I held a bachelor party in my apartment in 1983. We had two guys at work who were getting married. I lived in a loft apartment which was ideal for a party. I even temporarily had a beer kegorator that belonged to people who were renovating their building.
A friend and I planned the party. First, we went to see an old guy who had connections to the Block, where the strip clubs are located in Baltimore. There we were in the lobby of an apartment building (on St. Paul St. for anyone who knows Baltimore) looking at an album of photos of women with their legs spread apart so you could see their crotch.
We settled on a service that would write a poem about the groom and send a lady over to deliver it. She would come in a coat and down to a bikini.
We had about 20 guys at the party.
We ran two porno movies on my new Beta hifi VCR before she arrived. One of my coworkers was knowledgeable about porn and he selected I Like to Watch and 800 Fantasy Lane. He liked women in uniform and was married to a nurse. Two of the guys actually watched the movies like they had plots! They must have been very sheltered.
When the lady showed up, we took her aside to figure out how she was going to do her routine. She had a boombox with a cassette with “Flashdance” and similar songs. The first thing she said was “I don’t drink on the job.” The second thing she said was “Where’s the vodka?’ I got a glass and filled it for her. With hindsight, I don’t blame her if she was concerned about being alone with 20 guys she didn’t know and used a drink to help her.
She was dressed up, recited the poems, danced to the music and got down to the bikini. Later in the evening, she asked for more to drink. I assumed she still had the glass so I brought her the bottle. She drank right from the bottle! She got so drunk, one of the guys had to drive her home in her car.
It was very adolescent. It was like being 12 and having money. It reminded me of the time when I was 12 or 12 and three of us chipped in to buy a copy of Playboy. Each kid only had to pay a quarter.
The next day at work, our female coworkers wanted to know about the party. I just said “Can’t tell you.”
I will write another post with the aftermath.
