I walked into the club when the music was blaring. The place has one of the shittiest sound systems in all of Vegas. A few steps in, I stumbled into some black light. I noticed dog hair glowing on my clothes. I was wearing what I had been wearing the last time I slept: yoga pants and a wife beater. I don’t do yoga. My hair was unwashed and pulled back into a messy bun. I was there for the sole purpose of visiting my friend who was working there at the time. It was Halloween night and she was dressed as a slutty nun. A short tight black dress with panels of see-through white mesh that showed off the cleavage between her big tits. The dress was accented with buckles and little white crosses. She also wore black thigh-high fishnets held up by a garter belt.
My friend the nun is not a stripper. She’s a hot house mom. This sort of thing is rare. Most house moms, in my experience, are leathery old women. Women who maybe used to strip 20 years ago.
So I sat with her and she counted money, herded teenage strippers and ate Halloween candy with me. We talked strippers into letting us pick their stage music. A whole barrage of cheesy goth music that we loved. Even the Lost Boys theme.
Last year I wore epic sparkly wings and a corset and makeup. This year, yoga pants. I enjoyed this year’s Halloween perhaps just as much though. Just sitting on a bar stool watching the ladies strut around in cat ears and devil horns.