Pubic hair causes crime

Friday was another bear meeting. I went because there is nothing quite like having senior citizens pinch your nipples. No, I kid: there are a LOT of things quite like that, and none of them are pleasant. Anyway, I did have fun the last time, and I just really wanted to get on with whatever (the whole “I tried, so when I end up alone I deserve my bitterness” thing), so I went.

I arrived a little early (you know me: such the eager beaver when it comes to being molested) and I volunteered to help this guy Dusty run the “50/50”. 50/50 is like some kind of raffle: tickets are $1, 6 for $5, or the length of your inseam in tickets for $10. Of course, you are kind of expected to do some cupping during the inseam measure. I was not responsible for that: I was the pimp (I collected the money) and Dusty was my ho (he did all of the tickets and just a little bit more). We worked the room but hard. In fact, we apparently set a new record: $318, and the winner of the raffle gets half of that (hence the 50/50). Dusty and I received several raucous rounds of applause; I turned to him and said “I guess we have a new job.” Which is okay by me (although I don’t think I will ever be an inseam measurer: it’s just not in my nature).

Dusty was also instrumental in a big first for me: I gave money to a stripper. See, we had worked so hard running the 50/50 that we didn’t even have time for a drink. When we finally got time to take a break, we went over to the bar, and there was a stripper dancing on it. Now, I have very limited experience with strippers of any stripe: I don’t even know if I like them or not. That seems weird when you consider how much porn I own, but it makes sense to me: porn is movies, but strippers are like real and right there and I had a brief, irrational fear that he was going to teabag me (“teabagging” is when the stripper kind of bops his scrotum on your forehead. The stripper was wearing a onesie, so it would not have been a flesh-to-flesh contact, but still. You can actually see a good example of teabagging in the John Waters movie “Pecker”, which incidentally is where the title of this post came from).

So, Dusty and I, we were watching the stripper while we were waiting for the bartender to come over and take Dusty’s order. The stripper was very cute: buff, nice face… you get the idea. The stripper sees us watching him, so he dances on over to us. Now, this was obviously not Dusty’s first time: he had money out and was ready to go, felt the stripper up a bit, and was completely unfazed. I, on the other hand, had no idea what to do. I had never been this close to a stripper practicing his or her trade before (except for that one time at my college graduation party, when my Dad’s friend’s now ex-wife {she turned out to be a pill-head: it was very sad} showed off her new implants while I was standing right next to her). I was watching as he did his little dance for Dusty, and I felt like I should give him some money for getting a vicarious show, so I pulled out a dollar and handed it to him. He took the dollar, and quick as a wink, grabbed my hand and put it in his pubic hair and then moved it around to cup his package.

I must have turned six shades of red. I didn’t even really enjoy it. Not because he wasn’t hot, and not because I suddenly stopped liking dick, but because it just didn’t feel appropriate. I suppose I am of this old-fashioned mindset where you only touch the people you love and you do it in the privacy of your own home. Call me crazy. Of course, I also didn’t move away from the stripper, either.