A year or so ago I went to a boxing event at The Ritz in Manchester. I saw my instructor enter the ring and spark out his opponent within a couple of rounds. That was the first spectacular thing of the night.
The second incredible element to the evening: the ring girls. Or, in particular, One ring girl. See these links for pictures from the night.
As you can see, she is absolutely beautiful. I remember noticing her, sat ringside with the other promo girls, pretty much the moment I walked in.
I would do anything for that woman, I thought.
The ring girls were provided by KO Promotions, the organisers of the night, and Silks Lap Dancing. http://www.lapdancing-club.co.uk/manchester-home
KO Promotions pick girls from Silks for most of their events. Wise move. The Silks girls are on the whole, beautiful. I’ve been into the club a few times and enjoyed it. But I’d never seen Blondie before.
Good Lord, I thought. She is stunning. Anyway. I’m not here for the birds. Especially not unobtainable lap dancer types. I’m just watching the boxing.
A problem: She was sat on the front row, ringside, and I was watching the fight from the balcony upstairs. I could see straight over the ring to her and her lap dancer friends. I was trying to focus on the boxing, but all I could think of was her: that blonde hair, that pure, pretty face, those big, doubtlessly-silicone breasts.
Boxing boxing boxing. Stick with the ring-
It got harder to concentrate when her friend pulled out a camera. The four girls, in matching black crop tops and fishnets, were posing. They knew most of the whole arena were watching them, throwing their glances between the fight and their seats. Blondie arched her back, pushing her boobs out. Friend One placed her hands over the girl’s cleavage. The camera flash made more people look.
I made a mental note: I’m getting a dance off her. Maybe not tonight, or this week, but soon.
More fights. More blood. Between rounds, the girls swapped card-holding duties. I didn’t see Blondie strut in the ring. Still, a good night’s entertainment, overall.
I was walking out of the Ritz when it hit me- she reminded me of someone. That short blonde hair, that incredible, slim beauty, that class.
The woman I’d lost my virginity to. Tracey. Tracey was older, about 30 at the time. I was 25.
After the boxing, the after-party was held at Silks. None of our team were getting dances, and we were only staying for one drink. Just as we were leaving, I saw Blondie step down from some hidden back room, now wearing a gold bikini. I made a mental note to go back.
After the fight I completely forgot about Blondie. It wasn’t until I was talking to a fight promoter on Facebook that I remembered the girl, that night in the Ritz, the view from the upper level. The promoter was picking ring girls for an upcoming MMA event. I started trawling the net for a picture of her. I managed to find the p4p photos. I shared them with the promoter over Facebook. “Great boobs!” she noted. I agreed.
The promoter didn’t pick Blondie in the end, but I did. A few months later, after sorting out a tax issue, I decided to treat myself. I wanted to see her. I rolled in on a Friday night / Saturday morning, just after midnight. It was pissing it down. I wanted to wait ’til after 12:00, so it might have quietened down and I wouldn’t be queueing for her. My suit was soaked by the time I got in.
I get a guilt complex in lap dancing clubs. There’s something about them that makes me feel naughty, perhaps a child-like compulsion that knows my mother wouldn’t approve. I reminded myself to turn down anyone who wasn’t Blondie… kind of.
I got a drink and watched the stage show. No sign of her. I turned a girl down. I finished my drink. What a fail of a night. And I paid a tenner to get in. Shit.
Another girl sat with me. I was about to walk to the door when she glided down a staircase that I’d not even noticed at the back of the room. Her boobs didn’t look quite as big as they did in the KO Promotions gear, but they were still a good size, and she still looked beautiful- naked but for a gold bikini and high heels. I wanted to see a woman play with her tits.
She hovered by the bar, talking to the other dancers. The club was overstaffed.
I excused myself from the girl who was talking to me. I wandered over. She sensed me approach and turned.
“Hi,” she said.
She asked if I was on my own. I told her I’d got my tax back and thought hmm, what shall I do tonight? I told her she looked familiar. She asked if I’d been in the club before. I told her it was a while back. I threw it in there like I couldn’t remember- “Are you a ring girl?”
She said she had been. I told her where I “vaguely” remembered her from. I told her how distracting she was on that front row, with her friends. She giggled and told me it was her first shift working back at Silks after a stint at rival club Victorias. I told her I’d heard the girls were a bit rough there. She said they were nothing special. She must have done pretty well there, I said. She just smiled, and asked if I wanted a dance.
I asked if I’d be allowed a dance with her and another girl.
I knew the rules. When Silks first opened, a year or so previous, I’d had a 2-girl dance. I just wanted to string the talk out, like it was foreplay.
She agreed, and let me wander around the club and let her know who I’d picked. I went for a slim girl with long dark hair, a beautiful woman who it seemed was eastern-European. Blondie approached her for me.
The girls took me downstairs, to what looks like a dungeon at first: a spiral staircase encased in bare brick, leading into a corridor with a reception window. The price had gone up from a few months ago- £40 to £60. A bit of a shock, but I wanted Blondie so much. She reminded me of Tracey. It’s pitiful, but honest. And once you’ve had a dance with two girls, going back to a one-girl dance just doesn’t cut it.
The receptionist gave us a booth number. They led me by the hand. I emptied the pockets of my suit (aside the remaining banknotes) for extra comfort.
Hint: Wear a suit. It looks good, and the material is thin. During the lap dance, you’ll feel more. It’s also possible that, seeing as a suit makes you look like money, the girls will approach you first before Muggins in the jeans.
It was a beautiful dance. They undressed each other. They touched. Dark-haired-girl took Blondie’s breast in one hand and sucked it, centimetres from my face. They took turns grinding their arses on my crotch and smothered me with cleavage from both sides. They faked cunnilingus.
What kind of man pulls a woman like this? I thought, looking at Blondie. Somebody, somewhere, has had a threesome with this woman. I just know it.
They offered to carry on for another twenty. I didn’t have the money. I thanked them both and walked out. I never saw Blondie again.
I went back in a month or so ago. She wasn’t working. I described her to one of the dancers. She didn’t know her.
Whoever she was, Blondie was an angel. I think of her as a bustier, younger, prettier, dirtier version of the woman who changed me. My mind is in totally the wrong place, but I just want one more dance from Blondie. Even just a solo dance. Maybe she’s moved to a different club again. Maybe she’s out of the business. I wish so much that I’d asked if she had a portfolio, something online that she was willing to show randomers like me. Do any readers know her?
If not, maybe she’ll live on only in those photos… and my memory.