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After finally making it through another day of classes, I headed back to my shitty freshman dorm to await instructions. Like clockwork, my phone vibrates. The first message reads, “Meet at outside of your dorm buildings at 9 p.m.” and was abruptly followed by, “Bring lots of cash.”
I knew the day was finally here; the day that would give me nightmares about the possibility of one day having a daughter: it was stripper night. Some of the older brothers I spoke with during rush told me about this night and how it was their favorite event when they rushed. They told me that I would leave the night knowing that the human body has no limits, and neither does the influence of the American dollar bill.
Up until this point, I had never been to a strip club before. When you grow up in the ‘burbs, there’s no place for a low-end strip joint, so my experience with strippers and how to “handle” them was based solely on movie scenes and internet porn. I got ready, met up with one of my buddies that I was rushing with, and waited for the cars to come pick us up.
As we were waiting, I asked him if he had ever been to a strip club. He told me he did once: with his older brother for his bachelor party. He said they let you grab them, slap them, and feel them up. Essentially, nothing I couldn’t handle. “It’s cool, but there’s one thing you should never do to a stripper,” he said to me with conviction in his eyes. “Don’t put anything in any holes. Period.” I figured that was pretty self-explanatory, but apparently he learned that the hard way when he tried to stuff a $5 bill in a strippers mouth and was beat up by one of the bouncers.
We pull up to one of the brothers’ off-campus houses. Cars are spread all over its yard and out into the street in front of it. You could here what sounded like 40-50 inebriated walruses yelling and laughing from inside the house, all promising signs that we were going to have a night. Upon entry, we walk past two grown men that we had never met before. One white guy in his mid-thirties that dressed like Steve Madden in The Wolf of Wall Street, and one aggressively strong Asian man with his hair in a ponytail wearing a wife beater. I assumed these were the women’s “pimps,” and that assumption was correct.
The men had their hands full of singles, making change for everyone in attendance and passing out their personal business cards. They said the girls were getting ready in the bathroom, and that there will be absolutely no photography or videos taken of the girls during the show. As he said this to a crowd full of drunk 20-year-olds, he lifted his shirt to show us the gun tucked in his waistband. Welcome to college, me.
We had laid out a dirty mattress in the middle of the floor for the girls with rows of chairs circling it. Classy stuff. The beer had been flowing for a while, and some brothers were getting restless. When the girls finally came out, the house erupted. Bambi and Sprinkles were about as hot as any strippers I had ever seen, and they were around our age too, which made it kind of weird but still awesome.
They used dildos the size of my forearm, had us lick whipped cream off their nipples, contorted themselves into positions I didn’t even know the human body was capable of, and even let us play anal ring toss — a game in which each girl had a stick in their ass and we were to toss three rings apiece in what I can only describe as a disgusting rushee-vs-rushee lawn game. The person with the most rings got a free lap dance. The winner was me.
At this point I’d had a lot to drink and, currently being anal ring toss champion, was feeling a little cocky. I was on top of the world. An 18-year-old college freshman whom, two months ago, had to beg his girlfriend to take her shirt off during sex, was now getting a lap dance by two hot naked women with dildos in their asses. This was my apex (and still is).
Feeling drunk and overconfident while both girls were grinding on top of me, I double-hand slapped their asses with a little more gusto than what was apparently allowed. The girls immediately got off me and angrily told me to stand up. Not knowing what I did wrong, I happily stood up, thinking this was part of some act. The room fell silent with anticipation. I knew I had fucked up.
The girls told one of the brothers to grab them a chair. The room erupted with howling and laughter like it was filled with a pack of fucked up hyenas. While one stripper was putting the chair in place, the other walked up to me real close and grabbed my Jack-Johnson. She whispered, “You want a real lap dance honey?” as she kissed my neck and nibbled my ear lobe. I nodded very quickly, to which she seductively replied, “Take off your belt.” I took off my wide, brown leather belt and gave it to her. Both strippers escorted me to the chair and pulled my pants down to my knees, exposing everything below the belt. I thought, are they really about to fuck me in front of everyone? I guess this is what fraternity life is. Just go with it.
Oh, how naive I was.
They told me to put my knees on the chair and wrap my arms around the back. My hands were quickly tied with nylon rope, and my hairy asshole was exposed for the whole room to see. Thinking back to anal ring toss, I started to panic.
The hotter of the two strippers stood behind me with my belt in her hand. She yelled to the crowd like Russell Crowe in Gladiator, “He thinks we like to get spanked, let’s see if he likes it!” With a cheer from the crowd, I knew my fate was sealed. This was going to be the best and worst experience with strippers I’d have for years to come. She spanked me with my own belt so much that I thought I was going to pass out from all the sensual pain. My screams were muted by the laughter of the house. As horrible as it was, it was still kind of dope.
To this day, the tradition still lingers within the fraternity. It happens every semester. I know, for I very obviously joined after going through that experience during rush. If you were wondering, yes: stripper night works.
And remember, kids: strippers are people, too..
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