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I went to a party last night where I was the only guy; obviously a good thing, even better considering it was a party with a lot of my friends from work. Thus, I knew everyone there and most everyone there was comfortable enough to give me lapdances.

And then they had three male strippers come. An event of that scale was, to say the least, terrifying. Luckily, the hostess assigned a chair for me in the kitchen with the lights off (while the stippers removed their clothes in a stripping fashion in the living room). And there I sat for all 45 disgusting minutes and listened to things like, “I think he got it in L—-‘s mouth,” “Oooh, don’t bite it, girl,” “I love me some white girls,” and “They playin’ d— games. I was okay until they started playing games. No one wants to play d— games.”

But then there’s the awesome part. Things like the d— games (yeah, I know. I don’t censor myself anywhere else, why would I censor the word “dick” now? Because it’s not my d— and I was just three or four seconds away from seeing someone else’s d— thrust in my friends’ faces, which also) drove some of the girls out of the living room and into my lap. 2/3 girls that I have a crush on in that store sat on my lap while the third was the white girl that the gentleman who dances for a living likes (Dude Self-Preservation Tactics 101: crushes on multiple girls means your heart is only partially broken when one girl finally lets the bomb drop. DSPT 354: This may keep you STD-free but also just about permanently single. DSPT 355: This is why they invented pr0n).

And afterward they just had to stick around and say goodbye to everyone individually. And promote a Mother’s Day Stripfest (…really? Who told you that was a good idea? I usually just get my Mom a card). And give out their Private Numbers (“Sex Parties. Girl’s Night Out. Just Because.”) while wearing a towel. Then reverse-strip and then say goodbye more (girls get hugs again). And then congratulate the only guy at the party with multiple handshakes and by saying things like, “You’re the man, dude,” “You had a party of your own in the kitchen, didn’t you?” (Fact.) or “Awesome party, right?” And then it finally settles in: they totally used the same hands they’re giving you handshakes to lube up their d—s. Uggghhhhhhhhhhhh (Insert Vomit here).

So on the one hand, this party was extremely traumatic because I nearly saw professional dancing men in a nude setting and yet it was also partially awesome because in one night I got more lapdances (and lapsittings–not a word–) than I’ve ever had in my life. I guess that means I had an awesomely traumatic time…right? (DSPT 467 {Honors Seminar: Acceptance Through Denial}: Allow your memory to block out the dudes and reconsider all the showers you took in the following 24 hours. Now reexamine each time you spent in a chair with a girl gyrating {or sitting} near your dick and congratulate yourself for having a plain old awesome time and for not leaving dollar bills strewn across the apartment. [Editor’s note: Except for those three G.Washingtons. Asshole.])


One Comment

  1. lol

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