Adult Outings america

The Big Easy Lives Up To Its Name....

Wednesday, September 18, 2013 Kenny Muzzey

Bourbon Street, New Orleans. I lazily sauntered down the sidewalk gazing at all the small shops, bars and restaurants.  Stopping here.  Stopping there.  Much like a lab rat in a maze. It was a weekday; I forget which, mid-December, the brisk temperature was a result of the grey, dreary, overcast skies. I came to a crossroad, stopping, waiting for traffic to pass before crossing. Taking in all the sights, the sounds, the smells of the city, suddenly, I hear something. “Hey, how’s it going?” I continue to walk, not paying much attention to the individuals around, nor acknowledging the voice.  Then unexpectedly, the voice being more abrupt, and more forceful states “I said how’s it going?!” I look to my right. “Oh, sorry!” I exclaimed, “It’s goin’, how about you?”     

               “Better now” the woman says….

               “Where are you from?” she asked me inquisitively.
                “Chicago.” I responded
                “What brings you down here?”
                “I am just traveling, I quit my job recently.”
                “Oh, what did you do?
                “I was a veterinary technician.”                “I used to be in the medical field too” she tells me.





The conversation carried on like this as we walked down the sidewalk. She explained to me that had given up med school for reasons I do not remember. I was half listening, and more interested in exploring the city. The little woman eventually asked me something, something I found to be very strange, and somewhat unnerving.

                “Promise me something ….” She said.

                “What’s that?” I asked.
                “Promise me that you’ll have a drink with me before you leave….”

I hesitated, several thoughts racing through my mind. “How could this be a good idea? What’s the worst that could happen?” After a momentary pause, I responded, “Sure.” I said, in a less than eager tone. “Great, how about now?” Again, I was bewildered. “I mean it’s only like 9:30, but I don’t see why not!” I exclaimed. The strange woman growing increasingly excited. “Okay! Let’s go to barely legal!” she said abruptly.  I guess she could sense the uncertainty in my voice. “What’s barely legal?” I responded. “It’s a strip club!” she said again, eagerly.

              
                “Oh.” I said.

                “What’s the matter?” she asked.
                “I’ve never been to a strip club.”
                “WHAT?! Every man should go to a strip club!” She shouted.

At this point we had done a full one-eighty and I was following the strange woman down the infamous Bourbon Street. “Let’s go here instead!” she said with an enthusiastic tone in her voice as she grabbed my arm, much like an old friend would do. Pulling me into one of the bars.  The bar tender, an attractive young brunette, told us about the happy hour specials.

“Three Bud Lights for five bucks? How could I go wrong?!” I thought to myself as I placed the order.  As we sat at the bar, she casually sipped her beer, telling me about herself. As for myself, I was sitting there with a beer in each hand and my thumbs jammed into the neck to avoid foul play as something seemed amiss. The woman claimed she had been in med school but gave it up. She referenced her current job, noting that she often times got “dizzy” from “too much twirling on the pole.” At this point all sorts of red lights are going off in my head.

                “What did I get myself into?” I thought.

                I tried my best to make small talk in this increasingly awkward situation.
                “So you’ve never been to a strip club?” she says, as if to be mocking me.
                “Nope!” I said.
                “So…. You’ve never had a lap dance then?”
                “No.”
                “WHAT!? Every man should have a lap dance!” she shouts while simultaneously                      laughing.
                “I don’t know?” I interjected, “I guess I don’t date the right women!”
               
At this point she was hysterically laughing at me. This, again, is when t
he conversation took a strange turn. “I could give you a lap dance.” She tells me. At this point I realized the ridiculousness of the situation and started to entertain the woman. “Yeah? Where?” I replied. “I dunno, my place or yours….”

                “I just wanna take pictures.” I explained to her.

                “OH! You can take lots of pictures!” she tells me, misunderstanding what I meant.

My mind raced, all I could think of was that episode of Seinfeld where George met a woman while in route to a job interview. George putting his best foot forward, believing that he was going to get lucky, abandoned his commute for an adulterous rendezvous in a hotel with the woman. The woman started stripping off his clothing, leading him on, while proceeding to tie him to the bed, “I’m going to slip into something more comfortable.” She tells him. As he eagerly awaits her return with a giant grin on his face. Minutes later, the woman returns, fully dressed and proceeds to rob him.  I saw myself in his position with this random woman robbing me, taking my camera equipment, wallet, laptop, and whatever else she pleased.




















    


       


   “….  
"..hold that thought” the stranger tells me, “I have to use the ladies room.” She said hopping off her bar stool and disappearing into the back of the bar. “Now’s my chance!” I thought to myself, I flew off my seat and raced back out on to the street and into another tourist trap. I slowly walked around the small shop, looking at the cheaply made gifts, giggling, and processing what had just happened. I hung out in the store a while longer. In the meantime I had taken a second to text a friend. “Dude, its 9:45, I am drunk, and I am pretty sure a hooker or stripper just tried to pick me up.” Seconds later I got a reply, “LOL”. I paced around pretended to be interested in this or that for a few more minutes before making sure the coast was clear and walking out to continue on my journey.
~Kenny Muzzey~
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