What goes on reunion, stays on reunion 

A weekend away with The Lads. Unchaperoned in a city far from home. So much potential for misbehaviour.

First I should update you on the chastity cage.
Considering my passage through airport security was without incident, thankfully I did manage to lay my hands on a pair of nail clippers and the tag was easily removed. And instantly I was strangely disappointed. Perhaps I should have packed a spare tag. On the up side, at least it afforded me the opportunity to vigorously tug myself off in bed 6 times in 48hrs. A rare pleasure.

As for the reunion itself, being middle aged, and despite doing an admirable job of making up for the amount of drinking we’ve not done together in many many years, we were relatively well behaved. Nobody got into a fight. Nobody drank so much they were ill (though some of the hangovers must have been immense). Nobody tried to pull women half our age (though I suspect that was more about opportunity than anything else). And as far as I know, despite staying in a hotel just round the corner from where the city’s prostitutes used to ply their trade, none of us engaged their services.

There was a little laddish conversation, remenisences of drunken escapades when we were students together, waking up next to monsters, shagging strangers in inappropriate places (and I don’t mean up the arse – I think that was far less common 20yrs ago), despicably  handled break-ups with girlfriends and one night stands, and two or three of our number rattled off anecdotes of post uni hookers in Amsterdam or Bangcock. We were no angels, and some are still quite some way from earning wings. Pretty much as you might expect.

For some reason I know not, probably at somewhere around the the 10th bar of the weekend, a question was posed: Who has ever been waxed? A couple of guys owned up to having had their backs waxed from time to time and then there were the inevitable jokes about back, crack and sack waxes. Part of me was tempted to trump them all (well, I assume I could) by telling how I get my cock and balls waxed on a regular basis, but modesty got the better of me.

A while later another question: Who’s got a tattoo? Apparently only me. I had to then explain where it was, what it was and why I had it done. As my ink has always been a very personal thing for me I dodged the issue of what it is and what was behind the design. When it came to why, I was quite surprised by the need of one friend to understand the motivation: the explanation that it was just something I wanted to do just didn’t seem to satisfy him. His incomprehension was palpable, and when he said I suppose your going to say you have piercings too? Somewhat mischievously, I refused to be drawn on the matter, leaving him to assume something far more graphic than the truth. Not the nipple ring I sadly no longer wear, but rather the genital piercing I’d really like. 

Several bars later that evening, we found ourself surrounded by revellers who in many cases may not have been born when we last attempted to drink this city dry together. Many, I assume we’re out on the pull. Certainly many of the women were dressed to kill and our lascivious middle aged eyes could not help but be attracted by their mating plumage. Even if we knew we wouldn’t have stood a chance of getting into their panties.
One thing pleasantly surprised me in respect of what drew my own attentions. Amongst the beautifully slutty 20-somethings were some rather attractive, and almost as slutty 40-somethings. They may not have been as svelt and pneumatically stacked as their younger counterparts, but I found myself mentally undressing just as many middle aged women with middle aged figures. And why not?! On the occasions I’ve stiffened over some of your pictures, Exhibitionist Reader, especially with the likes of Boobday, I have been aroused at the sight of women around my own age as much as those far younger me. Should I ever actually employ an exist strategy, my confidence that I could find someone else to lust after was definitely bolstered.

As our company started to flag, fragment, and retreat to our beds, somewhere around the 15th bar I found myself making my own excuses to the more hardened and enthusiastic drinkers, and head for the hotel on my own. And this is where I have to make a confession, Dear Reader.
Whilst I am usually pretty observant, we had had to walk past a lap dancing club near the hotel about three times before I noticed it. Now, late at night, and on my own, I found myself passing it again. Its doors spread wide, music and light pulsed, and and its shameless, crimson entrance beckoned me towards a dark inner sanctum of sexual pleasure. 


Yet it was now at least three hours after I would usually be asleep, and I had been physically weakened by the day’s activities. What’s more, it had already been an inevitably expensive 36hrs, I had little cash left in my wallet, there was no ATM between the titty bar and the hotel, and I had little idea what finances are currentky needed in order to persuade an athletic nymphette to waft her cunny in your face.
I must apologise, Dear Reader, and say that whilst the spirit was extremely willing, the flesh was weak. I walked on by and headed to bed, where I wanked myself to sleep fantasising about what I could have seen for real. I regret this deeply, and although there is a strip club not a million miles from where I live, even as I lay in bed, cock in hand, I saw this as a badly missed opportunity.

6 Responses to “What goes on reunion, stays on reunion ”

  1. Shoot. I was hoping you’d get up to something in the strip club. But a wank is just as good.

    • The wank was ok. But I’m so regretting not going to the strip club. If I’d noticed its presence the evening before I might have done some research on prices, made sure I saved enough cash, and planned to say good night early to The Lads. I wish I had. Damn!!!!!

  2. Frank Friend Says:

    The few times I have entered a strip club, I have been thoroughly disappointed. Real Life and the Internet are better than any strip club IMHO

    • My equally limited experience has been fun, but that may have been down to having female company. Obviously you’re going to get a far more explicit show online, I guess it’s easier to transpose yourself into the action via your imagination with an onscreen show, and you’re not allowed to jerk off in a strip club, been you’re not getting any in real life, a real lap dance might just tick some boxes. I wish I knew and hadn’t missed the opportunity.

    • Frank Friend Says:

      Fair, enough, I’ve never been to a club with a woman, but frankly if I were with a woman who was open to joining me in a strip club, I’d rather play with her in a private room which is even better than whatever you can do in a strip club.

      Two real problems, in my experience, in strip clubs are first that they feel sleazy and unclean, and second that most of the women aren’t all that attractive. They may be dressed provocatively and have heavy makeup, but I’m just not that attracted to them, because they just aren’t that attractive. If they were more attractive they wouldn’t be working there.

    • When I visited a lap dancing club with an GF, there was an extra twist that made it a little more fun.

      Fair point about how attractive the dancers are. I’m appalled that this makes me sound like a misogynistic lech, but I probably was mainly focussing on their bodies … and they were pretty damn good as I remember.

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