I finished the rest of the cough syrup in my car before going into Club Rock Za, the first of two, maybe three, strip clubs I hit that night; it's all very hazy and I don't think I'd remember it at all, but my memory was to be triggered months later.
Rock Za was crowded. I stood while the hostess went to get me a Corona. When she returned with the beer, I gave her two twenties and asked for a shot of tequila and the rest of my change in singles. The club has two large stages and a small one. A large breasted local girl was just climbing on to the small stage; not really my type. There were three girls on each of the other two stages. All but one of the dancers had guys sitting right in front of them, shoving dollars their way. The neglected blond was past her prime, too skinny and desperate looking.
A tiny Filipina made eye contact with me from the stage across the room. She smiled at me as she shoved her ass toward the guy she was dancing for. Then I noticed a guy getting up from his seat near me. The hard bodied Korean who’d been dancing for him slid her thong back into place and began gathering up dollar bills from around the cushion she’d been kneeling on during her “dance”. I moved into the seat just as my drink and my change came.
She smiled at me, then motioned to the hostess who’d just set down my drinks. While she traded a thick stack of singles for several twenties, I tried to see if I could find the scar from where her implants had been inserted. I could find none; still her breasts were too firm, too erect to be real. I’m not a huge fan of implants, but they seemed to complete this fantasy woman. Her completely smooth, hairless body, was evenly tanned and perfectly toned. Yet, in the minute or so it took her to make the exchange with the hostess, I noticed the beginning signs of aging. Hands of a thirty year old, maybe thirty-five; through the dim light and her makeup I could see lines around her eyes. Thirty-five maybe...it’s so hard to tell with Asian women. She was still in her prime, but I wondered if she had a plan for the future. I threw back my tequila and took a sip of beer.
Finally, with her smaller roll of larger bills firmly strapped into her garter, she turned her attention to me.
“I’m sorry, that was my last song of the set. Would you like to buy me a drink?” She was bending from her kneeling position on the stage. Her hair brushed against my face as she spoke into my ear. The combination of her perfumes, the ones she had applied and the natural scents of her body, combined with her slightly husky Korean voice and her proximity to me and caused my dick to be suddenly engorged with blood.
“I don’t buy twenty dollar juice for strippers.” I told her. Lot’s of the girls at strip clubs and hostess bars will have the men buy them drinks at inflated prices. The girl then takes a kick-back from the bar. This is a standard practice that I simply accepted. Some girls (understandably) wanted to stay sober as they plied guy after guy for expensive drinks, so they’d stick to tiny glasses of pineapple juice. I’d be damned if I’d pay twenty bucks for a glass of pineapple juice.
She put her top back on, straightened whatever other small strips of cloth she was wearing and held her hand out so I could steady her as she stepped off the stage in six inch clear platform stilettos. When she reached me at the bottom, she said, “I drink tequila.”
Jin Hee was her name and I bought her a couple of tequila’s as well as a couple more for myself. She was attentive at first, but soon seemed distracted. She told me she would be back; she had to say “hi” to one of her regular customers.
Jin Hee eventually found her way back to my table to work me for another drink. This is what she did; this is how she made her living. I knew this coming in; I wasn’t new to the scene. But, somehow it all seemed transparent to me at that moment. Jin Hee was clearly getting drunk as she took my money, but there was no way I was going home with her tonight. That fantasy would never happen. When she next rotated to her other “client”, I left the bar.
You’d think, after that brief moment of clarity, I’d have had enough of strip clubs for one night. Instead, I soon found myself a couple blocks away at the Crystal Palace where I met, for the first time, Darlene Wunderlich.
She had a light complexion with exotic features, ivory skin with dark hair and eyes that suggested an Asian background. I asked her, as I would sometimes do, to tell me about herself. Where was she from? What was her ethnicity? Was she a student? Did she have ambitions beyond gyrating for horny men?
Some girls will share some personal information, others keep things all business. Darlene turned out to be of the former type. At least on this night, she was very chatty. She seemed a bit tipsy already when I first stepped up to the stage in front of her. I learned that her family was from Idaho. Her father is German and her mother Japanese. The whole family had moved to Honolulu when she was in High School, but her parents had moved back to Boise a few years after Darlene finished her undergraduate degree.
“A college graduate! Working here? What did you study?”
It turned out that Darlene had a Masters in special education. She was a special education teacher at Kapahulu Elementary School and she worked with severely mentally and physically disabled children.
I learned all this between songs and I shared about my own experiences in the special education field. She would dance, grind, and writhe around during the songs as I stuffed dollars into her garter. Standard strip bar behavior. During the quite moments between songs we talked. When her set was over she came to my table and I bought her a twenty dollar drink. We talked about the challenges of working in the field, children with difficult behaviors, parents with difficult behaviors, limited resources and support from the school system. I told her of my plans to leave the DOE and begin working with Mark. She told me that she too was thinking about leaving.
The next morning I woke up bleary and hung over. I had blacked out the night before; I remembered starting out at Club Rock Za, but I didn't remember where I ended up. By my bed was a slip of paper that said: "Darlene Wunderlich" followed by a phone number.
At the time, I didn't remember my conversation with the gorgeous stripper/teacher. I thought, "Darlene Wunderlich, I don't even want to know a Darlene Wunderlich." I threw the paper away.
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