Little Boy Strippers

I was drunk, I was in a jaded and bitter mood, but I was determined to make the most of this funny little town. So I went to the gay bar.

And there were boy strippers. Three of them. In their panties. In their muscles. In their chucks.

I got myself a drink and stack of singles.

Then I became a bad bad woman. I groped them, I man handled them, I slid my number in their panties. They were so fucking cute. One of them told me he was 22. I put my hand a little further into his pants than I should have.

I watched them flip upside down on the pole. I watched them, I drooled. I shoved dollars in their pants.

I wondered why I was the only one shoving money at them. They were so cute.

I’m sure the politics of working as a go go boy in a gay bar are different than being a stripper in a straight strip joint. I’m betting that they pay the go go boys to dance. That the boys have nothing more to offer. If they had offered me a room I would have taken it. They could have sold me over priced drinks, dirty jock straps. I would have bought it.

They were totally awesome. I’m going back again next week.