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Bourbon Street Treasure

Foxy Methoxy

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In celebration of my 19th birthday, Jose, an old friend and co-worker of mine at St Vincent’s, proposed we go to New Orleans where the drinking age was 18. It was about a 10 hour drive from Jacksonville, but he had family we could stay with. Neither of us had ever bar hopped before, so it seemed like a really big deal. We were going to drink, eat Cajun food, listen to live music, and hit on every broad who looked decent through even the thickest pair of beer goggles. When we got to Bourbon Street, the place was packed. We were overwhelmed by all the stuff going on. We were doing shooters and cherry bombs at a stand on the side of the road, drinking Hurricanes at Patty O’Brians, eating Po Boys, meeting people, getting invited to all kinds of crazy events (including a nudist disco), and having a great time, but we weren’t meeting chicks. So I suggested we stop looking for women and look for some live music instead. There was this bar called Big Daddy’s that had a marquee that read “Tonight’s live show: JAZZ!” Jose wasn’t a big fan of Jazz, but I was, so I talked him into going with me to check it out. It was an odd building. There were a pair of naked mannequin legs wearing high heels poking in and out of a dark window above the marquee. The doorman was a brute and frisked us before we could enter and charged us a $20 cover. Inside, there were two stages, both giant glass fish tanks filled with snakes, a pole near the front of the stage, and semi-naked women dancing to popular glam metal songs.



“Um . . . I think I was mistaken. They don’t play live jazz at strip bars, do they?” I asked.



“Who cares! This place rocks and we just paid $20 each to get in. Lets hang out here for awhile.”



As we walked in, two ladies grabbed our arms and escorted us to a table and sat with us flirting and asking us to buy them drinks. They were very, very friendly women. I’d never been in a strip club before, but I know when I’m getting scammed. My “date” kept trying to get me to take her to the VIP area for the bargain price of $50. She told me it was very private. We could talk and get to know each other better. I politely declined. Jose’s date was this 6' platinum blond with boobs so big, if she dropped them on his face, he would have needed reconstructive surgery. She went by the name of Treasure. Within a minute, he’s asking me to loan him some money so he can go to the VIP room, but I wasn’t about to fork over cash. I reminded him we were there for jazz.



“Jazz? She’s hot. She’ll be on in 15 minutes.” my date advised.



Jazz is a stripper? I’d had enough. I was leaving and taking Jose with me. He was not happy about it. He was convinced Treasure was more than just a dubious date at a seedy titty bar. This woman was his soul mate. Plus, he was already dead drunk. I had to protect him from himself. So we left Big Daddy’s with Jose dragging his feet like a bratty kid, bitching about how I screwed up his chances with Treasure. We hit a few more bars then called it a night.



The next day, he woke up more fixated on Treasure than the night before. It was all he talked about. He just HAD to see her again and no one, me included, was going to stand in his way. That night, we went back to Big Daddy’s, but Treasure wasn’t there. Someone told him she was off, but probably hanging out at Molly’s Tavern. So that was the next stop. She wasn't there either, so we kept looking. Outside of The Crystal, a guy asks Jose if he’s looking for a woman. Jose tells him he’s looking for a 6' tall platinum blond chick with huge tits.



“I got one of those. She black, though.”



Realizing he was in over his head, Jose politely declined and we continued our search elsewhere. We ended up going to every bar in the French Quarter to no avail. Treasure was nowhere to be found. Leaning against a wall outside of The Bourbon Street Burlesque, a very effeminate guy working the door asks me:



“What’s wrong with the big boy?”


“He’s looking for a woman.”


“What kind of woman?”


“6' tall, platinum blond, enormous boobs.”


“Treasure? She’s working here tonight.”



Jose looks up, excited.



“Oh, straight guys love those boobs, but you know she also has a dick, right?”



In hindsight, I regret refusing to shell out the money for his private VIP room encounter.

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I love my city.

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I love your city, too! :HaHa:

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Me too! If there really is a heaven, it is New Orleans.

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