Borrowing a Bachelor

Medical student Adam Burke was deeply engrossed in his anatomy text when a size-twelve foot kicked it out of his hands. It flew up and banged him in the chest.

"Pull your head out, nerd! We have a bachelor party to go to. Ogling strippers is a much better way to study anatomy."

Adam hated strip joints--the cheesiness of them and the overpriced drinks, just for starters. He groaned. "Devon, I have a killer exam on Monday. And it's not on the finer points of silicone implants."

"All work and no play will turn your hair prematurely gray," Devon said, seizing the twenty-pound anatomy book and tossing it onto the king-size bed in their hotel room.

"No, you will. Where did you come from, anyway?" Adam frowned and then belatedly noticed the open door.

Devon followed his gaze and laughed. "Good detective work, Holmes. I can't believe you didn't hear me come in--you're scary intense when you study."

That was true--though there had been a time in high school, when he'd been "in love" with the class bad girl, during which Adam had been just as intense about screwing off to impress her. He'd tried his best to mess up his life.

"I have to be. You don't get into, or through, med school without the ability to focus." Adam, now twenty-five, ran a hand through his hair and reluctantly got up from the armchair he'd been sitting in. "Bachelor party, huh?" He said it without a trace of enthusiasm.

"Fire up, buddy. Mark's getting married--going over to the Dark Side. We're the groomsmen. We gotta send him off in style, with lots of drinks and lots of wellendowed women."

Adam saw the glint in Devon's eye. It told him that protesting would do no good. His only hope was to go to the damned party and wait the requisite hour or so until all the guys were so shit-faced that they wouldn't notice him sneak out. He really didn't have time for this.

Devon started to describe the various abilities of the "talent" that awaited them. "They've got this one chick who walks around with a selection of cigars tucked in her G-string. You get a lap dance while you choose one. Then another girl will hold your cigar for you between her hooters while girl number three bends over and lights it with a match between her teeth."

"I can't wait," said Adam without a trace of sincerity.

"And that's just the beginning. This place we're going gets wild. later, this other chick, the star attraction, will take it all off and do things that you can't even imagine. she's got a prehensile--"

"enough. I get the picture."

"No, really, she can pick up a lit cigar from an ashtray with her--"

"Gross. Dev--"

"--and bring it up to your mouth again. I once saw a guy--"

"Devon! Enough. And do you have any idea how unsanitary that is?"

"Dude. I'm not saying I'd smoke it again myself, just that it was a trip to watch."

Blek. Adam would rather have a root canal. Not that he didn't like naked women. But he liked them a little more wholesome than that. He wasn't a fan of strippers and blatant womanly wiles. The whole scene was so far removed from his daily life, where most of the females he encountered wore either sweats, jeans or surgical scrubs--not fishnets or pasties.

Adam also didn't care for most of the men who hung out at these clubs. They were generally either creeps or...