Men's night out (What she doesn't know)

Winston Wilson, Jr., Staff Reporter

From the diary of one of 'the boys'

THE GIRLS on the stage sold sex. Cheap sex. Uncomfortable on six-inch stiletto heels, vacant looks in their eyes, their bodies jerking as if being controlled by a sick puppet master, they seemed to be the worst pick from the set of a cheap 'blue movie'. The bellowing dancehall music was the soundtrack as men's eyes rolled. Cameras were not needed.

The air was alive with the smell of stale alcohol, sweat and other body fluids, cheap perfume, cigarette and ganja smoke, dirty, old men and unwashed bodies.

And sex.

Women skimpily clad in strings and desperation skilfully balanced loaded trays as they flitted from table to table.

On the stage of the Kingston nightclub, two bleached blonde did unmentionable things, alternately to a pole and to an empty drink bottle. The men at the foot of the stage exchanged quick feels for dollar bills they threw at the them.

We were sitting away from the stage and its offering. Kevin, Robert and I. We had little to contend with but the waitresses whose flicking tongues said more could be served from the platter but drinks.

Assorted colour neon lights bathed Queenie's Nightclub and its contents.

Tonight's visit to the club was my idea. We three musketeers did a mild form of cheating every Friday night and we took turns choosing the watering holes.

Robert was 41 years old and married. Discretion had to serve as the better part of valour for him. His wife only knew that her accountant husband was working late. On figures. Too right. Talk about cooking the books.

Thirty-eight-year-old Kevin had made an 'arrangement' in his relationship with Shari. Each did what they wanted. Well... he did. She stayed home and took care of their new baby.

Me? Well, my job takes me out of town. And who knows when the company might need me to conduct a training session, say... in Montego Bay. My wife believes the excuses and I had a bank of plausible stories to draw from.

We had all met a year ago at a party on separate escapes from home and have since formed an unholy triad.

Whatever drove us on our secret visits to... wherever, we had never analysed. But it gave a swift kick. A thrill, however, cheap. There was a turn on from living with the danger of her finding out.

We had been around the block. The Scope Nightclub with its Chinese girls had pleased, Fingers offered a take home service and The Clinic gave complimentary lap dance and 'other' services.

But we were not just go-go club junkies. We went to football matches, wild parties and couples outings. All the time of course, with the appropriate trophy girlfriend in tow.

Still the clubs were a hands-down favourite. And we had been to them all. Or most of them. The memories lingered. The girls waited. Adventure was on the other side.

The wives stayed home and be wives.