These stories are told in a short conversational style. I have no training as a writer ( I am a complete amateur), so the grammar is not the greatest; but these stories are word for word how I tell them, not how some professional would write them. The spelling shouldn't be too bad, but I'm not making any promises.
As mentioned on the Main Page, you can have your stories published here too. A few things to keep in mind:
The last time I talked about this, I left off where I missed my one and only chance to meet with Sam Walton and the only person I got to meet was Bill Clinton; a big disappointment. Well, I finished doing whatever it was that I was doing out in the plant and went back up to the office, to my desk. Now, I'm not going to go into great detail on the layout of the office; let's just say I worked in the Engineering Department, which was located on the left side of the main office area. This main office area was one great big room with Engineering on one side and the Coordinators on the other side. Of course, there was a lot more to the office than just this room. There was all those departments upstairs and then on the other side of the wall (on the opposite side of the room of the main office) was the dreaded Carpet. Anyone was has ever worked in a good size company knows the meaning of that word. The Carpet is where the Big shots work and the rest of us try to avoid. Being "called down on the Carpet" is worse than being sent to the principal. Open Door Policy, my butt!
Did you ever notice, how that in certain companies that certain jobs are considered "men's work" and other jobs are considered "women's work"? Not that I'm saying that's right or anything like that; I'm just asking if you've ever noticed. You can go to another company and what was an all female department at one place now becomes an all male department. Anyway, the reason I said all that was: #1) all the coordinators were women, and #2) Clinton and his entourage had to walk through all these women to get to the Carpet to met with the company president in his office. And of course, that means trouble.
Now there were two or three dozen women working in this department of all ages, shapes, and size. So quite naturally, chances were that a man could find at least one woman there that he would find interesting. And sure enough, Clinton did. Let's call her Bambi, pronounced "Baaaam Beeee", and don't forget to tilt your head from side to side on each syllable. I have to admit, she was a cute little girl. She was blonde, had big eyes, always had a smile. She wasn't the brightest person in the world, but she tried to be the friendliest. When I say she wasn't the brightest, I'm just being friendly. Actually she was kind of dingy. Most of the other women there really didn't care for her a whole lot. I guess it was a little bit of a jealousy thing going on there. It didn't help much that half the men there was all ga-ga over her. Still today, I can mention her name to some people and they will tilt there head back and smile and say, "Oh yea", real slow.
Anyway, back to my story again, Clinton and his little group were making their way through all these desks, when Clinton decides he has to stop and talk to Bambi. This wasn't hard to miss. Clinton is a big ol' guy, you know. Well over six foot tall. So this was hard to miss. Now we wasn't close enough hear anything that was said, all we saw was that body language, and it was pretty clear to all of us what Clinton had on his mind. While this was going on, the rest of Clinton's little group had made their way to the front of this department and were all standing in the main aisle, looking at their watches, clearing their throats, leaning in the direction of the carpet, and saying things in a nice, respectful, and diplomatic way about how they had a schedule to meet and how they needed to be going. Clinton just kept looking up with that little grin of his and saying stuff like, "Be right there...., Just a minute....,", and then getting back to his "Hey baby" talk. Eventually he made his way out of there and rejoined his then aggravated entourage and we never saw him again.
Now I'm not saying anything ever became of this. But knowing Clinton, who knows? And in case you're thinking I'm making this all up, ask Julie. She was there too, except she was a whole lot closer; only about three or four desks away. You might want to ask her if she actually heard any of the conversation. Other than that, that is all I could testify to under oath as being an eyewitness to. All those other wild sex stories and such that we the people of Arkansas had heard over the years of Governor Clinton are just second and third hand stories that I can't prove one way or another. Let's just say that nobody from his home state was surprised when all these recent stories came out. We've been hearing them for twenty years now.
The first stop on our trip was to be the casinos in Tunica, Mississippi. This was mainly for other people in the group. I have never gambled before and have never been too interested in giving my money away for nothing. But one of the guys in the group really loved to gamble so we went. The other reason for going there was so that another guy could tell his wife that we were going to Tunica and not mention where we where going afterwards and still not be lying to his wife. That guy ran into some money problems and wound up not going anyway. I played the slots a little bit and made about forty bucks and pretty well quit after that. I mean, how lucky can I be anyway? The real gambler with us jackpotted a machine and won $625. He said, "Don't worry boys, tonight is my treat". Now this guy normally plays all his winnings right back into the casino, so we really had to drag him out of there. He only lost $200 between there and the door. (He thanked us later.) After that it was on to the real purpose of the trip.
Memphis! Now when I say Memphis, I really mean Tiffany's. Tiffany's is (to put it nicely) is a gentlemen's club. A place of adult entertainment; where for a price, the ladies will pretend to "like" you. And for a higher price, will pretend to love you. Now don't get me wrong, there is no prostitution going on here, (that I am aware of), just a high class, clean, fancy strip club. They get naked on stage and for table dances and I won't go into the details on the lap dances upstairs. I also saw in an advertisement in the Memphis Flyer that they claim to be the Bachelor Party Specialists. Well now that got me curious. I checked around and I had two different people tell me the exact same story. Both of these guys both claimed to have seen this for themselves. And it goes something like this.....
What they do is get you up on the stage and sit you down in a chair.
The guy is supposed to be trying to talk you out of getting married and
just all around make fun of you. The rule is that you are to hold on to
the arms of the chair and if you ever let go, it's all over. But you can
do whatever you want to with your face. At this point, about a dozen ladies
come out and one at a time, they strip down and crawl all over you. After
they all do that one at a time, then they do it all at the same time. Uhhhh.....
okay. I can handle that. I can't really say that I've ever had a whole
flock of naked ladies crawling all over me before. So if that is what is
supposed to happen, then I am definitely curious. But one little detail;
that is not how they do it anymore. It goes a little more like this now
First, the little smart-alecky guy called me out of the crowd and up on the stage where a chair is waiting. The whole time, he is really insulting me; and I mean really insulting me! After a little bit of this, he gives me a choice of what's behind door #1 or door #2. Well door #1 was at the top of the stairs that led down to the stage where we were at; and at the top of the stairs, I could see a group of ladies. Door #2 was a door on the wall that had an exit sign on it. So I did this little boy act thing and meekly pointed at door #1. That's when he called all the girls down. I think there were forty of them (that number is sticking in my mind for some reason) and they were all wearing these skimpy little slut costumes. They make a big circle around me about three people thick and the whole time, the little announcer dude is still making fun of me for getting married and giving up all this. Yea, right! After a little bit of this, he sics them on me.
First thing they do is they push me down into the seat and proceed to undress me (or so it seems). Two of them are taking off my shirt. One takes my glasses. And one of them starts taking off my belt (uh oh). Then a couple of them starts tugging at my underwear (double uh oh). Now one thing you need to understand here is that we all left straight from work for all this, so I was still wearing my dress clothes: Dockers, long sleeve dress shirt, and boxers. Within the last few years, everyone seems to be interested in whether certain people wear boxers or briefs. Well, I'm a boxer person. And not just plain boxers, but fancy and unusual ones. This particular night I happened to be wearing my Tabasco boxers that had the little Tabasco brand symbols and little red pepper symbols all over them.
Like I was saying, the girls started pulling up on my underwear and when they had them just a few inches above the belt line, they started to tear holes in them with that little latch thing part of the belt buckle that they had just taken off of me. After they got two good size tears started just under the elastic band, that's when they really started pulling. I don't mean just a little tugging; I mean pulling! Yanking! They literally pulled my underwear off of me by pulling them over my head giving me the ultimate wedgie. Actually, all they got was the band which one of them made into a headband and put on me. The rest of my underwear was hanging out of the top of my pants in great big shreds or else crammed up in me so far that I just about squeaked. I looked like some big dorky shirtless flower.
Now this is where it starts to get interesting. The girls tell me to get out of the chair and one of them takes my place there. Then that girl takes my hands and plants them on her.... uh, well, you know. They were kind of hard. I think they were "augmented". Then she pulls my face down and sticks it right between them. So now there I am, up on the stage completely bent over and somewhere on this stage is a girl holding my belt. That is where the fun started. The girl with the belt proceeded to whoop me. And I don't mean some token little spanking. There was no little bappity-bappity. This was an all-out, old fashioned, horse whipping! (89 KB) There I was with my face all buried up in 'em and being beaten like a dog. I tried to stay cool and not show any pain (you know, all that self control and discipline stuff that I am so proud of); but, man, that really hurt! So there I was: screaming and squeezing and being publicly humiliated. And they never did get naked!
Well after a few more insults and a whooping that left whelps for a day and bruises for a week, I am sent off the stage and back into a crowd that's all pointing and laughing at me. I had to find my shirt that was hid behind some plants and head off to the bathroom to see if I could salvage my underwear. I couldn't. I just trashed 'em. Do you know what it is like to go all night in dress pants and no underwear? It ain't natural, I tells ya! Oh, well. At least I was able to save my waistband/headband. That's my one souvenir for the night. Some people told me, that would have made them mad if that had happened to them and that they wouldn't have taken that. Not me; I thoroughly enjoyed it. It opened up a whole new world for me. I never understood these S & M people before. I guess it's true when they say, don't knock it till you try it.
The rest of the night was not all that eventful. Another strip club
that was not as nice as the first. It was packed like sardines and absolutely
filled with smoke. After that a redneck roadhouse way out in the middle
of nowhere. Outside of some tiny town that is not even on an Arkansas state
map. The place was a dump and I was not impressed. The others really enjoyed
it though. "These are real whores here; not like those pretend whores in
Memphis." Yea, whatever. I might pretend to cheat on Julie, (especially
if she's around) but one thing you can count on: I won't! The band there
was pretty good though: Classic Rock. Anyway, I was ready to get home and
I did about six in the morning. I told Julie what happened and she got
a big kick out of it. I dropped a lot of hints with a lot of people about
getting a riding crop as a wedding gift, but no luck. But Christmas is
coming up real soon, so I can always hope.