Stripping may be a long, dark walk down the road to Perdition, but sometimes it’s fun! I guess fewer people would make the trek to Perdition if it weren’t.

Before I launch today’s story, let’s talk business, AKA my continued justification for bringing this blog to you each week. Several of you messaged me inquiring about the leather pants I wore in a recent Insta post (pictured below), and it occurred to me that those pants really need to get more attention.

I bought them a few weeks ago and I’ve already worn them, like, a million times. They look professional in the office with a tucked in button-down, they look hot on a date (or a music video) with a crop top, and they look like something a shield maiden would wear when paired with a scale mail bikini top and utility belt, which is what I wore on a recent trip to Sherwood Forest.

The pants are high-waisted, so they look trendy AND tuck that tummy. They are a bit difficult to get into and out of, but once you’re in, they’re super comfy. The faux leather is stretchy and of good quality, and for $16.99, they are SUCH a great deal. I love mine so much. Support this blog by clicking the image below and go get you some!

Alright, back to the business of selling myself!

Both of the customers I had on Thursday were repeat clients from months ago who showed up at the club specifically looking for me, which was super flattering. I remembered them not at all. I will probably stop stripping when the dementia gets too bad, or when I hit 65, whichever comes first.

My second client, Wes, reflected back to all the fireball we drank on his first visit, which could also explain my lack of memory of that night. We proceeded to drink even more fireball and make bad decisions, two things that often seem to go hand-in-hand. We decided it would be super fun to blow the strip joint and go to a swinger’s club. Wes was curious about them, and I smelled a story. I am SUCH a story whore, ya’ll.

Wes gave me the fifty dollars required to clock out early. I made up a family emergency, and the managers were so sympathetic I almost felt bad about lying to them. We met up in the parking lot next door, and Wes called an Uber to take us to Colette’s, a swingers’ club only a few minutes away.

This is where the story gets really boring. There was almost nothing happening at Colette’s. The vast, swanky space was sprinkled with a handful of mostly young, somewhat attractive, very scared-looking couples. At least one other gentleman appeared to be accompanied by his stripper. Is that a thing – grab your favorite stripper and hightail her over to a swingers’ club? I don’t know; this was A Whole New World for me. If Aladdin were to write a song about THAT, I bet it would include rug burns.

Wes and I took a seat on some black leather couches in a corner, which turned out to be paid for and occupied by another couple who seemed VERY happy to have us there. Robert and April were all smiles and engaged in a bit of small talk.

“I think that guy likes you,” Wes whispered to me.

“Guys usually do,” I whispered back.

Wes laughed and stopped abruptly as a horrifying thought occurred to him. “I don’t want him touching me!” he exclaimed. “Don’t let him come near me!”

I explained to him that the club required Wes’ consent before Robert could touch him. Then I also explained, given the nature of the club, Robert and April might come as a package deal or a partner swap.

Neither option appealed to Wes. And thanks to all that fireball, he was fading fast, so we left. And thus concludes this tale of My First Foray to a Swingers’ Club, a story probably not coming to the kid’s section of the library anytime soon.