"Don't forget to have a good time, man!" Rohan nudged Randhir who gave him a good-natured smile. He wondered how Randhir had spent four years in the country without fooling around even a bit. Nor did he seem interested in going steady with anyone. Rohan had taken him along on double dates and though the girls were almost always interested in Randhir he avoided getting involved. Rohan knew about his backstory involving Nour and tried not to push him too much.

"I should be the one telling you that!" Randhir said to Rohan as they found their seats inside the club. Rohan was the son of Harsh's business partner Rakesh Garg and his American wife Marissa. He was getting married to his longtime girlfriend Stacy and she had insisted that Randhir attend the stag night. She trusted Randhir enough to keep an eye on Rohan to make sure he did not do anything stupid.

Each time a man decided to get hitched his pals used the opportunity to organise him a stag night. A sensible bride-to-be always ensured that they went to a proper club rather than engage strippers in a private hotel room where it would be difficult to establish boundaries. By and large American brides-to-be were fine with their soon-to-be husband and his buddies ogling bodies of naked strippers; but more obvious sexual encounters were strictly forbidden for the groom. Usually it was hard for a groom to have a naughty experience go unreported. A telling picture or graphic footage could destroy his relationship and result in the wedding being called off.

It wasn't the first time that Randhir was in an erotic club. The overpowering smell of perfume worn by the girls, the tricky lighting and body makeup that made every dancer look like a Goddess of staged sensuality, music that set the pace of the performance was all a familiar experience. This was a much classier club than some he had seen since he arrived in the country. There was no musty smell from drinks spilled on the carpets or seedy stains that could ruin it for a first time visitor. And the girls were really young, good looking and had great toned bodies.

Nursing his exorbitantly priced drink Randhir looked around at the guys he was hanging with for the evening. A few of them were single like him but there were also others who were in committed relationships. He wondered what their partners would have to say about what their men were doing right now. The men chatted away while seated on comfortable leather couches; occasionally eyeing the girl who contorted her body acrobatically and effortlessly slid up and down the pole placed in the centre of the stage. 

The eager beavers among the audience sat closer to the stage armed with dollar bills, hoping to stuff the money into the dancer's bra or garter. That was as far as a guy could touch a dancer in a classy club. If he got carried away he could be evicted by the bouncers. Eventually the girl would strip down to her birthday suit before her act ended. Then when another girl took her spot on the stage she would go backstage, get dressed and was then free to walk around the club chatting up the patrons and trying to sell them lap dances.

No matter how classy the club someone always passed lewd remarks about the effect the more buxom girls had on them when the mammaries and bottoms were on full display. It often mandated visits to the bathroom and the more discreet guys would take care to sheath themselves in advance to prevent embarrassing accidents in public. A guy could buy a lap dance for upwards of  twenty bucks and the girl would then grind and wiggle over him suggestively as long as the song lasted. If she was good she won herself a decent tip, if she was better the man often followed her to a more expensive private room where the treat could last for as long as he was willing to pay. For the right price one could buy almost everything short of real sex- in other words, at a decent club the only thing that actually got scr*w*d was a man's wallet.

As was customary Rohan's buddies decided to buy him a couple of lap dances and also to give the girls generous tips to award the groom their full attention. Rohan was already drunk and freed of his inhibitions he nearly forgot that Randhir was around him for a reason. Randhir leaned back and watched as the first girl plastered Rohan's face with her chest and ground herself on his crotch, asking indirectly if he needed more intimate service in one of the back rooms. Rohan took one look at Randhir's face and reluctantly declined her offer. When the music stopped the dancer went away looking for her next customer. Meanwhile many of the other guys bought themselves similar rounds of fun.

When the next dancer approached Rohan Randhir wished she had been Caucasian or a Latin beauty instead of the curly haired one of Middle Eastern origin. She reminded him so much of Nour. She had the same light olive skin, brandy eyes and an athletic body. She began to strip slowly to the beat of the music. By this time Rohan was really drunk and took out some dollar bills and stuffed them between her contours. Encouraged by the tip and accustomed to the routine the girl volunteered to offer more. Randhir watched desolately as she unsheathed herself completely and proceeded to give Rohan the best for the money.

"Cela suffit, merci!" The words spoken in a sharp tone left Randhir's mouth involuntarily. The girl abruptly stopped what she was doing and stared at Randhir. Her expression told him she understood French.

"I am nearly done with him, you can book the next dance if you like!" She smiled at Randhir as she went back to finish her performance for Rohan. She turned away from the groom and sat down beside Randhir while Mark, the best man, led Rohan to the bathroom.

"You buying my time or what?" The girl asked Randhir.

"Tell me your name!" He said softly.

"Call me Layla!" She replied.

"Egyptian?" He probed.

"Grew up in Beirut!" She replied.

"Merde!" He interjected. She looked at him curiously.

"I am sorry, just that you remind me of my ex who was French Lebanese!" Randhir explained.

"What a coincidence! Well, what did you have in mind?" She was making it obvious to Randhir that she charged for her time.

"How much do you expect to make for the rest of your shift?" He could not believe he was having this conversation with her. 

"At least two thousand bucks!" She looked hopeful. He knew she was exaggerating.

"You certainly make more money than I usually do in a day!" He laughed. She lightened up and laughed too. He took out fifty dollars and held them out to her. She looked into his eyes to size up the situation.

"Can we just talk for a while?" He asked.

"Sure, why not! Just tell me when you need me to dance for you. What was her name, if I may ask, your Lebanese girl?" She was unsure how he would react.

"Nour! It means light, does it not? I am sorry I interrupted your earlier performance. It almost felt as if Nour was strpipping before another man!" Randhir knew he was saying something she would not care to hear. Strippers took pride in what they did, they saw their dancing as an erotic art form.

"I used to find it awkward at first, now it is just a job that pays enough for my expenses." It was the story of nearly every girl in the club. Some were paying their way through college, others were single mothers with kids to bring up. Yet others had cokehead boyfriends who barely stuck to a job.

"I am sorry if I sounded condescending. I did not mean to demean what you do. Unfortunately things ended badly for Nour after we split up. She worked as an escort and tragically ODed one day. That made it kind of hard to get over it!' He fell silent.

"Don't beat yourself over it. Some people cannot cope with the pressure as well as others. Many of our girls here snort stuff! It keeps them stuck in a vicious cycle." Layla's  conversation usually veered around flirting with guys to plump up their egos. She looked more genuine now. Randhir wondered what her real name was, the girls rarely used their own names on the job.

Just then Rohan returned from the bathroom trip and the guys decided they had had enough of the club. Being his best man Mark offered to take Rohan home. 

"Look me up the next time you are here!" Layla said to Randhir before she turned away to look for other patrons.

"We thought you were asking her out, you were talking to her like you were interested!" Rohan teased Randhir.

"She does not do dates, she was quite clear. And even if she did it is not smart to sleep with a stripper." Randhir got into the cab with Rohan and Mark.

"You could have gone home straight!" Rohan told Randhir.

"Stacy made me swear I'd see you home safe and sound!" He reminded him. In a few minutes the guys had reached their respective destinations.

Randhir was still towelling himself dry after a shower when he heard his phone ping. It was a picture message from Sanyukta asking him to guess where she was. They were rarely online together. He quickly slipped into a pair of shorts and a wifebeater before dialling her.

"Hi Randhir, I am in Coorg!" She chirped happily.

"Great! And you'll never guess where I just returned from. A strip club!" He grinned to see her jaw drop.

"What the heck, Randhir! That is almost infidelity!" She yelled.

"Stop being such a Mommy. It was a friend's stag night before his upcoming wedding. The bride asked me to watch him like a hawk!" He explained.

"I don't understand this custom of stag night with strippers. It objectifies women by turning their bodies into commodities for sale. How do the brides permit this?" She sounded indignant.

"Because they are easily manipulated by the men into believing that it is all harmless fun!" Randhir grinned again as he took a large bite of the apple in his hand.

"Well, is it or is it not? And what's with the late night snack?" She asked, hoping to dive into closely guarded bachelorhood secrets.

"Depends on how much testosterone the man has inside him. Too much means he likes forbidden fun. Too little means his partner usually initiates sex before he is willing to! And this apple is as good as coffee if I need to stay up to chat with you. Unless you want me to go to bed instead!" He noticed her profile picture. She looked very beautiful.

"Please don't, you can stay up for a bit. In any case you are not working tomorrow! Did anything happen at the strip club?" She asked gingerly. She was obviously not referring to the groom-to-be.

"Well, a bevy of stunning women drained me dry of a certain body fluid. It was delicious to live through! Come on, Mowgli! You know guys cannot even grope a stripper let alone have sex with her. Unless one is at a dodgy, sleazy place. In case you have forgotten I am still single, I am entitled to have some fun in my womanless life!" He got rid of the apple core, sipped some water and propped himself on the bed.

"The apple is quite a prophetic fruit linking Adam and Eve, Newton and gravity and more recently, Steve Jobs and Apple Inc. Anyway, do you know how many diseases you can get from the filth and germs in strip joints?" She quizzed him.

"Do you know how many doctors get down and dirty with hookers at sex parties? Stop being a prude and get real, Dr Sanyukta!" He looked completely at ease with her, as always.

"Well, did anything happen tonight?" She persisted.

"If you must know, I was forced to my keep my crotch hidden with my glass and a cocktail napkin so nobody could spot my snake rising after two gorgeous women danced suggestively on the lap of the guy sitting next to me. One of the women reminded me of Nour so I paid her to sit down and chat with me. Then I left the club, came home and showered because I was smelling of whorehouse perfume. Tell me about your Coorg holiday!" He was mentally prepared to speak to her all night. In any case chatting with Mowgli was a more wholesome idea than near-sex with strippers at the club.