I found myself skulking in a Go Go Bar and minding my own business when I happened to notice one of the dancers on stage. She was a vision of loveliness; lean with no tattoos or body piercing defiling her beautiful skin. Her face could melt icecream and she had the longest, silkiest, straight black hair I had ever seen. And, contrary to the long-held perception that Go Go Bars are becoming tasteful and family-oriented places of entertainment, she was barefoot and stark naked. She now held my attention.

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Trying not to stare, or at least get caught staring, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was no slouch in the Dirty Dancing department either and, while her partially clad friends on stage made moving a knee look painful, she swayed, slithered, and gyrated around her only prop, the chrome pole. She rocked! I could not believe how sensual her routine was and how natural it seemed to her. This was something definitely not taught at university. If it is, get me an enrollment form!
Her fluid movements gave the surrealistic impression that she and the pole were one. She caught me watching and smiled. I returned an embarrassed smile and pretended to look at something else; not for long, as my eyes were inexorably drawn back to this Goddess. But there was a problem. How is it that a pole, no more than 6 cm in diameter, can effectively screen the body of a female around 40 cm in width? It is a mathematical incongruity and yet, she used that pole to shield all the bits I wanted to gaze at. I wanted to look deep into her gorgeous Asian eyes but the pole got in the way. I wanted to enjoy her perfectly formed navel but again the pole hid it from my view. Without an anatomy lesson, do you get the picture?
I quickly formulated a plan, collected my drink and bin and moved a metre along the bench to a position affording me a clearer view of my angel. Just then the music stopped, one girl left the stage as another arrived and each remaining girl moved one position clockwise. When the music started up again, the object of my devotion was securely behind another pole and taunting me the same as before. Ok, I thought, I can play that game. I picked up my drink and bin and moved another metre along the bench only to find the view was no better. To add insult to injury, there was nowhere else I could move and even my original seat was now occupied by another customer. The lady smiled at me as if to let me know she knew what was going on in my tiny little mind. I decided that viewing 90% of her body was better than nothing but the more I looked, the more that pole took on Everest proportions. Like the optical illusion created by staring at two objects in close proximity long enough for one of them to disappear, my lady’s fine form was disappearing behind that blasted pole!
Then a miracle occurred. She must have taken pity on me because she began to dance at the side of the pole. Perhaps she had seen my frustration growing but, for whatever reason, I now had an uninterrupted chrome-free view. Did I mention she was naked? Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She was wearing a frilly red garter on her left thigh. At first, this was not a problem. It was sexy. But then, like that optical illusion, the garter became the focus of my attention and her entire body was overshadowed by it.
You know what it’s like when you hear a song and then can’t get it out of your head for the rest of the day? No matter how hard you try to forget about it, you keep singing or humming that stupid song over and over in your head until it drives you crazy. That’s how it was with this garter – the more I tried to ignore it the more annoying and the larger it became. In my confused state it eventually appeared the size of a Volkswagen. I had to get her to remove it, so reached into my pocket and pulled out 200 baht. Holding the money aloft was a mistake as 22 pairs of sultry female eyes immediately zeroed in on the notes. I looked at my darling and pointed to her garter. That was another mistake as she automatically assumed I wanted to place the money into her garter. She rushed towards me and proffered her left leg. At this point, through sign language and pidgin Thai, I indicated the money was hers if she removed the garter completely. She retreated, smiling and shaking her head. Still holding out the money, I pleaded with her but her cold, black heart seemed to enjoy watching me squirm.
When I pulled out another red note, she did a strange thing. She bent down and lifted the lower hem of her garter allowing me a peek at another two square centimetres of her beautiful flesh. Then she quickly let it snap back. She laughed and repeated the movement. It didn’t take Einstein to work out that the vixen was teasing me. She controlled my strings and was playing me like a fiddle. I new I was letting the team down and a new strategy was called for, so I put the three hundred baht back in my pocket and feigned disinterest by pretending to be attracted to another dancer.
That didn’t work for long. She swapped places with the girl nearest me and pushed her gartered leg out in defiance. That’s when I lost it. I bounded out of my seat towards the stage and stretched for the garter, determined to rip it down even if it meant a jail sentence for assault. She screamed, bent over to fend me off, pushing my shoulders heavily into the pillow again and again, shaking the hell out of me in the process. The pillow? There wasn’t supposed to be a pillow. Then her face turned into that of my loving wife, contorted with screams of concern and the Go Go Bar faded away as she begged me to tell her what was wrong. I shook my head to discover I was in my bedroom, in bed, and the whole nasty mess had been all in my head. I explained everything was fine and I had just had a bad dream, hoping she would not ask me to explain it.
As she went away to get a cold towel to mop up the sweat from my body, I thought about the interpretation of dreams and what Uncle Sigmund would have to say about mine. He said all dreams were sexual in origin and I must agree; mine was definitely sexual. Perhaps I had a secret desire to be dominated by a beautiful woman. Or perhaps I just hated garters. Who knows? All I know is I did not go back to a Go Go Bar for over a month, in case my dream had been a premonition rather than simply adolescent nonsense.

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