Amateur Night Redux

More than a few years ago when I was a senior in college, my best friend Jan and I were live-in cooks at a fraternity house. One of the members, John, was from my hometown, and his parents were friends of my family. He facilitated my getting the cook job, and I brought Jan along as my roommate and "sous chef." We had a separate apartment in the house's walk-out basement with our own private entrance. For our fledgling culinary skills and kitchen work, we received free rent, meals, and a small salary to boot. Not a bad deal compared to most part-time student jobs.

In the past they'd hired older, often retired women to do the cook's job, so having two college-age young women was new territory for all. One of the initial agreements the fraternity brothers made with us was that we couldn't date one another. This was to avoid an inevitable bad break-up leaving them high and dry at subsequent meal times. It also made good sense to Jan and me to avoid potential unplanned unemployment and eviction.

This didn't mean we didn't get to be good friends in a platonic sort of way. Many of the guys would come to us for advice or shoulders to cry on where the "house mother" seemed too old to fully understand their situations. As we got to know them better, we became their trusted advisors on relationships with the young women in their lives. We were kind of like their personal Dear Abby and Ann Landers. We also did some socializing and barhopping with a half dozen or so of the fraternity guys. Jan and I liked partying and drinking beer, and I even smoked occasionally back when it was less taboo. Boys being boys, a number of our closest friends in the house liked to go to one of the topless bars at a small town just south of our university community, especially on Thursday nights.

Thursdays were amateur nights, where women in the audience could get up on stage and dance for a chance at $250 to win, $100 for 2nd place or $50 just for entering. The state law at that time allowed topless dancing in bars, but not exposure of the goods below the waist. The guys would ask Jan and me to join them every Thursday and strongly suggest that if either of us would enter the contest we'd have a great chance at winning $250, and the other the $100 for second place. They assured us their cheering alone would put us in the money. We took this banter as just the good natured yet titillating teasing it was. Being good sports and the strong-willed women we were, Jan and I would often opt for going along with the gang.

The bar, Big Jim's, was a definite cut above most "titty-bars" and didn't allow too much funny business with the dancers, and even less with the amateurs. They demanded spectators respect all the dancers and applaud each one enthusiastically. It was a clean place, both physically and culturally. Dancers were deemed to be performing artisans, and the customers were then expected to act as patrons of the arts. This didn't mean there wasn't whooping and cheering, but there were limits, and while tips were supposed to go in the tip jars, some still found their way underneath G-strings, but again in moderation. So amateur nights there were definitely much more appealing to prospective contest entrants, of which many were college students seeking both fun and an ego boost, as well as a possible small tuition stipend.

The bar had professional dancers performing until the amateur event began at 9:00, and then again afterward. There were also a couple of off-duty artisans wearing "civilian" dress in the audience to fill-in as shills if not enough amateurs showed up to fill the allotted time. The regular customers knew they were expected to cheer more robustly for the true amateurs.

Our coed group would usually arrive at the bar at 7:45 or 8:00. This assured we'd get a table with a good view of the stage, have a beer or two, and watch the last pro set to get in the spirit before the amateurs started. Part of this warm-up exercise included the guys vigorously challenging Jan and me to enter the contest. While they did this in a light and teasing way, we knew they would love nothing more than seeing us strip on stage. Since none of the guys were allowed to date us, there would be no jealousy issues of our showing ourselves to other men. To these guys we were something like "forbidden fruit," off-limits but seeming even more desirable or attractive than the attainable. Plus, we were good-looking women, who any man would love to see topless and more, so we not only didn't blame them for their encouragement, but we also took it as the compliment they intended.

Over the school year, Jan and I probably went to Big Jim's at least a dozen times, mostly on Thursdays, when we got the "you ought to enter the contest" raspberries every time. And if I were being totally honest, I'd have to admit that on more than a few occasions it was very tempting. The $250 was more of an incentive than I'd have ever expected, or at least it would have given me cover as to why I had entered. But the heart-felt, sincere flattery from the guys really got me excited with the prospect of proving to myself that I might just be as sexy as they assured, and maybe as sexy or even a little bit sexier than the other women competing.

This was not at all in keeping with my usual self-deprecating if not demeaning self-image and was no doubt greatly enhanced by the present company's sweet encouragement, the bar's conducive environment, and a few cold Budweisers. All of this ignited a hidden spark of temptation to be a little "wicked," and that too was so out of character for me. I was forced to conclude that maybe there was a little bit of an exhibitionist hidden deep within me.

I often thought Jan may have been feeling the same temptations, and if we'd only compared notes at the time, we may have found the courage to both enter the competition. But we never got our hormones in sync, and I kept thinking of my high school friend not only seeing my bare breasts as I danced topless, but also his inability to keep it a secret from his bar friends at the Top Hat tavern back home. And I knew only too well that what was said at the Top Hat wouldn't stay at the Top Hat. My parents knew I partied with plenty of beer, and I suspect they knew I smoked, and they could deal with that. But near-naked dancing for a barroom full of leering, horny men would definitely "shame the family name." And that was over the line for my family.

After I graduated and started working, it was on very rare occasion I frequented a strip club, and not on amateur nights, and certainly not with half a dozen half-drunk friends goading me to participate. So, I put those Thursday night sojourns to Big Jim's out of my mind. I kept in touch with Jan and John fairly regularly, at least by phone with Jan. While I lost touch with most of the others, John kept in contact and would update me on our group's whereabouts, jobs, and families.

Fast forward about twenty plus years, and I'm married to Dave, well into my career, and with a daughter just entering college. Out of the blue John called me to say that the fraternity was having a 75th anniversary celebration and he and the "Big Jim's buddies" were planning to attend, and they'd like me and Jan to come as honorary members of their class. Of course, Dave was invited too as were all spouses.

My conversation with John brought back all kinds of great memories and I knew right away I wanted to go. John said the small group was planning to come back on Thursday evening for a private get together, then join the whole fraternity on Friday for a golf outing and barbeque, and on Saturday there was a home football game and the dinner, dance, and ceremony that night. I told him to count us in for all of it.

Dave had gotten to know John over the years, and had met a few of the others too, so he was up for the long weekend plans as well. We booked a hotel room where most of my small group was staying and they planned to reserve a private meeting room for Thursday to have beer and pizza, catch up with each other and just hang-out and be casual.

Most of the group checked in around 3:30 and were gathering for drinks by 4:30. I was so glad when Jan and her husband, Mark arrived. By 6:00 everyone was together over pizza and beer. The meeting room was off on a separate hallway from the guestrooms, so we had lots of privacy and didn't have to be too quiet. Most spouses did not know each other very well or not at all, and as typical for class reunions were feeling a little left out. After the pizza was eaten, the "brothers," Jan, Mark, Dave, and I were pretty much in conversation at one table, and the wives at another.

After a while we were diving deeply into nostalgia when one of the guys brought up Big Jim's which got our table laughing and reminding each other of particular nights, dancers, and spectator behaviors. This part of the conversation was not lost on the wives' group. John playfully and in overly graphic detail reminded Jan and me of how they regularly pestered us to enter the amateur night contests. So, when he said almost reverently, "We'd have done anything to see your tits," one of the wives said pointedly, "I think this is where I came in." As she got up to leave, the other wives rose, and they all looked at Jan and me like we'd been two college-aged Jezebels who had led their husbands astray and lured them into going to Big Jim's. Who knew where that line of thought would lead.

The guys sloughed off their wives leaving as though it was expected, if not welcomed. Discussion got back to the amateur nights and their likely well-embellished and lurid memories. They must have thought they needed to go into great detail for Mark's and Dave's sake, assuming Jan and I hadn't shared these stories with them already.

They also recounted their peeking out of upstairs windows when we would sunbathe in the yard outside our apartment. They confessed to hoping we'd have a wardrobe malfunction when sunning our backs with our tops unhooked. Not knowing we had spectators; I couldn't imagine we'd always been sufficiently careful when we had our tops unfastened and turned over. Now learning we had been the subjects of this voyeuristic endeavor, even at this late date we first didn't know whether to be flattered or offended. Given this evening's conversation and comradery we soon chose to be more than flattered and maybe a little aroused by this revelation too.

Most of their recollections centered on how much they regretted that Jan and I never danced on amateur night, and they never got to see us bare our tits. It was like "déjà vu all over again," as they remembered every detail of their urging us on. Finally, John asked, "Does anyone know if Big Jim's is still open?" as if a road trip was in the offing and pointed out, "After all it is Thursday -- amateur night. "

Another of the guys, Jim said, "Joan and Jan can win that thing hands down, they're even better looking now, and we can still out-cheer the rest of the crowd." This brought out all kinds of compliments on our looks, and tasteful admiration of our bodies. And I have to say it was a pretty convincing and exhilarating ego boost.

I wanted to move this discussion on to other less risky topics, so I googled Big Jim's and couldn't find anything and said, "Sorry guys, it seems Big Jim's is gone; it looks like you're stuck with just Jan and me tonight."

When Jan gave me the evil eye, I knew I hadn't picked my words wisely. The exceedingly wishful ears and aroused hopes of these guys selectively heard me offering-up Jan and me as a very real and present alternative to Big Jim's, and its amateur night fare in particular.

John suggested we call the room "Big Jim's North," and again pointed out "it is Thursday."

This got all the guys going except Mark and Dave, and I couldn't tell what they were thinking. I knew Dave wouldn't likely be the wet blanket and sound like a possessive husband making decisions for his helpless wife. And I suspected the same for Mark. I sure didn't want to come off like a "goody-two-shoes" and act like I was above the idea of strip bars, when they all knew better. Plus, if I were honest with myself, I've shown men my naked body in some accidental and controlled situations, and even in paid medical training roles, so I was no exhibitionist "virgin."

So, I tried to humor them, "This is hardly Big Jim's, north or south, there's no bar, no music, no stage, no dancers, and no prize money, so no deal, right Jan," I said.

She agreed, but her eyes said I may have been misinterpreted again. In these guys' lustful minds, my remarks were heard as a challenge, that if met would satisfy my stated requirements for us to "perform."

John immediately tried to seal the deal, saying, "I'll get my portable bar from the car, and there's already liquor and four beer coolers here; Jim's got a boom box for music; we can lay those folding tables flat on the floor for a stage; we have two absolutely beautiful dancers right here; and I know we can come up with prize money. Looks like a done deal to me." The others all enthusiastically agreed and instantly went into over-drive to get the promised items. It felt like things were now racing forward on autopilot. The group's zeal reminded me of the passion they'd all displayed for the amateurs they favored at Big Jim's. In fact, it may have been more like the intoxicating exuberance male students display when spring semester "panty raids" go viral.

As they guys ran about putting the things together, Jan and I approached our husbands and she asked, "What do you two think about this? Things are kind of snowballing here. Are you both OK with us dancing for these guys?" I think she was hoping our husbands would put the kibosh on things.

"Let's not mince words, Jan, we won't be just dancing, we'll be stripping for them," I added pragmatically.

Jan's husband said matter-of-factly, "I think you two did lots of wilder things when you went to Europe the summer before our senior year, so it's up to you."

Dave added, looking at me, "I haven't heard about all these wild things in Europe, but we've both had some fun times that aren't too far from what's happening tonight. Plus, it's a cinch these guys think the world of you both, and they've been toting 'woodies' for 20 years to see you even half naked. If you want, go for it."

The props the guys had gathered were shaping up and the place was looking ready for a show. Jan and I knew these guys would now be heartbroken if they didn't get one. Things were moving so fast, fueled by hyper-emotions and exaggerated memories, that I needed to do a last minute "gut check" and see if I was really up to stripping for my friends with my husband watching.

I remembered being so tempted 20 years ago, but things have changed since then: $250 was a lot of money then, and I didn't need it now; my parents humiliation was a big roadblock then, and they're gone now; I was younger and looked different then, and while I don't think I measure up now, these guys sure seem to think I do; and I wasn't married then, and I am now, but my husband seems to feel this is OK, and I know he thinks I "get better looking every year," and I have exposed myself before with some anonymity, but this is among friends whose discretion I my question. So, bottom line: I can do this, I'm in control of how far I go, no one's getting hurt, and I think it could be another new and risqué experience. There was an intergalactic amount of saved-up sexual energy in the room, with 20 years of accrued interest, and I owned my share of it.

Having made peace with myself, I asked Jan if she was ready to perform.

"Only if you do," she said, "I couldn't be the only one dancing. I think you were really tempted to dance 20 years ago, and I kind of was too, but we never talked about it. If you'd entered the contest back then I probably would have too." It felt like we were both falling susceptible to a virulent case of "better late than never."

"Let's make this even easier for us and dance together, I know it would give me more courage with you there," I offered. Jan agreed wholeheartedly.

We both decided we needed another drink for courage and decided a good double-shot of bourbon was just the trick. The guys had chairs set up in front of the makeshift stage, and the music playing was tunes reminiscent of the Big Jim's era. The guys all had full drinks and hungry eyes. Jan and I decided we'd take clothing items off in unison, and we'd keep our panties on, in keeping with the old rules. We'd told them earlier we were going to perform together, and that seemed to excite them.

John announced in dramatic Big-Jim's emcee-style that the first contestants were Jan and Joan, and they would be doing a duet tonight, and would split the prize money. He turned up the volume and the stage was ours.

We were both wearing shorts and tee shirts over our underwear and given the nature of the makeshift stage we decided dancing barefoot was safer than with hard-soled sandals. That gave us each three items to peel off over three or maybe four songs. That seemed like ample stage-time to both of us. We quickly got into the rhythm of the music and soon we were lifting up our shirts to tease our audience. First, we exposed some bare midriff, then we challenged each other by giving them increasingly more daring peeks at our bra-shielded breasts.

For some reason I'd worn one of my sexier bras and panties tonight, and it appeared Jan had too. We certainly had no idea we'd end up dancing like this, so it had to be that knowing the company we were going to be with, we just wanted to feel more sensuous for ourselves.

As we pulled our shirts up enough to show our enticingly sexy bras, the guys were cheering us on and yelling "take it off;" amateur night redux. Our merciless teasing kept their eyes riveted to our every move. I was both incredibly aroused and humbled by the power I felt over our audience.

Near the end of the first song, we both pulled our shirts off and gently shook our breasts to further taunt them. More excited cheering followed. The second song was slower and more romantic, so we slowly played with our bra straps, sliding them off our shoulders to the rapt attention of every man there. They now knew they were in for an unexpected and much delayed treat.

About halfway through the song, I slid my arms out of the bra straps and in doing so I no doubt gave them a sneak preview of my nipples. Jan quickly did the same to increased applause. The next escalation was for both of us to start peeling down our bra cups with teasing flashes of our entire bare tits. While neither Jan nor I were overly well-endowed, B and A cups respectively, we both had shapely breasts with very sensitive and responsive nipples. And were they ever responding tonight.

Their anticipation of us taking off our bras was palpable, and we soon complied by unhooking them and slowly lowering them before tossing them to our husbands. We put our hands behind our heads, over our heads, and on our breasts, all to further the audience's lust and our own stimulation. While I felt incredibly exposed, I was becoming more aroused by these men's overwhelming appreciation for our showing them our breasts, but even more turned-on when discovering my own most enthusiastic willingness to accommodate their long-held fantasy to see them.

About halfway into the third song both Jan and I started unsnapping and unzipping our shorts. But with our breasts now bared and everyone knowing we weren't planning to take off our panties, shedding our shorts seemed rather anticlimactic and well short of being very provocative. I was surprised how much I had craved these men's attention and admiration. We had our shorts off very quickly, and as the music played on, both Jan and I felt the audience losing its sense of anticipation and to my surprise, I wanted it back. I needed to feel in control of our audience again.