Six

 

Six

 

     It’s an hour past my bedtime on a Thursday night and I’m sitting on the outer ledge that

 surrounds the dance floor of this Rock and Roll club. The first of three bands is playing. They

 are a Surf/Punk band from Ft. Wayne Indiana. I don’t know how much surfing one actually gets

 to do in Indiana, my guess is not very much, but they are a decent band. The key to any group is

 a solid rhythm core. Bass and drums. This outfit not only has an outstanding drummer, but a

 very tight bassist. The front person is the guitar player, a stout, mini-skirted, White young

 woman with short dyed-blonde hair. She’s a very good guitar player, but I’m watching her legs.

 I’m specifically noticing the inside of her thighs. They look creamy smooth.

     The dance floor is circled by day glow neon portraits of a woman with exposed breasts. At the

 rear of the dance floor is the booth where the person running the sound board is sitting. A young

 Black woman is running the boards tonight. She comes bolting out of her area through the

 crowd to re position the bassist’s mike stand to stop the microphone from feeding back. I

 thought it sounded good. It reminded me of someone doing bird calls.

     Before the Surf/Punk band from Indiana began their set there were two lovely large ladies

dancing on the bar. I chose the place I’m sitting so I could watch the lovelier of the two ladies.

 She was also a young Black woman. She wore a long black wig and leather short shorts. Most of

 the time she seemed bored, merely swaying to the music. I even caught her looking at her watch.

 But a few times she seemed to be enjoying the attention and her dancing showed that as she

 stretched her arms over her head and grinded with a grin.

     The first band just finished their last song, and the DJ is announcing that there will be a peep

 show at the rear of the club. It costs a dollar. I get in line with the others and make small talk

 with the white dwarf who was photographing the Surf/Punk band from Indiana. He says his

 flash wasn’t working. He doubts that the photos will come out which is a shame because I

 would have given him my information so he could send me photos of the guitar player.

     A White large lady with much make up and a leopard skin jacket takes my dollar and I follow

 everyone into the back room. It’s small, and once everyone is inside it’s a tight squeeze. The

 interior is red velvet. A fake Yellow man introduces two Geishas. They are all Geishaed up and

 circle the audience collecting dollar bills in their bosoms. Both Geishas are quite cute.

     After they circle, they go onto the stage, and one steps into a bucket and acts like she’s

 smashing whatever it is one smashes to make Sake while one kneels before the bucket. The fake

 Yellow man orders people to pay a dollar for a cup of the freshly made Sake. A few men go to

 the front, pay a dollar, and the Geisha kneeling scoops out Sake from the bucket and give it to

 the men who down it.

     One of the men tells me it’s actually grape juice while I try to ignore the horribly cute music

 playing in the background. The fake yellow man is angry that more people aren’t buying the

Sake and the lady who took our dollars tells us to pay up or the show’s over. People begin

leaving and the lady announces that we can get a photo with the Geishas for three dollars.

 People keep leaving and I feel bad for the Geishas. If people had bought more sake who knows

 what would have happened. Me and this other White guy stick around a get our picture taken.

     I have the photo if any of you want to see it sometime.