Rockin' Chair Memories: Looking for Laurie It was a time of wonder and discovery. The culture shock of moving from the northeast to the deep south was both refreshing and frustrating. I was a "Yankee", according to the locals, a reference they never seemed to tire of. I was also quickly becoming a strip-club junky. I still remember my first visit to a club, how I felt at home at once, marveling at the fresh-faced girls as they stripped, smiling at me, just knowing they liked me. This was southern hospitality. Little did I know how much I had to learn, and how the twisted path I would take would bring excitement, disappointment, and even a horror or two on the way to now. But that was long ago, not so very far away. . . - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This Friday was like many others at the Bay Lounge. A dense crowd of sailors in dress whites crowded around the single stage, lavishing tips on each dancer that appeared from behind the curtain at the far end. The small tables sat one or two dancers plus half a dozen flyboys just back from sea duty, hungry for booze and pussy. I remember wondering why these girls thought they had a chance at snagging a naval aviator, and whether it had ever actually happened. Fat chance. I first noticed Laurie on stage, two songs into her set. She was new here, and the guys didn't quite know what to make of her. Sandwiched between blonde, tanned, beach-bunny types, Laurie was a stark contrast. Tall, slim, but very hard-bodied, her skin was the whitest I'd ever seen. Jet black shoulder-length hair flared and bounced as she danced, always falling exactly back into place when she was still, as though it had a memory all its own. Even her dancing was unusual. One minute her moves were feline, stalking prey stageside. The next, she was playful and laughing, as though she was having the time of her life. For the first time tonight I was staring, and she was returning looks that bumped my pulse another notch. Her last song was a slow blues tune. She writhed and stretched on the floor under blue lights, eyes closed, as though she was alone, stroking and fondling her milky thighs and breasts. It wasn't long before she was sitting at my table. I didn't even have to ask, and I was sure I was the luckiest guy in the place. Thinking back, it's hard to imagine believing the fantasy that seems so elusive after so many years. As usual, the waitress arrived with her and I ordered drinks. Hers was tequila, a double. Yes, this was her first night. She was from Missouri. No, she didn't know a soul here yet. She liked Billie Holiday. She had a probation officer - something about a misunderstanding with an old boyfriend. Yes, she'd like another double. Sure, she'd love to go to my car for a buzz. She raved about my Toyota as though it was a Porsche. We smoked most of the homegrown stashed recklessly under the front seat. We drank, she danced, and I struggled to stay in touch with reality until the club closed. This was my best strip-club night ever. I hated to see it end. But, as they say, all good things. . . I made my way to the car, a little worried how I would make it home in my present condition. Laurie was waiting, half-sitting on the front edge of the hood, watching me with an evil grin. Her ride had gone without her, could I take her home? Now, I wasn't an expert at this point in my SC career, but I was pretty sure this didn't happen often. Dancers just didn't go home with customers, right? Right. She tossed the large canvas bag filled with her working gear into the front and I drove on auto-pilot, heart pounding like a jackhammer. "Show me the beach? It must be beautiful at night." She seemed immune to the pot and tequila, still playing the sensuous siren against the playful tease with such unaffectedness that I doubt if I could have refused her anything. I parked the car just off the road, squeezing it into a break between two twenty-foot dunes. It must have been after 3:00 AM, but there was enough of a moon to make the white sand glow like new-fallen snow. The water sparkled in the distance, as small waves quietly collapsed onto the beach, leaving the sand flat and slick after a slow retreat. Laurie was so awed by the scene, one I had by now taken for granted, that she sat quietly and stared for a long time. Then, suddenly, she reached forward and brought the radio to life. Looking at me with her now familiar playful grin, she said two words that are etched into my memory to this day. "Watch me." Twenty feet in front of my car, Laurie danced for me. I remember Billy Joel playing on the radio. I remember her perfect white breasts jiggling just a little as she slowly pulled the t-shirt over her head. I remember how her hips wiggled a few times as the faded cut-offs she shed inched down her firm thighs, finally falling in a small dark heap in the sand. I remember her hands, busy between her spread legs, one in front, the other behind, and how her dark hair fell to cover her face as her fingers did a dance of their own. When the song ended, she was suddenly bounding toward the car again, laughing, now obviously aware of the effect her still-naked body had on me. She stuck her head in the window. Two soft, white breasts spilled over the edge of the car door. "Catch me." With another giggle, she took off running toward the beach. I was out of the car in a second, trying to run in the soft sand, when she stopped and turned to check my progress. "The blanket! Get the blanket! In my bag!" Making my way back to the passenger side of the car, I found her bag, unzipped it, and pulled out the small quilt she used on stage. I was stuffing the rest of the contents back inside when I found the gun. I've never owned a gun - don't know anything about them really, and the effect was sobering. I lifted it a little to see if it was real. In the car's dark interior, all I know is that it felt real enough. Now, some guys would have thought nothing of this, put it back, and continued with what promised to be a memorable evening. And some guys might go screaming into the night, or at least end this little escapade prematurely. I couldn't seem to do either. Maybe it was my somewhat altered state, or maybe it was the naked girl I had come to fantasize about calling out to me, still prancing some fifty yards ahead in the moonlight. I sat there a long time, so long that when I finally decided to find Laurie, she had disappeared. I walked the fifty yards, and searched up and down the deserted beach. I was almost ready to give up when she appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me from behind. "Gottcha!" We did get to use that blanket. I remember her sometimes classic, sometimes pixie face inches from mine as I looked into her eyes. I remember that she couldn't seem to decide if she wanted to be on top, or under me. We each compromised, again and again. I remember the rush of endless surf behind her soft little cries and moans. And I remember screaming in the dark on that quiet beach as I came inside her. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This is my favorite strip-club memory, one I've waited a long time to put into words. I'm still waiting for another night like it. After this much time has passed, could it ever happen again? And if it did, would I make the same choices? Maybe that's why my pulse still races a bit when I enter a new club for the first time, and I keep doing all this again, and again, and again. Either way, the night is a rockin' chair memory - one I'll carry with me long into the sunset. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - All my life's a circle, sunrise and sundown. The moon rolls through the nighttime, 'till the daybreak comes around. All my life's a circle, but I can't tell you why. The seasons spinning 'round again, the years keep on rolling by. Seems like I've been here before, I can't remember when. But I've got this funny feeling, that I'll be back once again. No straight lines make up my life and all my roads have bends. There's no clear cut beginnings and so far no dead ends. - Harry Chapin Quantumleap