After I answered Aunt Daisy’s request for an idea to help celebrate her 84th birthday, I got a reply from her:
Your suggestion about goin’ to a male strip club was just the ticket!
Ishawana and the girls at the office jumped at the idea. The nearest club was 150 miles away so Ishawana declared it would be an overnight and she booked rooms at the Motel 8.
Grady and the men at the paper, bein’ the true cowpokes they are, offered to hold down the fort bein’ it was for my birthday. That was a swell present right there.
After work, we squeezed into Ishawana’s van and took to the road. She turned on her music good and loud, and we sang along. To get in the party mood, we started singin’ “100 Bottles of Wine on The Wall.” It was a premonition.
Tellin’ jokes and laughin’ our heads off, we turned into the Motel 8, checked in, and got into our party duds before the show at the Peek-A-Boo Club started. We sat by the stage and ordered cocktails.
The lights went off. Then – BAM! The pounding’ of the music started, lights flashed, the mirror ball turned, and smoke started pouring’ out. The Peek-A-Boo Dudes busted out to screams from the women.
The lights went off. Then – BAM! The poundin’ of the music started, lights flashed, the mirror ball turned, and smoke started pourin’ out. The Peek-A-Boo Dudes busted out to screams from the women.
Whoa, Sylvia, they were a sight for sore eyes! Muscles and bulges in all the right places – eye candy with no calories. Not a one was over thirty but I wasn’t shoppin’, just lookin’. Besides, Grady stuck in my mind like a burr under my saddle.
The Dudes twisted and gyrated and started flingin’ off their clothes, and the boys were GORGEOUS! One caught my eye and he gave me wink-wink back. Hair