Saturday, April 4, 2015

CRAIG EDWARD KELSO, Objectification

Drove by the Body Shop, a local nudie joint, on my way to an appointment.

Had a flashback, and it made me smile.

Other than TJ, where the pussy was a little LESS than grade-A prime cut (the chicks were beat up, worked over), I hadn’t been to a bona fide American strip club until the Body Shop. Me, Lip, Scott, and a few others made our pilgrimage to the home of to-be actresses and perennial medical students. Hahahahaha. 

Truthfully, I wanted the membership card to put in my wallet. Thought it was cool. I turned 18 during the final year of high school, and this seemed to be the number one rite of passage for our circle of friends. 

When we entered, the music was pumping. It was the original home for heavy metal bands who often had trouble getting distribution through normal channels. The strip club circuit was where they were welcomed, and the girls seemed to prefer bands like Motley Crue and Ratt. 

The first thing I noticed was how QUIET the men were; they were concentrating!  

It was hard for my jaw not to drop at the first sight of a naked woman parading up and down the stage. I tried to look like I’d seen it a thousand times, but I probably gave away my excitement any number of ways. 

We originally sat at the back, and immediately one of the girls took to us. She chatted us up, and all the guys looked my way to silently plead with me not to say anything offensive. The nudie cutie served us drinks, but I refused to order (too expensive). She thought I’d be an easy sell, asking if she could sit next to me. The guys hooted and cheered me on. I rolled my eyes. I am dumb, yes, but I am not stupid. I knew the bitch was trying to play me. I was under NO illusions.

I asked her what working in a club was like. She gave a pat answer, nothing illuminating or particularly interesting. I then started grilling her on her future plans. She SWORE she was a college student. I asked her what she was majoring in. She paused and had great trouble putting together the easy answer such a softball question brought. I laughed in her face, and she turned bright red. 

I took the initiative and went to the stage, sitting as close as possible. That also surprised me. A lot of the closest seats were empty. Strange. I didn’t care. I unashamedly perched myself RIGHT THERE. The boys joined me, although they were at first a little uncomfortable, feeling awkward and somewhat self-conscious. Not me. No shame in my game.


Jesus Christ on Crutches! 

I’d never seen a babe like THAT. She was built for speed. White bikini. Her proportions weren’t the cartoonish sort of the other gals, where titties were phonier than Bozo’s nose. She was fucking perfect. Kept herself in immaculate shape, and for a white girl had a nice onion and long, long legs. Blonde hair, one length, straight. She strutted like she owned the place. Fuck yeah!

I screamed YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! as the early riffs from the Young brothers, Angus and Malcolm, joined the smoke-filled exhale of Brian Johnson’s signature beginning to the legendary song, ROCK AND ROLL AIN’T NOISE POLLUTION from AC/DC’s Back in Black album. I sang to Lip, as loud as I could, the first few words: Hey now all you middle men, throw away your fancy clothes … so get off your ass and come down here; cuz rock and roll ain’t no riddle, man; to me it makes good, good sense. Hahahaha. Each of the guys roared with laughter, especially as I started air drumming in perfect sequence to Phil Rudd’s sick-ass boom and crash. Boom, crash! 

The honey who I earlier insulted let us know the girls pick their own music.

I was in deep, deep love. 

This chick was smoking fucking hot AND she had great taste in tunes. She moved like a sex goddess, and to prove how kick ass she was … she gave me a grin, trying to hold back her laugh at my animation to the AC/DC classic. What a great girl.

ROCK AND ROLL AIN’T NOISE POLLUTION, ROCK AND ROLL AIN’T GONNA DIE, I continued to sing along at the top of my lungs. The babe was now laughing at my chutzpah.

Ooooooooooooooooooh. I forgot. This was a place without alcohol, so the dancers got COMPLETELY nude.

I didn’t realize that until she came over. And boy oh boy did she come over. I was making such a scene, singing and drumming and carrying on, that she could have either ignored me completely or do what she did. What happened next increased my awesome sauce by something like one thousand percent. 

Toward the end of an early chorus, you have to listen carefully, Brian Johnson finishes the refrain with a punctuation, YES IT WILL! It’s subtle, but it’s there at almost exactly the two minute mark. It goes, … rock and roll … it … will … survive, … yes it will. And he sorta kinda chuckles like an Australian pirate as he says it. But you’d have had to REALLY listen and be a fan to grab that part.

Well, she was a fan. Hahahaha.

The dancer is now RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, on all fours, the small of her back moving to the beat. And if Scott hadn’t tapped me on the shoulder, pointing out the amazing nalgas just inches away, I probably would have missed it.

Just as the chorus winds down, getting to that part I described earlier, she FLIPS over, spread eagle, and rips off her bikini panties! 

Money shot! 

She mouths YES IT WILL right at me, as I sang it at the same time, with her coochy in all its glory exposed. I nearly died. The boys shouted and clapped and patted me on the back. It was some kind of strange victory, but I took it. 

She continued on, finishing her set as did all the girls. At the end of the song, a polite applause is the usual. This babe got a standing ovation with me leading the charge. 

Another thing they do is come around the perimeter of the stage and collect tips. I have only given a stripper money ONE time, and she was it. I took out a crisp five dollar bill, and placed it on Scott’s head, folding it down the middle so it would stand up like a tent. Stopping at my chair, she leaned over and kissed my head, saying thanks for the enthusiasm. She then squatted down, catcher style, and kissed Scott on the lips! 

Now that I think about it, I should’ve put the bill on MY head. 

Sweet, sweet girl. Good sport.

It’s been years and years since, and as I drove by the Body Shop I remembered our little moment.

Later that day, I went to the library and found AC/DC’s Back in Black CD waiting for me. 

Checked it out, ripped it onto the iPOD, and leaned back to enjoy a neat memory.

And I mean it.

Craig Edward Kelso is the author of Anarcho-Capitalism (2014), a primer on the philosophy of peaceful, stateless cooperation. His curriculum vitae include a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science from San Diego State University, and a Post-Baccalaureate secondary education credential in both Social Science and English Language Arts. Kelso taught for nearly a decade in the American public school system, and was voted by colleagues Teacher of the Year, twice in his short tenure, earning numerous accolades from chambers of commerce, mayors, state assembly persons, governors, congresspersons, senators, and even Wal-Mart. Currently he struggles to earn an opportunity to be employed, working as a laborer, dishwasher. He is deliriously happily married to Myra Kelso, living in Southern California with their adorable children.

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