20. The Show.

You want to see some naked girls?

You know where to go.

A lapdancing bar.

Back then, lapdancing bars were only in America.

We had something different.

We had doffers.

Doffers did the rounds at pubs near to factories.

Fridays, around fivish, blokes would shuffle into their works local and watch two tired looking single mums take off their clothes and wriggle around in a half hearted fashion on a tiny stage set up by the bay window, where the curtains were closed to make the dingy pub appear even dingier.

The hat went round.

If there was enough money in it, they’d do a bit of a lesbian show.

The dizzy heights of Yorkshire erotica.

But there was something else.

There was The Show.

“Lucifer! Bring a fiver in tomorrow.”

“Erm, why, Sytex?”

“Because you’re coming with us to The Show, that’s why!”

“Right. The Show. Do I get to find out what that is?”

“You, Lucifer, are a fucking puff. The Show is what will change you from a fucking puff into a MAN, that’s what The Show is.”

“Don’t think I’ll bother…”

“A Fiver. Tomorrow.”

I went to The Show.

It was a working mens club.

We arrived in a mini bus, bellowing and singing.

The lads were drinking freezing cold tins of bitter that made your hand ache just holding them.

Freezing tins on a freezing night.

I was eighteen.

Everyone else was in their thirties and forties.

I wondered what the fuck I’d let myself in for.

We went in.

Lots of tables.

Lots of blokes.

Somebody shoved a pint into my hand.

It was nectar compared to that crap in the mini bus.

I gulped it down.

Lights dimmed.

Music started.

Blokes roared.

A blonde woman in a fancy costume shimmied onto the stage, danced a bit, started stripping.

I drank more beer.

Girls slithered amongst the tables taking beer orders, and returned with groaning trays of pints.

The girl on the stage started putting stuff up her fanny.

The blokes roared louder.

She dragged a bloke out of the crowd, and his mates howled with laughter.

She whipped his pants down, got his cock out and started sucking him off.

The crowd went mad.

Sytex jabbed me in the ribs.

“Bet you’ve never seen owt like this, Lucifer!”

He was right.

I hadn’t.

The girl bent over, and the bloke on stage tried to fuck her.

It was like trying to get a marshmellow into a money box.

The bloke on stage gave up, and stumbled back to his seat, humiliated.

“That was rubbish!” shouted the girl to the crowd.

“Who’s gonna come up here and give me one?”

All Hell let loose.

Young chancers flocked to the stage, ragging their flies open.

Beer spilled everywhere.

One of the girls serving beer bent over to clean up the mess.

Kray grabbed her, pulled her skirt up, yanked her knickers to one side and shoved his tongue up her arse.

She started screaming.

The girl on stage had disappeared behind pale wall of thrusting spotty arse cheeks, as a horde of pissed blokes tried to get their turn with her.

Some lads were on stage, wanking.

I turned to Sytex, and saw that he was wanking.

Everbody was laughing and drinking and wanking.

The beer girl had broken free of Kray’s grip and fled.

The only girl in the room was hidden by those spotty arses.

And still the blokes wanked.

I got my coat.

“Where the fuck are you going, Lucifer?” slurred Sytex.

“Home, Sytex. I’m going home.”

“You fucking puff!”

I left him to his wanking.

i walked out of The Show, out into wet night.

I got the last bus home.

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2 Responses to 20. The Show.

  1. Pingback: Reprographics... - Page 7 - London Fixed-gear and Single-speed

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