For the life of me, I couldn’t read French. As we passed the street signs, they looked familiar. Stop signs were still red octagons even if they said, “Arret” {Stop}. At the time I was a bit tipsy and wasn’t sure why we decided to go to Montreal to get more booze in the middle of the night, but as it was my first journey outside of the country, I was determined to make it memorable. The border agents let the three of us through without incident, needing only our driver’s licenses in lieu of passports.
I was with two guys from college. The first was Anthony who went by ‘Tony’ which I was convinced was an attempt to make himself seem like a proper ‘bro’. He was a little fat, but not overly so, and covered up his short brown hair with a ball cap. The other was David, whose middle name William involuntary foisted the nickname ‘Willy’ on him. Willy was tall and was most notable for his nose, which perched on his face like that of a bird’s beak. He was quite opposite of his blusterous friend and kept himself as the more quiet company.
The three of us were fairly lost in the foreign city as we parked the truck and turned down multiple streets. I kept singing, “There’s no Canada like French Canada” in my head, trying to ease the tension. To its credit, French Canada is a beautiful part of their country and I have visited several times since my initial encounter.
We were all eighteen, and being too young to purchase alcohol in America, we were hoping to visit some bars in Quebec province. The first place we visited was a mistake; it was too noisy and stacked to the wall with hosers. I immediately retreated when I felt an errant hand advance under the hem of my skirt and caress my ass followed by, “Comment ça va ce soir, Rouge?” {How are you tonight, Red} or something like that.
Tony and Willy may have been hormonal teenagers like any other young freshmen, but they chivalrously escorted me out and we were on our way to find another location. I was proud of them, if only for a little while. I had once overheard Tony speak disparagingly of the reputation of one of his ‘conquests’, but now I had an impression of him that spoke more of consensual and perhaps even affectionate rendezvous.
“What do you think of visiting St. Catherine’s Street?” Tony joked as we avoided the crowds on the sidewalk.
“I don’t think we should,” Willy warned.
“Why not?” I naively questioned.
“Well, St. Catherine’s Street has a certain, special reputation,” he continued, trying to be diplomatic.
“What is it like, a bad part of town? Or something?” I continued to probe.
“Strip clubs, my dear,” Tony interjected to clarify.
“I’ve never been to a strip club before,” I said, nervous about the possibility.
“So, you’re not offended? You don’t think it’ll be weird?” Willy said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well yeah, it’s going to be weird, but not as weird as you two sitting with raging boners in a room full of other guys with hard-ons,” I smiled as I continued to walk, flaunting my braid and letting my skirt flow in unison.
I can’t honestly remember the name of the club we stopped at, but we were enticed by a sharp-tongued man who offered to waive the cover charge. Once inside, it was a stark contrast to strip clubs you see on television. The whole place was covered in this hideous green carpet that was probably stained with copious amounts of cum and sticky tables were everywhere. The women were also not what I was expecting. Almost all of them looked like they were barely eighteen and were extremely skinny. The first girl that approached our table looked like hadn’t eaten in days and I was tempted to slip her some extra cash, so she could grab some poutine and not faint in the middle of the floor.
We sat back and watched the scene unfold for a while, sharing a couple pitchers of beer. The whole place seemed routine; a girl would walk up to the stage in a skimpy outfit and strip down, taking her time to show off the goods. I wasn’t overly aroused or impressed by their selections, but I could see the boys were enjoying it, so I kept my mouth shut.
“What’s the matter, chérie?” an older woman in her thirties asked in a beautiful accent.
“It’s fine, I’m okay, it’s just not what I was expecting, that’s all,” I solemnly replied, taking another sip.
“What, you thought it wouldn’t be a bunch of old lecherous men horning over teenage girls?” she sassed.
“I mean, that’s probably what I thought, but at least I figured it might be different,” I honestly said back.
“If you’ve got some money, I can show the three of you a good time,” she seductively whispered in my ear.
Tony flashed her a stack of Canadian notes and nodded with approval. The woman motioned us with her finger and we all followed her into a back room. I call it a back room, but it wasn’t like overly hidden or anything. It resembled the rest of the place, with only a small curtain partitioning it from the main room.
From what I assumed it would be a ‘private’ dance, and it started to seem that way. As the music continued to blare in the background, she made her way around to each of us. She sashayed around, making sure to drop to her hips and when she rose again, she would arch her back, showing off the curvature of her body.
I could tell the boys had stiff erections when she finally took off her top, exposing a pair of gorgeous breasts. I glanced over at them and while Tony proudly spread his legs, Willy tried to conceal his a little more. I was afforded a closer look when I smiled and held up a loonie. She slowly walked toward me and nuzzled my face into her stacked bosom, gripping my head so I couldn’t escape. My head rattled between her boobs and my skull bounced from left to right. It was magnificent, but I wish I had more time to embrace each one.
At this point, I was having a blast. Our generous hostess was down to a pair of lacy red panties that had been stuffed with cash; she was dancing and trying to entice the boys even more by rubbing her body against them, and they seemed to be having some fun too.