Tot is getting married and Jod has been assigned the task to organise the hen night. Now, hen nights, I am told, are tame and slightly pedestrian affairs here. Jod wanted to make a difference, so she came up with a Plan: organise the hen night in the local recently renovated (with EU, UN and US money) Turkish baths! They would provide snacks, drinks, a masseur, use of facilities and a male stripper until late! We consulted Tot and an ad hoc committee of friends and decided against it, though: the good girls to take part (all 23 of them) would be offended by the Oriental(ist) languor suggested by the location, they would anyway be lost in “the maze the Old City is” on their way there, they would be taken aback by the proximity of the place to a mosque and some run-down areas where Pakistanis live; finally, there is nowhere to park for free around there.
Jod was still very keen on the stripper business — Turkish baths or no Turkish baths. However, Tot’s future husband rang her and sternly warned her that he would call off the wedding should a stripper thing go on. He urged Jod not to destroy his life and relationship for a capricious whim. I fail to understand any of that: would it be an option for 22 women to stand by in a public place while the bride-to-be gets off with the stripper? Isn’t there so much more to see on Outpost beaches fleshwise? Maybe the future husband wished to firmly assert his authority? In any case Jod asked him why he resents a professional toned male arse ornamenting the eating, drinking and (maybe) dancing of a bunch of happy females. He said it is a matter of upbringing and principles. Anyway — I can divulge no more.
So, no stripper. Still, knowing where to get a male one in the Outpost is a useful piece of information, either in case we get to organise another hen night for a bride to some ruthless, lax and decadent man, or in the futuristic eventuality we organise a gay wedding bachelor party here. So, we asked around and this is what we came across:
“I think I know of one male stripper, yes.”
“Hang on, not the one that was murdered, right?”
(I choke on my drink, the discussion is interrupted. I recuperate, the discussion resumes)
“No, no: he was not murdered. He is actually alive and well — he is doing time.”
“Well, he stabbed someone he had a quarrel with.”
“Yes, a pretty boy he is, too — both him and his brother. But now he’s in prison.”
“Anyone else — preferably not in prison?”
“Er, oh, no, not that I know of. There might be male strippers in Aerosol, though.”