Most men, aside from regulars, that I talk to are a little uncomfortable in a strip bar. If you press them, they will admit to being a little unsure of what to actually do when confronted with a beautiful young naked woman who is paid to show them the things they long to see, but only show. Now what do you do with her? Do you smile? Play it cool? Gawk? Talk? Try and Seduce? It's easy to be shy. Some guys try and look the girl in the eyes, as if they will show her that they are different. Some do the opposite and stare where they are not allowed to stare normally. You are limited in what you can actually do as well. You can hold her hips, but you can't slide your hands at all, thus turning a hold into a caress. She's totally in charge and can beckon security guard over at any point, for any reason, and you're out. And yet, you're paying her.

I used to be sort of shy and uncomfortable because she was there as a job, not because she liked me. But that was before I spent five hours in the Spearmint Rhino in Vegas. I found the Tao of strippers on the third hour. The last two hours we just down right fun.

The four groomsmen and myself started our Vegas jag exhaling with our adrenal glad on the NY a roller coaster. We had to get that old dusty adrenaline out to make room for the synthetic high test Vegas adrenaline.

Bachelor parties are really mostly about breasts. I've been a best man three times and heard about a lot more bachelor parties and none involve actual sex. Men who become grooms seem to all now that you're here to let your friend explore the forbidden world of bodies that you do not get to see or touch during a regular work day (but you think about it), not to get the guy laid, which is old school and not something you want to actually be part of. Smart grooms men also know they should not ask for this so it doesn't look like they really want it, and they know it should be out of town. Being caught staring at a woman while shopping with your new wife is bad enough, explaining that you're staring because she was your stripper is much, much worse. So, Vegas strippers it was.

But first we had to find the groom. He was stuck in Texas because Houston's runway was a foot under water. He kept calling from small Texas towns and in taxis and airports. He was fighting his way to his men, his troops, tooth and nail. He was telling all the airline reps. that he had a bachelor party in Vegas that had started without him, he had to get there, this could not happen another weekend as he was getting married the next weekend. He ended up in first class.

The five of us waited in casinos. First the gravity of Vegas drew us to the nearest casino. The NY, NY. It was a huge blend of many colored lights bathed in the mating calls of slot machines. The air is strange and in the end it all amounts to about as much sensory input as your head can physically handle. Thus, the NY, NY casino is like a lot of casinos in Vegas.

People laugh and cry,
Cleavage walks endlessly by.
Sexy lights and sounds,
Talcolm powdered fine hair abounds

Next the Hard Rock casino. About $7 into a slot run I put a dollar in and won $180.00. I put a $100 away for the strippers and the rest for losing. I was playing next to an old thin, chain-smoking man wearing a bandana and expensive black French looking cloths, the kind you just can’t imagine being for sale anywhere America. He was about 60, or 70, hard to tell. After a while of talking he said he brought $25K for the slots on this trip, and he was up 15K after 4 days. He uses the money to cut records outside of town. I believed him. The Hard Rock is a great hotel for our demographic. Small, off the strip, young, and great music all the time. But we were staying at the Tropicana for savings this night; Sunday was at the Hard Rock when the prices dropped.

What was left of our groom after 18 hours of traveling boy arrived at 10:45pm and we did a shot. No time for a coaster, one of our new cabbie friends was on his way to take us to the Spearmint Rhino, the current hot club according to the cabbies. We'd asked around, and confirmed that they had what we were looking for, high quality girls who were not all fake, a more mellow place with friendly girls, or at least really good actors, and a comfortable atmosphere.

It was a good club. Dark, tables with soft chairs. A small stage. 30 or so amazing women walking around with all different looks, colors, heights, clothes. About half looked worked on. There was a type for every man, little white elves in lace, ebony gazelles, cartoon blonds, Lora Crofts, svelte small breasted. Good music, but not too loud. We get a table and sit down.

A tall woman dressed in a see through black little cape arrives and sits down. She is named Michelle she has a beautiful stomach and amazing breasts. She looks like a Victoria Secret commercial sitting on our boys lap. She very genuinely friendly and relaxing. She's there for free, just chatting. We take deep breaths.

Michelle is charming. Fake breasts, but she’s tall and leggy so they don’t make her look like a cartoon like some of the other girls. Unlike some strip club girls, her smiles and flirting are done very well with nice wet kisses on the cheek, warm hugs, and smart conversation with no high-pitched bimbo voice.

A high-pitched bimbo comes over. She chats for a few minutes, and moves along after we don't want a table dance. This will go on all night, some stay longer and chat, others move along immediately. Michelle and two other girls will adopt our group and come back the most.

Table dances are $20. Drinks are double normal price. 3 hours later we've spent at least a $1000.00. The groom is all smiles, drunk and he's been in the back room for private dances twice. Later, were are all still there. I’ve had 5 lap dances with all types of women at $20 a piece. I'm in a zone. A Roman feast zone, an Indian palace zone. I am a happy man. I am drunk, there is a super model sitting on my lap, she is a tender cuddler, smart and funny. Her breasts are mine and over the night I’ve

The place is crawling with really amazing looking women of all sizes and types. Some of them have had a lot of work done, some none. Tall, short, black, white, brown. They cater to any type. Our group has settled on a few girls who stop by a lot, they’re the mellow type, they’ve learned our table is a lot of computer geeks, and that we like to talk to smart girls. Some of them tell us they’re in school to be lawyers, doctors; others are doing the 70hours a week and making 50K in three months! then taking the rest of the year off. There are a lot of nice cars out back. The groom has been in the back room twice with two girls each time. No sex, no contact, just long personal table dances. By this time, we’ve got the place down. We like the smart girls, and the ones who give the tender lap dances. They’ve read us like a book as well, so the girls who do the breast slapping in the face, or really porn like lap grinding don’t come by much.

The drill is this. There’s always a girl or two sitting with at least one of us guys. These are girls who’ve taken to one of the guys in terms of a nice place to sit and cuddle a little and chat. They don’t charge, but they can’t stay for more then 10 or 15 minutes at a time because they have to move on and make money, but they come back and talk. Every once in a while we shell up the $20 for a lap dance to keep them here and security from getting nervous. Three of the guys in the group actually have made “friends” with girls, in that they come by and talk and laugh a lot and are friendly and genuinely nice. The other guys around us are all cool, no fights or even loud talking. This is a collared shirt and pants place. The security roams around in excellent suits. They are fucking huge, big enough to make all the men in the place talk in low voices, behave, and keep their hands under total control. But they are cool and give very quiet warnings.

Meanwhile you look around. You see amazing things. There is a stage with a poll and a DJ. The stage is interesting when a topless woman is seen sliding down at a right angle to the floor and then doing 10 slow sit-ups upside down must have been a pro gymnast. Mostly you look around the tables against dark walks around your table. At times it is an orgy scene, like the orgy shots that survived the American sensors in the movie “Eyes wide shut”. The drinks flow, you smoke and sit back and relax. It is relaxing in a very surreal sort of “I am king” way. You see perfect bodies of all shapes topless and slowly snaking over the bodies of men, with only the men’s arms and legs showing. Girls are slinking around guy's heads and hair and the men are grinning, breathing deep and there are a lot of content and intense gazes. Your hands can not caresses or security gives you a quiet warning. You can touch or hold, just not caress. All their skin is soft and covered in some wonderful lotion. They all smell the same, a very mellow sort of fruity smell. As you look around at this, and the multitude of women walking the floor and sliding through the crowded chairs, you make eye contact with women. When you do, they come over and chat a little. No dance, they walk away, usually. Ones who you get along with and talk well with will sit and talk, sort of taking a break with people they can relax around. Then they’re off.

A good table dance is when the woman is good at reading what you like. Bad ones are when they do the standard porno stuff. I had 5, 3 were good. Michelle was at the end of her shift and tired, we’d been there for 4 hours. She had coached us on the best girls for our Bachelor and was just generally being our host. She sat down with me, all 5’ 10” of her on my lap and leaning into my arms. She was not my type, way too tall. But I felt very comfortable with her and she was a very cuddly and tender. I started giving her a neck massage while we chatted. She had very tight shoulders and backs from all the writhing. She loved it and kept staying for free. We talked about the profession, life, and just sat too. After 20 minutes the other guys were looking at me like, “tell me how you’re getting her to say with you?” Her breasts were 6” from my face as she sat on my right leg and cradled in my arms uncovered. I was very curious about these breasts, as I’ve never really had the opportunity to study an augmented breast in the wild.

I said lightly, “Michelle, I’ve never felt a fake breast.”

“Really?” she said, “Well I had pretty nice breasts before and I’ve seen what happens if you get too much done, so I only got a minor upgrade,” she smiled at me and she looked around for security. Then she casually put my hand palm up on my left knee and dropped her little money purse at my feet. She leaned down to get it. Hummm, ahhhh, hummm. I can report that they are indeed recognizably fake, you can feel the area underneath where there’s a slightly different feel. But it wasn’t creepy (The other guys reported that some of the cartoon girls were just unattractively enhanced.). Near the end of the night I gave Michelle my second to last $20 and she gave me a great lap dance. By then she knew me. It was slow and delicate, lots of hair, whispers and breath. I have an image of her sitting back to me in my lap, one curving body of tan smooth skin, then slowing arching back until her head touches my shoulder and I feel a slow breath in my hear and hair on my neck.

Brandy was good. Tall, curvy African American. No work done, curly long hair. We chatted. She was studying to be a lawyer. We got on the subject of writing and she came alive. He dance was the dance a writer gives, attention to detail, and awareness of emotions, fantasy and story telling.

I don’t remember the stage name of the last girl, but it was good. Things were foggy. I’d dropped exactly as much money as my first car had cost, and to my amazement, I felt it was worth it and I’d defiantly hit a lot more first bases then the car got me and I didn’t have to negotiate one single bra. The other guys seemed totally satiated, except one who kept yawning and was itchy to go, but we think he’s gay and in total denial about it. One of guys had flipped a circuit and was spending money like water, but he had it so it was OK. However, having fallen in love with Michelle and missing her I kept looking around. I had one more $20 left and had bee looking for Michelle for 30 minutes but she was not on the floor and about 30 new girls seemed to have arrived. Then I saw her trademark black see through cape and waved and pointed. She came over behind me and said, “Come with me where there’s more room,” and she lead me to back 2 person booth. She sat me down and I looked up. To my shock it wasn’t Michelle! But another woman about the same height with the same hair that had taken her dress. She was all real. She was into astrology. We were both Aquarius's. Thus bonded, and drunk, she gave me a great dance. I distinctly remember two things. 1. A passing security guard warned me about my hand placement. 2. She had the best smelling sweat between her breasts I’ve ever had wiped on my eyelashes.

We made it out by 5am minus the big spender. We were 5 laughing happy men on a bench. Our bodies had were in such need of water that a simpethic valet when to his car and filled up a camping canteen he had from a side hose. We send recon scouts for our boy inside by he could not be found. We sent men around back to see if he’d passed out or otherwise been thrown out by security. There were actually 2 cabs back there waiting for this to happen. He was not to be found. We called and could only hear girls and music before he hung up. Eventually we got him and only heard, “go, see you later.”

DAWN

With very little sleep the night before, and it being close to dawn and drunk, one must never go right to sleep, eat, or committ to staying up all the next day or the hangover will kill your trip. The groom and I hit the hot tub and pool to do the cold/hot thing. Then we roamed for food as the sun rose. The smell of bacon literally bathed the city. I imagined tons of bacon in every casino, enough to give protein to a small country. Vegas at dawn is a dream. Castles are in the sky, pyramids exists, there are TVs as big as houses with only you watching them. We got lost in the MGM; it reeked of smoke and the smell of fear. In its cafe we sat down and almost both immediately threw up when we realized there were no windows and no fresh air. We bolted back to the good old, and I mean old, Tropicana. They had a cafe with windows and air. We crashed at 7am.

ROCKING POOL AND ROOM

I’ll close this long ramble by saying the the Hard Rock swimming pool and room #772 do indeed, rock. After a lunch wherein our resident stud got a date with the waitress, a former Patriots cheerleader according to her, we hit the pool. The pool is wonderful.