Winged Dinghy

Well, I just got home from doing a bachelor party. It was pretty fun, I guess, and I made good money. I did feel pretty smug walking past the Penthouse club to the parking garage with my bulging pocket of cash, thinking of all the girls who are still at working hustling when my night is coming to an end and it's not even midnight. Then I felt a pang of guilt for not going into a club. If I was a super stripper, I would've hit the club and done a shift even after the bachelor party. I mean, I was already on Bourbon Street all strippered out.

But I always feel kind of dazed after a bachelor party. While we were waiting for the elevator, S told me, "You look like you just got hit by a truck." She tells me that almost every time, and it's usually the way I feel. Something about being confronted with that overwhelming force of male desire just leaves me kind of loopy. In the club, you deal with one dude at a time, usually. But at bachelor parties, there's like, 15 guys all throwing their libidos and dollar and commands at you. I don't know. It's very different and it leaves me feeling glassy-eyed and spacey afterwards.