Fuck It (Yama Yama) - Page 88
The limo bursts with cries of congratulations and hugs all around.
“You knew,” Henley accuses me.
Lydia grins at me. “She was there for my freak out when I took the test a week ago.”
Freak out is a pretty good approximation of lying on the floor crying about how her vagina was going to burst open and her tits would never be the same.
While all of us have become close enough to feel like family, Lydia has become like a sister to me. It took a while for her to change her mind about Anderson, and I’m not sure she completely trusts him now, but we all hang out with no issues. Even Roman has come around and will be his best man in the wedding.
“Oh, while I’m thinking about it, Toby wanted me to ask you something. He’s happy to be the ring bearer if you want.” Lydia takes out her phone and taps the screen. “But he wanted me to show you a video and see what you think of this.”
The video shows a grown man dancing down the aisle, throwing flower petals. It’s hilarious. Dance has become Toby’s thing, and he’s good at it. “You tell him I said a dancing flower boy is exactly what my wedding needs. He better bring those moves.” I can’t wait to see him crack up our family and friends.
We’re interrupted by Monica’s cry when the limo stops. “Are you kidding me?”
Her eyes are on me, and I can’t help but laugh. “Okay, but it’s not slummy.”
She sighs, looking up at the sign for the male strip club where we’ve just parked. “Yeah, the Junk Yard sounds very classy. You said we’d be dancing.”
“No drugs or complete nudity, I swear.”
The corners of Monica’s lips turn up. “I suppose that’s the best I could hope for with you girls.”
“We can still dance,” Bobby Jo says as we make our way inside.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Henley warns. “You put your back out last time, remember?”
“Psh, I can still drop it like it’s hot.”
Kasha snorts. “It’ll be cold by the time you pick it back up.”
Classy may not be the best description, but the Junk Yard isn’t seedy. We have a space reserved right by the stage for our party and within an hour or so of arriving, the place is jumping.
Even Monica is having a good time, dancing between shows. The first acts are pretty tame, but it’s the last one I’m waiting for. Poor Kasha has no idea what’s coming. I almost feel sorry for her.
My man deserves a little payback.
Everyone but Lydia is sloshed by the time the final act comes out. The room is filled with cheers and woo-hooing women.
At the end of the performance, one of the scantily clad and extremely well endowed dancers holds up his hands to quiet the crowd. “I hear we have a bachelorette party here tonight.” He points at us. “Join us onstage for this last one, ladies!”
Bobby Jo clambers over a chair, falls, gets up, and dives onto the stage. The room erupts in laughter.
“No way,” Monica insists, staying in her seat while Kasha, Henley, Lydia, and I head up the stage stairs.
Lydia leans to talk right into the dancer’s ear next to me. “I’m pregnant so no crazy stuff or throwing me around.”
He beams down at her. “I’m gentle as a spring breeze, baby.”
“I blow really well too,” Bobby Jo announces.
The music starts, and the dancers have all of us seated on chairs while we get a lap dance.
I can’t stop laughing. It’s so awkward. I’m not sure how women get turned on by this, but it’s fun.
Near the end of the song, one of the dancers comes out with a sparkly paddle. “Okay, who wants a spanking?” he teases. He playfully swats Bobby Jo, then Henley. When he gets to Kasha, she turns and sticks her ass out, shaking it. She can’t resist.
“This one looks a little wild,” the guy says. “Better hold her hands.” He leans her over the chair where another dancer holds her hands against his chest while she’s given a few light swats. She’s in an awkward position, on her feet, but angled at the waist. When she goes to stand back up, another dancer grabs her around the middle. “Not just yet, naughty girl.”
She laughs, but it’s cut short when the paddle lands on her ass with a loud crack that makes me wince.
That had to hurt.
“Ow! Hey!” She looks back in time for it to hit again, just as hard.
“Fuck! That hurts! Let me go!” She scrambles to stand up and get away, but she’s held fast.