Twofer: A Hooker Story and a Stripper Story

The poker blogs I read have been writing stories over the last few weeks about hookers and strippers. I didn't think I had any stories that would fit these categories, but, while reading a post from Very Josie, I remembered a couple anecdotes that would fit right into these two themes.

Hooker Story
In my freshman year at Simmons College in Boston in 1973, some friends and I went together to see Aretha Franklin at the Boston Garden. They were coming into town via the subway, and we agreed to meet in front of the only landmark I was sure they'd be able to find -- Madame Tussaud's wax museum, across from the Boston Common -- as we'd gone there together a few years prior.

I got to the meeting place before my friends. I'd guess it was around 6:30 or 7, and it was early winter, so already dark. I was dressed in my usual attire: flannel shirt, jeans, boots and a plaid wool shirt for warmth. No makeup. Long hair tied back in a ponytail. After standing in front of Madame Tussaud's for a while, I realized that the other folks lingering there were, shall we say, ladies of the evening and their clientele. Accidentally, I caught the eye of an older fellow, who raised his eyebrows and gestured with his head as if to say, "come with me." Sheesh! I figured that a tall, fat female dressed like I was (I was straight-identified at the time, but still dressed mannishly) would never be taken for a prostitute, but I was wrong! I moved away from this guy, staying as close to the street as possible, but still in the area for when my friends arrived. After some more loitering, this same guy came over to me, grabbed my arm and said "c'mon, let's go!" After some resistance, he finally got the message and left me alone. I'm sure he was greatly disappointed! .

Soon thereafter, my friends showed up and I was rescued from any further unwelcome advances. We had a good laugh as we headed over to the Garden for the show. The seats sucked but the show was great. Gotta love Aretha.

Stripper Story
This story actually happened to Skip, but it's a goodie worth retelling. In her late 20s, Skip was still healthy and worked as the bar manager at a Japanese restaurant on the waterfront in Boston. We lived in Boston's South End. Sometimes I'd go pick her up after the restaurant closed but other times she'd get a ride from the restaurant manager, a gay guy she was good friends with.

One evening, Jim the manager and she decided to go to a strip club called the Naked I in the Combat Zone, which used to be where Boston's strip clubs were located. The Zone doesn't exist anymore, largely because land values got too high downtown to waste the property with some sleazy bars, brothels, XXX theaters and XXX-rated bookstores. They went to this club because the bartender was an old friend of Jim's. Skip was always ready for an evening out back in the day.

Skip decided she'd buy a drink for one of the strippers, a woman named Misty. Skip wanted to know why Misty had become a stripper. Her answer has faded into the "mists" of time ... this was over 25 years ago ... but they chatted for a bit and then Misty went back to her performing.

Some days later, Skip and Jim went back to the Naked I again. When they arrived, Misty was up on stage doing her thing. Bent over, looking back at the crowd between her spread legs, she saw Skip come in, she waved and shouted out, "Hello, Skip!" Now there's a memorable greeting!

And now, we shall return this blog to its regularly scheduled programming.