Hen-do Happening

Decision time, I was going to wear quite a clingy dress in a deep midnight blue, quite a low back and enough of a low cut front to prove that I still had nice boobs at 31 but I either had to wear a tiny gossamer like thong or big support pants or I would have knicker lines showing across my bum, or of course I could go commando, but as it was a girls night I didn't see the point in the tiny sexy pair or the no pants option. Maybe if it was date night with my husband, I'd be more inclined to go down the sex goddess route but as it was Kimmy's hen night, I was keeping it comfortable down below. Big pants it was.

Kimmy and I worked together ten or more years ago, I'd been one of the graduate trainees in the Bristol office of Independent News Radio's news room, she'd been the traffic-and-weather-together girl from 6am to 3pm. We had ambitions of getting a show together, 'Walsh and Scott Investigate' combining a weekly local investigation with some of the quirkier news stories around Bristol and the West country. Of course when INR were bought by London based Reportage News Media and closed down we were both out of work, Kimmy ended up working for Western FM, a MOR Rock / Country and Western station broadcasting to Wiltshire and the West, where she was back doing traffic reports on the M4 contraflow and warning us all to take our umbrellas or factor thirty depending on the time of year.

I hadn't been lucky enough to get another job locally in journalism or radio, being a graduate trainee meant very little experience and zero contacts. To be fair to Reportage they offered me a role in their Manchester office, but Chris and I were planning our wedding at the time, well I was planning it, he was just agreeing with me, and Manchester was right out of the question. I took my degree in journalism down to Bristol Hospital and applied to retrain as a Nurse, that was six years ago, I'd been qualified for three and was loving it, I worked on a men's surgical ward dealing with day case patients so it was generally Monday to Friday stuff with the occasional extra shifts when we needed some spare cash, although Chris's IT consultancy was picking up nicely and he was bringing home enough bacon that we'd moved out of his tiny one bed flat into a lovely three bedroomed Victorian town house in Easton.

I pulled my big pants on, adding a little sex appeal with a pair of sheer tights, lined up the back to look like seamed stockings and a pair of four-inch heeled Gina shoes I'd found in a charity shop several years ago for a fraction of their new price. To be honest they didn't often get taken outside of the bedroom, so this was a bit of an event for them.

Chris was doing the "I've been ready to go out for ages since you said let's go" dance in the hallway, he was going to drop me off in town, then go and meet a few of his mates from the Rugby Club for an evening watching the British and Irish Lions in Australia, he'd told me all about it but I'd not really been paying attention so while I knew Buddha, Shadow and Bold Sir Robin were going along, otherwise known as Gary, Pete and Simon, I didn't really know where they were going but I was prepared to bet Curry lay in his future.

I tottered across the footpath and into the passenger seat of his Volvo estate. It wasn't the most exciting car in the world, but it gave a professional, not flashy image to his clients and could be loaded up with boxes of cable and loads of computer stuff that I didn't really understand. He'd use words that sounded English but, in a context, and order that may as well have been Hungarian. "Layer Three Switch" and "RAID Server" were two I could remember but don't ask me what they were. Lots of lights and a loud hum when he soak tested them in our living room. I also have no idea what a soak test is and how you pass or fail one.

The diesel engine cranked over, and we were away, it was a fifteen-minute journey across town to the former dockside that had been refurbished as an entertainment and leisure area, old warehouses were now bars, nightclubs and restaurants ranging from generic multinational chains to local more specialist bistro style places. I was meeting the girls in Rattigan's, a former Victorian flour merchant's building recently converted from a stainless steel and glass trendy bar into er another stainless steel and glass trendy bar. Chris let me out with a kiss and an instruction not to talk to any strange men, unless they bought me a drink first.

"They'd have to try hard to be stranger than you, mister" I told him as I kissed him on his way.

"We should be done by eleven, I'll call you when we've all trapped off and you can drive me and my strange man home."

He disappeared into the warm evening traffic with a chuckle and a wave and a promise to be with me in ten minutes when I called, which I upgraded mentally to twenty as I walked in and looked around. Our gang didn't take much identifying, they'll be the ones with matching pink cowboy hats and an inflatable banana. Girding my loins for some enforced jollity and group laughter, then pausing to consider whether as a girl I could gird my loins, I walked over and joined in a round of air kisses and hugs as I caught up with a dozen girls, women really, that Kimmy and I had worked with at Independent News Radio.

My initial cynicism evaporated in moments, it was genuinely great to catch up with them all, I found myself squeezed in next to Rachel who had been my boss and mentor in the newsroom, she was now working in the London office for CNN, we hadn't spoken since that tearful day the office closed for the last time and we all got horribly drunk on Reportage's expense account. She asked me where I was working and seemed a bit too pleased to hear I was nursing now, not in media or newsgathering.

"I think we both know it never really suited you did it Coco? You wanted to jump straight in as Washington correspondent for Reuters and weren't happy with the groundwork delving into council planning meeting minutes and local politicians pointing at fly tipping. I bet you're a lot happier now."

I paused and reminded her I stopped being called Coco thirteen years ago and then reminded her that yes I was married and no it wasn't to Dan, although well remembered, he'd been my boyfriend a long time ago. The lying cheating piece of shite.

It was an interesting dynamic being in a fairly large group of women, by the time all comers had arrived there were close on thirty of us ranging in age from eighteen to over fifty, Kimmy was at the latter end of her thirties and the eighteen-year-old was her daughter from her first marriage. Being eighteen she and the two or three friends she was with were dressed like they were auditioning as pole dancers, but were not planning on sticking round long enough for us to cramp their style.

What was interesting was that at 31 if I went into a bar alone or with a girlfriend I still got hit on as much as I did when I was eighteen, same sort of range of ages, same dodgy lines. Having the over fifty contingent was like having an exclusion zone around our group, I walked up to the bar to get a long island iced tea for old times' sake and once I was ten feet or so from the table I found the usual invitations to join different groups of single blokes, while I was at the bar I was "mistaken" for someone's friend's sister and it was really great to see me again, on the way back once I was within our exclusion zone it was like I disappeared.

I leaned over to Wendy, one of the older girls and asked "Is this what it's like? Get beyond childbearing age and you can go for a drink without being accosted every step of the way?" She nodded sagely, "Once you get your first hot flush it's like you're invisible in a place like this. Mind you, go to the golf club and it must be like being a Gogo dancer on a concert party for the troops in Afghanistan, you're suddenly the centre of attention again. My Husband wonders why I like going to the clubhouse despite hating golf, the ridiculous thing about it is that even at seventy they can't come up with a better line than 'There you are, now for my other two wishes' or 'Do you like cats because I'm feline good about you'"

We both laughed at the shallow nature and predictability of the opposite sex. "I always liked 'Did you swallow a magnet, because you're very attractive' but I don't think one's ever worked. I may get my husband to take up Golf in about twenty years' time"

The younger crowd reached a point in the evening where they wanted more attention and announced they were off to Steeples, a nightclub in a converted ex-church. I'd been in there once, I really liked how they'd kept things like the stone pulpit as the DJ's standpoint and how there was a raised stage where the altar used to be, although the four stainless steel poles were probably a bit close to blasphemous if you were of a religious persuasion. Also, I doubted whether architectural admiration was high on the list of most visitor's priorities.

Their departure signalled our time to move on as well, Millie, a forty-year-old suicide blonde bulging out of a very short strapless dress in peacock blue with matching stripper heels was our mistress of ceremonies and Bridesmaid in chief, and did a very good sheepdog impression, rounding us all up and issuing instructions about our next destination. We had a buffet meal laid on in a private room in another bar, to my slight disquiet we were all headed off to 'Urban Tiger', a lap dancing club a few hundred metres away. I don't know a huge amount about lap dancing clubs, but I wouldn't expect catering to be top of their attractions.

On the walk round I took the opportunity to quiz Millie about the venue and the thinking behind it, when she explained I could see the logic in theory, if not in practice.

"It's free for women to get in, everywhere else wanted to charge us a £10 cover charge per person before 9pm or £20 after, we save at least three hundred quid which I put behind the bar on our tab so we can drink most of the evening on what we've already paid. The room was the same as anywhere else and they did a deal on the rest of the evening's costs, they have a tie in with Llana Thai for the food."

Feeling slightly less concerned, not least because I absolutely adore Llana Thai's food, and having already dropped a hundred pounds on the night I was pleased to hear the drinks bill was partially covered, I joined the queue to get in. Millie bustled to the front and got the duty manager out to come and greet us, a pair of burly security men then escorted us through the dimly lit interior to a set of double doors marked 'VIP Private' where they set themselves up outside the doors.

The Double doors led into a room with a dozen or so tables set out with six settings on each, a buffet table ran along one wall with a raised stage featuring six shiny floor to ceiling poles along the other. The opposite end of the room had a private bar staffed by two muscly younger men wearing bowties and tight black lycra shorts. That was it, no shirts, just the bowtie and the shorts. And by the looks of it Baby oil.

Once we were all seated a tall, skinny, surgically enhanced blonde in what looked like a sparkly purple swimsuit, cut very high at the hip and very narrow at the crotch, with a black tailcoat, top hat and flesh toned leggings stepped out. Her outfit was set off with a pair of knee length spike heeled shiny boots.

She climbed up onto the stage and walked down to the centre where it jutted out into the room by about ten feet where she stopped, the object of all our attention. "Good evening ladies, my name is Charmaine, I will be your entertainments manager this evening. Behind the bar are Riccardo and Joshua, they are here to serve you (That got a predictably loud cheer) and outside the room are Chas and Mel who are here to keep uninvited guests out."

She then went into air hostess mode pointing out where the loos were and where the emergency exit was in the unlikely event of blah blah. She also gave what I suppose is a standard warning about not touching the bar staff or performers unless invited. The Performers bit got me a bit nervous, but I told myself it was a Hen do after all and to get with the program. Charmaine was still talking, I tuned back in just in time to hear her announce "and when everyone's here we'll get some of the girls out in about thirty minutes to give you an hour's tuition, something to take home for that special man, or men (another loud cheer) in your lives."

So, pole dancing lessons then. Oh goody. I looked across the room to judge the overall mood, it seemed to range from resigned acceptance, which was where I found myself, to abject horror from Wendy to frothing eagerness from Millie. Going round the table I knew all of the girls I was sitting with, three from other nights out two from my time at INR. Jill, one of the INR girls, and I went to the bar together on the basis that more booze was likely to add to the chances of enjoying the occasion, and grabbed a couple of bottles of Prosecco, which at twenty quid a bottle was only overpriced, not ridiculously overpriced.

The Thai buffet was surprisingly good, well up to Llana Thai's normal standards and once we'd all eaten and the remaining twenty or so of the party had arrived Charmaine came back up on stage, but this time she had company with half a dozen heavily made-up pouting dancers strutting behind her in tasselled white leatherette bikinis and heeled boots. "I need six volunteers girls, who's going to be first? Who wants to learn to do this?" she pointed behind her and on cue the magnificent six as no one was calling them, grabbed a pole each and spun round upside down, gripping with one leg and one arm. It was, to be fair, an impressive movement and quite well choreographed. They did another twist and turn and were all facing the same way, right way up this time, again it was an impressive movement, but I wasn't about to get up there.

Unsurprisingly Millie was straight up, dragging the bride-to-be with her along with two others from their table. Charmaine turned her laser like vision on and soon had all spots filled. The "lesson" didn't go into too much gyration, starting with holding the pole in a sexy manner, humping it rhythmically then crouching down and standing up again. They moved onto bending forward ninety degrees at the hips, thrashing their hair around and cupping their boobs to give even the most flat chested a serious cleavage.

They took about twenty minutes to run the volunteers through a basic routine, then they pulled six more up and started all over again, this time they pushed the routine a bit further and by the time they finished there were five women in their best M & S bras and one who'd gone unfettered standing holding the pole topless. To give her her due she was trying very hard to own it and got an almighty cheer when she took her top off.

The final six up were almost indecently keen to get stripped off, finishing the routine in their knickers and heels, mainly very small thongs with two pairs of sexy lacy boy shorts. I was still comfortable with my choice of big pants.

More prosecco was delivered to each table and after all the girls had most of their clothes back on Millie stood up and banged a bottle on the table. "Attention please ladies. We're all here because we all love Kimmy, and we all want to make this evening memorable for her. Well, to help do that I'll hand back to Charmaine who will talk us through the next stage of the evening."

Charmaine strutted into the middle of the stage again. "Good evening ladies, Kimmy's getting married, and we think she needs some advice on how to keep her man happy." The six dancers were circling the main part of the room dropping diamante decorated bags on each table. "Inside the bag you'll find a few surprises, get 'em out girls. No Sharon, not like that."

Wendy was on my table and upended the bag in the middle, releasing a jelly dildo with a suction pad on the end, a can of spray cream, a bottle of chocolate sauce and some hundreds and thousands.

Charmaine continued "Prize for the most delicious decoration, get started girls."

My heart sank, this was the sort of enforced Ann Summers party type jollity I had been dreading, I had the chocolate sauce bottle thrust into my hand and gave a half-hearted squeeze, spurting brown sweet stickiness across my hand and the quivering sex toy, staining the spray cream coat. I got the inevitable crack about cumming too soon and with an enforced delight I licked my hand clean in what I hoped was a sexually voracious manner.

Ten minutes later and the announcement came from the stage "Times up girls, let's see what you've got. No Sharon, not like that" A spotlight cut through the darkness and highlighted the table furthest away, their dildo was no better or worse than ours, as were most of the others. Kimmy's table seemed the most lavishly decorated but being the bride to be and the organiser's table I wasn't surprised to see they had a much wider range of decorations, marshmallows, candied cherries and crunchie pieces all covered the creamy smeared plastic sex toy. I joined in the cheering and whooping as Charmaine declared them the outright winners. Their prize was a second diamante bag that contained a small bullet vibrator each. Much giggling and excitement ensued, with a couple disappearing under skirts while the owners gasped in excitement. Looking at the flushed faces I wondered if perhaps I might do some online shopping, but I've always had a very satisfying sex life and never felt the inclination to try an artificial enhancer.

Charmaine was back centre stage. "Right girls now let's show Kimmy how to clean it all up. Get going with two on it. OK Sharon, like that if you want." Around the room each table had two women licking at their mounds of cream and sauce, some were making a right mess, dripping over their cleavages and smearing cam and chocolate over their faces. One, I presume Sharon, had her top off and was grubbing her tits up and down the dildo, she must have wiped away or eaten all the decoration first because there was no sign of it. After ten minutes simulated oral sex Charmaine decided a different table had won and dumped another bag of vibrators for them to share out.

"Now girls, I hope you're ready because we've got the main event for you, please welcome.....,The Ladykillers" the lights went out, plunging the room into total darkness. A clumping of soft soled shoes came from the stage. The opening bars of 'Eye of the Tiger' shattered the silence and six spotlights lit up six lithe, ripped and it has to be said very good-looking guys in boxing shorts, silky dressing gowns and little else holding a pole each.

Despite my reservations I found myself howling along with the other girls as the six went through their routine, by the end of the first track they'd all lost their dressing gowns and were standing, glistening in their silky shorts, each one had their name embroidered across the backside. Rocky, Boner, Roger, Nobby, Banger and Shaft, this last one in what I hope was an ironic nod to seventies blaxpoitation movies was black. To be honest I don't think they were their real names, but I didn't really care, I wasn't interested in a conversation, I was surprisingly interested in grabbing the firm, tight buttocks of Rocky or Shaft, they being the closest to us.

Next track was Hey Hey Baby, which allowed a lot of thrusting and pointing on the "Ooh..Ah" lyrics, and by the end of that track they were in glossy red speedoes, which did nothing to reduce my desire to grab a hand full of buttocks. They were spinning round the poles now as well, demonstrating just how flexible they were, which was dragging a lot of dark thoughts from my subconscious, thoughts I would not be proud of in the cold light of day but three quarters of a bottle of Prosecco and two Long Island Iced Teas said otherwise right now.