Originally written on November 7, 2011.

On Saturday afternoon I donned my itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini and headed to the pool for a suntanning and reading session [Paulo Coelho – Brida]. I hadn’t but lathered my homemade suntan lotion [olive oil + aloe vera + hair conditioner] over my already darkly tanned body when the gate swung open and in sauntered

Click on Chris M - The Strippers Doppelganger

Click on Chris M – The Strippers Doppelganger

To ensure my eyes and groin weren’t deceiving me, I slid my Ray Bans down a notch and peeked over the rim. Yup, just as I thought … A young sexy tanned shirtless thing [YSTST a.k.a The Stripper], entering my domain. With a sly smile and a slight sigh, I lay down on my back with my knees up and opened my book.

It didn’t take long for me to become engrossed in my book and soon I was transported to a forest near Dublin, watching Brida and Magus from the shadows of the imposing trees when I felt a shadow fall over my belly. Thinking I was so deeply entranced in the story that it was manifesting in real life, I ignored it and continued reading.



I slowly brought the book down to see who babe was, as I hadn’t heard the gate opening and anyone else entering the pool area; and the constant calling was interrupting my journey.

Imagine my surprise to find the young sexy tanned shirtless thing standing over me, mirroring the sly smile I had worn earlier.

“Babe.” [I actually detest being called this, but I am willing to make exceptions.]

“Hmmm.” I knew I was unable to open my mouth and string a coherent sentence together.

“Babe. Would you mind watching my stuff.” He said, pointing to various items sitting on a pool chair. “I’m just going …” Pheromones have a habit of making me deaf and dumb so I missed the latter part of his sentence.

“Hmmm.” I replied, and lifted my book to break eye contact and any prevent any further one-sided conversation.

As soon as the gate shut behind his hot ass, I shakily grabbed my box of cigarettes and lighter; in sudden and desperate need of nicotine. But dammit, my lighter would not work. I thought it was perhaps the wind, so I got up and went to the covered area, incidentally where his clothes and cellphone were, and attempted to light my ciggie there.

As my thumb became numb from the unsuccessful attempts, The Stripper returned with two friends [more strippers] in tow. Not wanting him to think I was in proximity of his chair to scout his items, I blurted,

“Do any of you have a light for me?” With tilted blonde head, and look of innocence, I lifted my lighter as if the sight thereof would prove it wasn’t working.

Without a word, The Stripper walked directly into my personal space, stood toe to toe with me and looked me dead in the eye. He took the cigarette out of my right hand, the lighter from my left and attempted to light it himself.

Oh please god may it light quickly so that I can escape this vortex and return to the safety of my book. When that didn’t work I resorted to prayer, oh god please do not lead me into temptation. And that’s where I got stuck.

Eventually he came to the realization that my lighter was indeed defunct and without breaking eye contact with me, asked his friends if they had a lighter with them. When they grunted “Nah.” he promptly strutted off, with my cigarette and lighter; leaving the pool area and my mouth agape.

With weak knees I returned to my towel and picked up my book. But when I look at the pages I was met with black words swimming in a white sea, splashing in the waves and diving beneath them. Leaving them to their fun, I flung Brida down, and lay flat on my towel, with arms and legs outstretched.

In eager anticipation …

of my cigarette.