crush any one of these little boys with my left thumb. Whatever works, right?
A couple of funny things:
One, this frat belongs to the university I attended. I still volunteer in my department once a week. Incidentally, I worked a shift there the morning after the party. I love the way that feels, the strange way these roles I play cross-over and intersect. I love that if any of those frat boys take the right class, they'd have me helping them with their equipment and most likely not even realize I'd been naked and in their lap.
Two, I totally did something completely out of character. I hit on one of the frat boys. As in went back to the frat house after we left and gave him my number, told him to call me. I'm slapping my forhead and rolling my eyes at myself as I write this. Lace was out front, waiting in the car. I could blame her, since she was totally egging me on, but . . .
Why did I do that? Well, first of all, he was one of the upperclassmen, so he’s at least 21. He might even be 22 (I know, I know.). He was one of the sober brothers making sure the party was under control, so in contrast to the rest of the drunken, drooling jackasses, he came across as quite a gentleman. With really nice arms. Anyway, I also gave him my stripper email, which he has since used.
We’ve actually been sending notes back and forth every week or two since the party happened last November. Both of us have other things going on, but I think one of these days we’ll meet for a drink. I haven’t told him my real name or age, and I’m not sure if I’m going to. I kind of like the idea of hanging out just long enough for me to feel him up and give him a great story to bring back to the ol’ frat house. Speaking of, I realize how this probably looks to his friends, but at the same time, this boy is short, polite, didn’t look at me with lust for even a split second when I was naked, and has a ridiculous name. In other words, the anti-frat-boy. So if a stripper hitting on him in front of some of his brothers boosts his cred, s’alright with me.