Nothing If Not Flexible

So, after enjoying an amazing meal (and view!) at one of Vallarta’s restaurants, The Boy and I grabbed a cab for the ride back to the hotel.

Our driver’s English was limited, yet his enthusiasm was boundless. He directed this energy partly into driving, but mostly (after a cursory trip through the usual what’s-your-name, isn’t-it-great-here routine) into one area: lap dances. (Or as he put it: “BOOBIES!”)

I must say, I had no idea Puerto Vallarta had so many opportunities for exotic dance. In addition to the Mirage (for which the cabbie had an actual placard affixed in his upper right windshield), there’s Aqua, Hysteria, Candy’s, Estadia, and who knows how many other options — I got lost in the descriptions and comparative pricing.

Not that we didn’t have the opportunity to consider the merits of several of these establishments, conveniently located as they were right along our route — and wouldn’t you know our man Cecil helpfully (or was it hopefully?) slowed when passing each one? (The bouncer at one of the middle ones actually shouted out a friendly greeting to him, which pleased Cecil mightily.)

Alas, we chose not to partake in any of the local “muy caliente Mexicas,” and just as Cecil was pulling up to the digs, I decided to clue him in. “Hey,” I said, indicating my companion and myself, “do you know ‘gay’?”

“Oh,” he said, “Yes. Sorry, guys. Sorry.” Then he paused a moment, brightened, and added: “Club MaƱana has lap dances too!”

Thanks, buddy. We’ll see what the night brings after today’s activities.

Hit Me With It


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