Author: peter

Let this blog post be a tribute to one of the most wonderful and mysterious women the world has ever known — the same woman whose name my favorite strip bar bears.

At the Marilyn Table Dance bar, an event was held in early June to commemorate the anniversary of Marilyn Monroe’s birthday. She would have been 99 this year — she could have lived to see it, but that wasn’t the fate life gave her.

How did this beautiful woman become so iconic, and why is it that to this day, no one has managed to follow in her footsteps?

Every time I see that iconic picture — you know the one, where the wind lifts her white dress — I’m overtaken by a strange feeling. It’s part nostalgia, part longing, and part sadness. Because Marilyn Monroe was more than just an actress to me. She was the woman I never got to know, yet somehow always felt I knew.

I first saw her as a child, in an old black-and-white photo — maybe a postcard, I’m not sure. Her eyes sparkled, she smiled, and moved with such natural charm, as if the whole world was her stage. And maybe it was. Then, the first time I heard her voice — that slightly lispy yet sensual tone — I was completely mesmerized. I felt, “Yes, this is her.”

Marilyn Monroe — or as she was born: Norma Jeane Mortenson. Even her name sounds like the beginning of an old Hollywood tale. A girl who rose from dark shadows and a troubled childhood to reach the stars — only to fall from them far too quickly.

Few people have ever been as contradictory as she was. At once the world’s ultimate sex symbol and a fragile, insecure woman who longed more than anything for acceptance. She glowed in front of cameras, but between takes she was often anxious, crying, late. Not because she didn’t care about her work — but because she was terrified she wasn’t good enough. Isn’t that fascinating? You see a beautiful woman, and it never crosses your mind that she might be full of self-doubt.

What made her truly special to me was that she never pretended. Even in her most theatrical moments, there was something honest about her. People didn’t love her just for her looks — though they were undeniably stunning — but because you could feel she was human. Vulnerable, sensitive, longing for love, and somehow unaware of just how sexy she truly was.

Most people remember her from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes or Some Like It Hot, where she made the world laugh with her flirty smile and flawless timing. But I often think of her in Niagara or The Misfits. Those scenes where a woman is trying to convince herself that everything is fine, while she’s quietly falling apart inside. That’s when she felt most real — probably because she was playing out her own life on screen.

Her love life often received more attention than her talent, even though celebrity culture didn’t dominate the world back then like it does today. Joe DiMaggio, Arthur Miller… big names, and yet none of them could truly hold onto her. Maybe no one could have. Not because she wasn’t worthy of them, but because Monroe wasn’t just a woman — she was a feeling. A legend you can’t fit into a box.

Her death at just 36 remains a painful memory. It’s still surrounded by mystery: accident, suicide, or something much darker? Maybe the answer no longer matters. The simple fact that she left too soon and so senselessly is heartbreaking in itself.

But you know what’s strange? As the years go by, Marilyn doesn’t fade — quite the opposite. Her youth, her smile, her pain, her mystery — they live on in old film reels, photographs, and social media posts. She’s everywhere. There’s not a person in the world who wouldn’t recognize her. And every time I watch a scene of hers, I feel like she lives again — not as an actress, but as someone I once knew. Or at least wanted to know. There’s that expression, “the girl next door” — we use it when someone feels familiar even though we’ve never met them. Marilyn was the sexiest girl next door of all time.

Marilyn Monroe wasn’t just a dream woman for men. She was a woman trying to find herself in a world that kept trying to reshape her. For me — as for many others — she will remain an immortal icon forever.

“I never quite understood this whole sex symbol thing… That’s the trouble — a sex symbol becomes a thing. I hate being a thing. But if I’m going to be a symbol of something, I’d rather be a symbol of sex than of something else people have symbols for.”

— Marilyn Monroe, Life Magazine, 1962

Yep, that was a thing – and it was epic.

If you were there at Marilyn Night Club in early May, you already know what I’m talking about. And if you missed it? Don’t worry, I got you.

But first – a quick history lesson (don’t yawn, it’s cool stuff):
The Council of Europe was founded on May 5, 1949. So, in 1964, that date officially became its celebration day. Then, in 1985, the European Communities (which later evolved into the EU) introduced Europe Day on May 9. This one commemorates the 1950 Schuman Declaration – considered the starting point of the European Union as we know it.

That’s why May 9 is sometimes called Schuman Day, or United Europe Day. Across the EU and in its main institutions – Brussels, Luxembourg, and Strasbourg – people celebrate with online and IRL events, proudly waving the European flag.

Okay, history done – now let’s get to the fun part.

So, I had no idea a “Europe Cocktail” even existed. Not that I’m a big cocktail person, to be honest. I’m more of a beer gal – or maybe a long drink, if we’re getting fancy.

That night, a big birthday crew rolled into Marilyn – we’re talking 40 to 50 people, guys and girls. And let me tell you, those are my favorite kinds of nights at my favorite strip club. Marilyn really stands out among the nightclubs in Budapest – not least because, unlike many others, they actually welcome female guests. Shocking, right? The vibe is just way better when the crowd’s mixed.

The birthday VIP got their surprise gift: a wild, unforgettable pole dance show on stage, starring them. Of course, a few friends tried to sneak into the spotlight too, and soon the stage was full. It was absolute chaos – in the best way.

Then things got even more interesting. A group of Italians showed up for a bachelor party. And as expected, the two groups started to mix. One thing you learn quickly at Marilyn: the dancers are top-tier hosts. You seriously feel like you’re at a private party where all the hosts are jaw-droppingly beautiful goddesses making sure you’re having the time of your life.

Later in the night, a few smaller groups arrived, plus a handful of solo guys, a couple of tourists, and some regulars – myself included.

By the time midnight hit, a crew of Dutch guys walked in too. Half the birthday gang was still going strong, and the Italians were still partying like there was no tomorrow. (Fun fact: French and Italian groups almost always stay until dawn. These folks know how to party.)

So yeah – once the Dutch joined in, that’s when Europe Day really kicked into high gear.

And that’s what I love most about this place: no matter how many different groups walk in, everyone somehow ends up vibing together. I even make new international friends every now and then. Who knew a nightclub could double as a cultural exchange hub?

And that’s not even the full list of what Marilyn Club offers: stunning dancers, a massive selection of drinks, classy shows, banging music, and a good vibe that’s guaranteed every single night.

They’ve been doing this for over 30 years now – 32, to be exact. Honestly? I don’t think there’s another nightclub quite like this in the whole country – maybe even in all of Europe.

There was an event like this at the Marilyn Night Club, and let’s face it, it fits perfectly with the mood of May. After all, spring is the season when most people fall in love, at least those who are open to it. And those looking for something else often find a new partner during this time. English even has a great word for casual, undefined relationships: situationship.

The term situationship comes from the word “situation” and “relationship,” and it basically refers to a romantic connection without commitment. You could say it’s just sex, but that wouldn’t be entirely true either, because these relationships can involve spending time together, going out, and doing things as a pair. What’s not included is meeting each other’s family or friends. Both people in a situationship consider themselves single. They don’t introduce each other to anyone.

This perfectly describes what I’ve been craving for years. And the best part is that more and more women are realizing the benefits of this kind of relationship. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m over fifty now, and most women my age have already been through every kind of relationship, one or more divorces, and have likely built stable, fulfilling lives. Into that life, work, kids, exercise, socializing, and daily errands, there’s simply no room for a full-on relationship. There’s not enough time or energy. A situationship fits perfectly into such a well-functioning routine. No commitment, no expectations, no exclusivity. It’s basically like a friendship, with benefits. Of course, it can happen that one person starts wanting more. At that point, it either becomes a relationship or it ends. Usually, it ends. You might say that’s sad, but honestly, it’s not. A breakup like that hurts way less than the end of a real relationship, because everything is clear from the start.

But let’s get back to the Celebrating Love event at the Marilyn Night Club. What made it interesting was that couples showed up too. I’m always impressed when a relationship is open enough for a joint trip to a strip club. I think couples like that are cool and open-minded. I’ve seen a lot of things since I started going out at night, but I still get surprised sometimes. Let me tell you a story from about ten years ago.

Here’s what happened: a couple came in, the woman was a bit older than the guy, but you could tell they had been together for a while. You can just sense that from a couple at first glance. It was also obvious that this was their first time doing something like this together. From the very beginning, the guy was drooling over the dancers, but he politely offered the woman a seat at the bar, ordered them drinks, and watched the pole dance show. Table dances were going on at two tables, and he was eyeing those too. The woman looked around the bar with boredom and mostly watched what her guy was watching. From the first minute, it was clear this wasn’t going to end well. They didn’t seem like an open-minded couple at all. You could see that both felt awkward, the man because his partner was there, and the woman simply because she had to be there. I’m guessing it wasn’t her idea to go out on a date like this.

They kept ordering drinks, which slightly eased the tension between them.

Several dancers came over to chat with them, and they loosened up a bit during those moments. Then another couple arrived, apparently expected, and they all greeted each other and sat down at a table. The second couple seemed much more relaxed. Barely ten minutes after arriving, the woman ordered a table dance for her guy. Encouraged by this, the first woman also ordered one for her partner. It was like the two women were trying to outdo each other, but the smile on the first woman’s face wasn’t genuine. The second woman, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying herself, chatting with dancers and bartenders, dancing, having a great time.

She had a long conversation with two of the dancers at the bar, which could only mean one thing: she was interested in a private dance in one of the back rooms. I really like women like her, who take full advantage of everything a club has to offer. She went back to the table and shared the idea with the group. The guys’ faces immediately lit up, but you could see that the other woman had had enough. She didn’t even try to hide her emotions anymore, she jumped up from the table, slapped her partner across the face, and stormed out of the bar. Did her guy run after her? Well, yes. About half an hour later, after the private dance was over.

So, what’s the moral of the story? Well, a strip club isn’t the right date night for every couple. Still, the rest of the guests- including me -thoroughly enjoyed the unexpected drama.

This gloomy, never-ending winter is finally over. I swear, winters feel longer and longer every year. And we don’t even get snow or real sub-zero temperatures anymore, and maybe that’s what makes this constant greyness even more unbearable. Though, I have to say, I did spend a good chunk of time warming up in Marilyn again this year. I honestly believe that my stable winter mental health is largely thanks to the fact that I regularly hang out with almost naked girls in my free time. So, I highly recommend hitting up a strip club whenever you get the chance! Nothing warms you up like a lap dance. Or pole dance. Or table dance. Or just a good drink and a comfy seat, some people-watching, and a chat.

Did you know that Scandinavians actually have a whole strategy to avoid winter depression?
They exercise a ton because it boosts endorphin production in the brain, that happy hormone. They travel to warm places, which in some Scandinavian countries is even subsidized by the government. And of course, we all know about the connection between sunshine and vitamin D. They’re constantly reminding people to look out for one another, and if someone shows signs of depression, they encourage therapy, which the state covers, both for adults and kids. Pretty amazing, right? And while you’d expect people in Scandinavia to be the most depressed – since they basically don’t see sunlight for months – they actually have the lowest rates of depression and anxiety. Kinda makes you think…

I have my own tried-and-true method for keeping the winter blues at bay. In addition to regular workouts, I make time for saunas, I travel a few times during the colder months if I can, and – of course – I go to the strip club. I drop by every single week. As soon as you step through the door, you forget all about the weather outside. You see the dancers, the show never stops: lap dance, pole dance, table dance, private dances if you want. There’s no better night club in Budapest.

The vibe alone is worth it – the entire staff is incredibly kind. And the guests are usually pretty chatty too, you can easily join a small group or a bigger crowd. Something about the atmosphere just puts everyone at ease. It feels like home. And the themed nights are absolute killers as well. Last year they only did it every other week, but this year there’s something genius happening every Thursday.

My personal favourite so far? Tie Day – yeah, I blogged about it before, and I really hope they bring it back this year. Last year’s party was insane! The events this year are super creative too – just when you think nothing can top the last one, they drop something even better.

I love spring. It always brings a sense of renewal.
I remember this crazy snowstorm about 10-12 years ago, at the end of March. You probably remember it too – everyone got that SMS saying that if you’re cold in your car, go sit in someone else’s. Okay, maybe the message didn’t exactly say that, but that’s what stuck with everyone. I was heading home from my parents’ place in Zala. There really were snowdrifts on the road, and the snow was falling like there was no tomorrow. I couldn’t even drive properly, the road was exhausting, it was dark already, and visibility was terrible. I stopped at a gas station to stretch my legs and grab a coffee.

And then the SMS came. There were quite a few of us at the station, and everyone’s phones dinged at the same time – it was surreal. Suddenly it went quiet, everyone deep in thought. It’s not like our government usually sends us personal messages. So, I figured I’d break the silence and asked if anyone wanted to hop in someone else’s car. People started laughing, the tension eased. I filled up my tank just in case. No one really took it seriously – we all just went on our way.

I’d gone about 40-50 kilometers when I saw flashing hazard lights in the distance. We’d been stopped for a while, so I turned on the radio to find out what was happening – figured maybe there was an accident. But it turned out to be much worse. The snowdrifts were so massive ahead of us that moving forward was impossible. And to make things worse, snowploughs didn’t arrive until dawn. By then, I had five other people in my car – two drivers had run out of fuel. It was a tough night, but definitely one to remember. Maybe the last real snowstorm we ever had – even if it wasn’t in winter…

I think Valentine’s Day is overrated. Now, I’m not saying I don’t believe in love, kindness,
happiness, gift-giving, or celebrating. Individually, they’re all fine, but throwing them together
like this? It’s just too much. And I’m pretty sure a lot of people agree with me because th
Marilyn Night Club’s Valentine’s event was almost at full capacity! In fact, they had to extend
it for two more days, turning it into a full-on Valentine’s weekend! And let’s be real…who goes
to a strip club on Valentine’s Day? Exactly. Not happy couples! So, my theory holds up.
There was one time (one single time in my entire life) when I actually spent this so-called
romantic holiday in a relationship. I must admit, I wasn’t in love. The relationship had only
been going on for a few weeks with this girl: let’s call her Viki.

Viki was cool, smart, independent, and genuinely fun to be around. Finally, a girl with a sense
of humour! I didn’t have to explain jokes to her, and she didn’t get offended over things most
girls would. I found her interesting, and I enjoyed spending time with her. So, we’d been
casually seeing each other when February 14th rolled around. I hesitated for a bit…should I
ask her out that day? What if she read too much into it?

In the end, I invited her to a fancy restaurant for dinner. She seemed just as awkward about it
as I was. Even though I hadn’t brought flowers, chocolates, or any kind of gift, an
uncomfortable silence settled over us for the first few minutes. The restaurant had gone all
out for the occasion. Red and pink hearts covered everything from the ceiling to the floor.
The menu had five courses, and every single dish had some ridiculous name referencing
love or sex. The ice finally broke when we started flipping through it.

The names of the dishes were an absolute crime against gastronomy—like “Cupid’s Arrow”
(some kind of grilled meat) or the dessert called “Sweet Fulfilment.” Within minutes, we were
crying with laughter.

The dinner itself was a solid 10/10, and the wine pairings were spot on. Viki had this favourite
game where she’d try to guess the life stories of other couples in the restaurant. She’d make
up names for them and go into wild detail, as if she knew them.

For example: Julcsi and János—married for 20 years. János is a gambling addict with a taste
for escorts. Years ago, he gambled away the entire family fortune, but Julcsi has no idea.
She’s a stay-at-home wife, obsessed with cleaning and collecting expensive porcelain
figurines. What she doesn’t know is that János secretly replaced most of them with fakes to
pay off his debts. Oh, and by the way, the waitress? She’s János’s mistress. She didn’t drop
those plates by accident—she was pissed that he dared to bring his wife here, of all places,
on this night.

Viki created a backstory for every couple around us, and the night kept getting more
entertaining. The wine was definitely kicking in, and by the time we reached our “Sweet
Fulfilment,” we had dissected every single guest and staff member in the restaurant.
Then I asked Viki to tell a story about us.

She hesitated for a moment but then started:
“Viki and Szabolcs—both die-hard singles. Neither of them knows why they’re even in this
restaurant on Valentine’s Day because neither of them is looking for anything serious.
Ironically, they’d be a perfect match, but neither is willing to give up their independence.
Marriage? Kids? Not for them. Tonight, they’re just playing pretend, acting like a normal

couple for one night. But deep down, they both know that in a month, they won’t even
remember each other’s names.
But right now, this night is theirs.
They’ll try to imagine what it would be like if things were different… but there won’t be a
sequel.”

I didn’t laugh. Neither did she.

Her description was eerily accurate.

I didn’t argue, and she didn’t expect me to.

That night, she came home with me. It was a perfect date. But in the morning, all that was
left was a note on my nightstand with a single word:
Freedom.

I never saw her again.

But I thought about her for weeks, even months.
You know that saying—”If you love something, let it go”?
Maybe we did love each other.
Who knows?

Tequila. This drink is like a kitchen trash bag – you either love it or hate it, but you never say,
“Eh, whatever, tequila will do.”
I’m pretty sure everyone has at least one story where tequila took the night and tossed it into
chaos, like a mosquito draining that last drop of blood. I’ve got one too, but first, let’s dive into
a little tequila history!

We all know tequila comes from Mexico – the place where they can turn even a cactus into a
party. Tequila is made by fermenting and distilling the sugar-rich heart of the blue agave
plant. It typically packs an alcohol content of about 38-40%, but for the hardcore fans, it can
go up to 55% – enough to guarantee a faceplant.

The Aztecs believed that tequila was a gift from the gods. (Of course, the gods never woke
up hungover next to a random dog.) According to legend, a lightning bolt split an agave plant
in half, heating its insides and leaving behind a sweet, milky, alcoholic liquid that later
fermented. The Spanish then distilled this liquid – and tequila was born. So, next time you
take a shot, remember: you’re drinking liquid lightning!

Sometime in the early 2000s, when most of my friends had outgrown their “party boy”
haircuts and wild partying days, our nights were more about laid-back drinking and nostalgic
stories – with the occasional visit to a “discreet” strip club.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I woke up one morning in a stranger’s house with a
giant dog breathing in my face. Underneath the blanket (which someone kindly covered me
with), I found I was wearing nothing but my underwear. I was a bit nervous about the dog, but
he just sat there, keeping a watchful eye on me as if he knew what I’d done last night better
than I did.

I tried to remember the night, but my brain had decided to play the blackout game. I
remembered starting at a bar called Marilyn, where we debated the world’s most crucial bar
question: WHAT SHOULD WE DRINK?
I wanted a cold beer and a good lap dance, but someone must’ve said, “LET’S DO
TEQUILA!” And that’s where the night goes dark…
The dog stood next to me, like a four-legged guardian of my shame. I heard voices behind a
closed door – women talking. With no other choice, I wrapped the blanket around me like a
superhero cape soaked in tequila and cautiously approached the door.
As I stepped out into a tastefully decorated kitchen, I froze. There stood Zita – my former big

love, looking at me like she’d been sent by the gods to make me regret every shot of tequila
I’d ever had.
“I washed your clothes because you threw up on everything,” Zita said, laughing.
Then she started to explain. She was working as a bartender, and as luck would have it, we
stumbled into her bar that night. My friends had ditched me after I completely knocked myself
out with tequila, so Zita had no choice but to take me home since I was beyond
communication.

When my clothes finally finished drying, I slipped away, and we never saw each other again.
Ever since that day, whenever I hear someone say, “LET’S DO TEQUILA!” I know to stop at
two rounds – max.
See how sneaky tequila can be?

Anyone who has scratched the surface of their fifth decade, like me, looks back at the 90s
with a warm, nostalgic glow. The only disturbing part? Realizing that the 90s were 30 years
ago. Let that sink in.

The Marilyn Bar hosted a Retro Party, and it was just as epic as every other event they throw.
The music, the atmosphere: it was a full-blown time machine. What a carefree era that was,
my goodness! Of course, part of that nostalgia comes from the fact that I was in my twenties
back then, and honestly, what problems does a twenty-something have? You’re past the
teenage brain fog, but you’re not fully an adult yet. No family, no spouse (hopefully), no real
responsibilities. But you do have an income, and you can spend it on whatever you want! And
let me tell you, I spent mine on partying. The 90s were full of amazing clubs!

At 19, I moved into a rental in Buda because mooching off my parents any longer just felt
wrong. I worked alongside my college studies, which covered my rent and my party expenses.
Honestly, back then, nothing else really mattered to me. After a few months, I put college on
hold for a year, which was probably one of my best decisions ever.

From Monday to Friday, I worked, and every Friday and Saturday night, I partied. And what a
year that was! The early 90s saw the opening of so many new clubs, each better than the last.
There was something for everyone. My friends and I made it our mission to check out as
many as possible. The only issue? Clubs weren’t fun if you arrived too early, but we wanted
to dive into the night as soon as possible.

That’s when we found Marilyn. Open from 9 PM to 4 AM (still the same hours today, by the
way), it became our go-to spot. And what a find! Before long, we were regulars. Every Friday
and Saturday, the night started (and often ended) at Marilyn. We got to know everyone by
name, and it felt like we were part of a big, rowdy family.

Now, sure, there were plenty of strip clubs in Budapest back then, but Marilyn was the only
one where guests were never ripped off. No sneaky bartenders, no shady dancers, just a good
time. The city’s nightlife was thriving, packed with foreigners, and every club was bursting at
the seams every weekend. The line outside Marilyn on a Saturday night? Legendary. Same
with the big discos. But VIP status had its perks: we always had a spot.

We truly felt like the kings of the night and wanted that life to last forever. Summers? Spent
partying at Lake Balaton. And even then, we often found ourselves back at Marilyn by
sunrise. Of course, everyone feels nostalgic about their youth, at least those who made the
most out of it. I like to think I did.

That golden year eventually ended, and I had to return to college. The partying didn’t stop,
just became a little less frequent. Everyone started settling down, whether it was work,
relationships, or both. Not me, though. That’s when I realized: you can absolutely go out
alone! By that time, I knew the staff at most places, and I could recognize a good quarter of
the guests.

A few years later, even my job became more serious, clubs started shutting down, an
regulars got replaced. By the early 2000s, my nights out became a bit more occasional. But
there’s still one place I go to: Marilyn. And that’s not a coincidence!

Keep an eye on the Thursday events, as there’s always something happening that makes it
worth the trip! Okay, maybe not every week, but at least every now and then. Never forget
who you were in your youth! Fun isn’t something you can just cut out of life. Without it,
what’s the point? So come on, let loose, recharge, and enjoy the ride!

What did Santa bring you this year? For me, it was one hell of a party at the Marilyn Bar!
There’s something uniquely surreal about watching striptease dancers perform in Santa hats,
don’t you think? Or dressed as sexy Mrs. Claus, of course.

The vibe was even better than usual, and I saw quite a few couples there too. I say, why not?
Why shouldn’t couples enjoy the show together? Fun fact: did you know that Marilyn even
offers services tailored for couples? A wife can surprise her husband with a private dance, or
they can both request a private dance from the girls. Now that’s a way to spice up a
relationship! Genius! A family-friendly strip club. No wonder it’s the hottest night club in the
country.

The dancers always go above and beyond, and they still manage to surprise you, even if
you’ve seen them a hundred times. It’s an art form, I swear! Trust me, I’ve been to countless
nightclubs, both here and abroad, and no one compares to Hungarian girls. They’re
captivating, mysterious, and endlessly charming.

I’ve been to places where the dancers seemed bored out of their minds, just swaying on the
pole, or where lap dances felt so mechanical that you could tell they were counting down the
minutes. That’s simply not the case at Marilyn!

In fact, it’s rare to find clubs where the evenings have any kind of theme. Most places offer
the same routine, with the same girls and music, night after night. At Marilyn, I look forward
to events the way a kid waits for Santa Claus.

The Santa Party even had a sort of family-like vibe to it. That’s another thing I love about this
place, you can tell the staff has been working together for years, and their goal is genuinely
to make guests feel as amazing as possible.

A few years ago, I visited a nightclub in Austria around this same time of year, early
December. I was on a business trip and decided to blow off some steam in the evening. The
place was tiny, with only a handful of people milling about. The decor was pretty bare-bones.
You could tell they weren’t interested in investing in the atmosphere. All in all, it was a bit of a
downer, but I ordered a drink anyway.

I sat at the bar for a while, taking in my surroundings. Not a single dancer in sight. I asked
the bartender where the girls were. “Girls?” he replied. “There’s one dancer here, and there’s
a stage show every half hour.”

I glanced at the stage. It was a rickety little platform, maybe 3×3 meters, with a few IKEA
mirrors on the wall and a lone pole in the centre. Honestly, I should’ve paid for my drink and
left right then and there. But it was like watching a terrible horror movie. After 10 minutes,
you know it’s a D-grade disaster, you know there’s no point in continuing, but you keep
watching anyway, for some inexplicable reason.

Twenty-five minutes and two drinks later, the shaky stage was lit with red lights, and the
bartender announced Anastasia. Along with the four or five other guys scattered in the bar, I
clapped for the introduction, and then she appeared.

Anastasia was tall and very thin. As she moved closer, the light glinted off her toned arms
and calves. She was young, with tanned skin, and she danced impressively on the pole. Her
face was lovely: she wore a red wig, and her flawless smile was truly dazzling. Honestly, the
only thing that didn’t fit the picture was her Adam’s apple.