Stripper Story #2...this one is not like #1.

When at university, you find your social circle explode in size.
At school, I had a handful of close friends, that is all I needed, but at the grand old age of 18 I left home and moved to Dundee to lay the foundations of an exciting career in mechanical engineering.

After a few months of the hedonism that comes with living in halls of residence less than 5 minutes from the student union, I found myself a member of many different groups of friends. In some circles I was a fringe member, in others I was a key player. These circles crossed over and intertwined so you'd always end up hearing about pretty much everyone's adventures and mishaps.

This story came to me a few days after the event. On the night in question, I was present but not paying enough attention to the heroine of the piece to fully realise what was happening. With hindsight, of course, the events I actually witnessed made perfect sense.

The heroine in question was, and probably still is, named "Kat".
Kat was a student.
Kat was also a stripper.
What a marvellous cliché. She paid her way through university by dancing naked and performing industrial strength lesbionics for money.
She made a lot of money too, and I could see why. Though she wasn't stunning looking, she was remarkably well constructed body. On one hallowe'en, she was out on the lash in the union in bra, pants and stripper heels. This is when we all found out she had an extra nipple. Nothing at all John Merrick-y, but noticeable.

Although I wouldn't like to generalise about ladies in the stripping industry, I will say this...Kat was a slag!
She was epic in her sexploits. But this is by far the worst/most depressing story I heard out her.

As was the commonality on a wednesday afternoon, I had no lectures. No one did. Wednesday afternoons were reserved for sport. My sport was getting hopelessly shitfaced and trying to pull the bar maids. I could've gone pro, but I didn't know how to pace myself and often burntout before the end of the night.

Once 12 noon hit, I would often trot to The Liar, a bar in the union named after a Stephen Fry novel. This was the gathering point for all the circles I was involved in.
Not a day went by where I could walk in alone and not see a group of people I knew well enough to drink with.
And so it was on this afternoon. Pint of strongbow in hand I marched up to a booth and settled with a few chums.

After a couple drinks, you can always tell if its going to be an all dayer.
This day, the banter was funny, the cider was sweet and the times were good. This was obviously going to be more than a casual few pints before going home for Supernoodles & beans and a torrid bout of self abuse.

At around 6pm, Kat and a few others walked by, exchanged pleasantries with everyone. And walked on by, continuing "the lap" that any ex-Dundee student would know well, before the Liar was turned into a horrific, trendy, wine bar.

A few hours later, our paths crossed again, she was wearing something different. I didn't think much of it. Not everyone was as slapdash as I. I was happy to role up to the pub after lectures, drink into the early hours, crash where I could, then go to lectures the next day having not even showered, let alone change clothes. I assumed Kat had gone home, after seeing us, and prepared for a night out, like any woman would.

The night continued as any night out would. Nothing of note happened. No bouncer led expulsions, no tree climbing, nothing. The only memorable thing that happened, that stuck in my mind, was seeing Kat a number of times, wearing different clothes each time. But as I wasn't really paying a great deal of attention, it didn't strike me as interesting enough to take my attention away from the slinky feline barmaid in Mono, the union night club.

A few days later, on the way home from lectures, I called In to see o cohort of mine who was present that night.
A gypsy haired scot, called Dave, with teeth like pearls and a disposition to dress like a cuban.

"Fuck, did you see Kat on wednesday night?" He shouted as he opened the door to his flat.
"Nice to see you too. Milk and two sugars please!"
He hands me a can of Miller's
"Good lad. What about Kat?"
"You know how she kept turning up in different clothes? You'll never guess why!"
"You need to calm down a little. Go have a wee, sit down, take a deep breath and tell me."
"Katie's just had a shit, obviously, I'm not going in there for a while!" He declared.

Katie was his sister, a beautiful, cherub faced girl who was as sweet as anyone could be. But she farted lots. Also we formed a weird synchronisity. If I was to turn up, unannounced, she would, without fail, have a terrifically noxious shit, whose smell would permeate the entire premises, no more than 10 mins before I showed up. One time it was so bad it was like walking into a wall of stench. I could feel it in my eyes. My hair was crying. Katie was hanging out the living room window getting fresh air. Not at all healthy.
But I digress.

Dave sat down as we opened our cans.
"Just after we saw her the first time, she went round the corner and got talking to some dude. Within half an hour the were back at her place and she fucked him."
This did not strike me as weird. She would do this quite often. Also her place was 30 seconds, door to door from the union.

"Hardly breaking news, is it Dave. She's had more meat in her than a butcher's dog."
"Yeah, but when she finished with him, she jumped in the shower, washed herself out. Then came back out." Dave's use of certain phrases are one of the things that first endeared him to me.

"Yeah, she's efficient, I'll give her that."
"How many different outfits did you see her in? I counted three. Katie counted 6!"
Penny drops.
"No! You're fucking joking!"
"I'm not. She fucked five different lads on wednesday night. And after she got crammed by each one, she kicked them out, flushed herself out, got changed and came back to the union!"
"Nah, that's bollocks." I couldn't believe that even Kat would be that crass.
"Ask her and ask Knox. He fucking knows two of the lads!" Chris Knox was a tall, podgy ex bf of Katie. Oddly likable, but a bit of a tit sometimes. Word has it, he shagged a girl of dubious legality, on stage, during a karate club night out at a private strip show.
I should change his name...fuck it!

"She pulled, took home, fucked and kicked out five different lads in one night? She's a master of logistics! Five lads, including costume changes in 7 hours. I don't know whether to be impressed or sickened, Dave."

"I know, right. She told Katie 'I wanted to see how many I could get through. I would've managed more but a couple wanted foreplay and wanted to cuddle. Bastards!'."

This I found hilarious, heartwarming and alarming in equal measure.
"You aren't joking are you?"
"Nope."

But the story doesn't end there. It gets worse. A few months later, after not seeing Kat on the circuit for a while, Katie informs me that she's pregnant! Possibly to one of three of the five as they were the only unprotected liaisons she had had in the past few months "probably".
"How's that going to affect uni and stripping and...fucking about?"

"She's not bothered. Uni will provide support and she says that 'All the dirty old men at the strip club love that I'm preggers!'
She says she's never made so much money. The bigger she gets, the more money they give her."

That's right. She was still getting her muff dived upon, for the delight of seedy old men with erections, while her first born wriggled around inside her.

Now, I realise that this is not as much of a jovial little tale as the young lady with the twix. I felt it important to include this story for balance.

Going for a shower now. I feel soiled just recounting this awful event.
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