Dear Sam;

 You probably don’t remember me, but we met on May 16/09. Well, perhaps that’s an exaggeration. You were the only one introduced. You  sprayed silly-string on my wife and she put some money up on the stage and when you came over and picked it up she showed you her boobies and you fondled them. At the end of your set you came over to us. She pulled down her top a second time and you stuck a fridge magnet on her boob and then you put another fridge magnet on my bald head. Does any of this ring a bell?

Even if the evening had unfolded differently I would have wanted to let you know that we really enjoyed your show.  We both like going to see the strippers, but ♀ is very particular about who she gives tips to.  She loved your outfit and all your curves and  that you were having fun. It was obvious that you really wanted to be there.  All those things make a difference to her and believe me she doesn’t expose herself to just anybody. On a different night she might have told me to get us (or maybe only her) a private dance. Later, when we looked at your website and she learned that you’d lost a bunch of weight and had struggled with (and overcome) body image issues, she could relate and  liked you even more. If we see you again I think she’d be right into a private dance.

The main reason I’m writing to you though is because you & I have a connection…a common bond (besides enjoying my wife’s boobs).  Earlier in the evening, we’d gone out to dinner to celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary. We were on our way home when ♀ suggested we stop in to see a couple of pretty girls take their clothes off. The bar was very busy, but we managed to snag the last two seats right at the stage. While we were waiting for your set to start the guy sitting next to me mentioned that the dancers kept stealing his hat. He wasn’t sloppy drunk, but he’d been there awhile. You might have even seen him (and stolen his hat?) during an earlier show.

Anyway, after you’d finished playing with her boobs and left the stage ♀ hurried off  to the little girls room. The guy beside me struck up a conversation. He said you were the best dancer of the night. He wanted to know how I was able to talk ♀ into going to the strippers. I told him she didn’t need any convincing. I told him our walk-in closet is absolutely covered with stripper posters and most of them are signed ‘to ♀’. He thought that was pretty cool and we both agreed that I’m a lucky guy.

♀ came back to her seat and the guy I’d been talking to left to go to the little boys room. A few minutes later,  just as the next dancer was getting ready to start her show we heard several pops. At the back of the bar near the restrooms there’s one of those boxing arcade games. Guys full of beer and testosterone punch the bag to see how hard they can hit. I thought that’s what the popping was. A minute or so later we realized something was terribly wrong and we joined the rush to get out.

We were watching the news the next day and they said two men had been shot in the restroom. The police believe it was a targeted hit. One man was in critical condition and was known to police. The other man died and the police think he was an innocent bystander. They showed his picture on TV and ♀ said, “OMG that’s the guy you were sitting beside last night!”  His name was Chris Whitmee, he had a 9 yr old daughter and he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

After the initial shock had worn off, ♀ said, “well at least the last woman he saw naked was  pretty and a really good dancer”. I’ve been thinking about that night and the randomness of things. And I’ve been thinking how it’s kinda weird that you were the last woman he saw naked and I was the last person he had a conversation with. And I’ve been thinking that connection would make a very cool start to a six-degrees-of-separation kinda story. I’ll let you know if I ever get it written, OK?

Keep well.

sss