Working Out The Kinks

Driving into Dallas from Rolling Springs (pop. 300, east of Lubbock), I recalled a friend telling me about a club called Flex, which bills itself as “America’s One and Only Gentleman’s Fitness Club,” I’m a gentleman, and I was curious, so I stopped in at the club near Mockingbird and Stemmons for a good workout.

A receptionist in a tiny thong leotard and tights introduced me to a young woman who would give me the “tour.” She also turned out to be my “lady trainer.” The tour consisted of her pointing to an equipment room and saying, “That’s the equipment room.”

End of tour.

Next, she led me into a small room. which I thought was the locker room. I was glad because I was ready to begin my workout.

Not a locker room.

She said, “I’ll bet you’re here for our cabaret massage.” I said that sounded pretty good after a long drive. My neck was l awfully stiff.

She laughed and said the session cost [ $50 at the door and $20 each for her “head bands.” Pretty steep for head bands, and anyway, she wasn’t wearing any. It turned out that was a code word for tips, which she wasn’t allowed to ask for.

I was told the session would be “one-on-one” for 30 minutes, and she would be topless. If I paid a membership fee of $200, she would flex her pecs while totally nude. “There’s no touching.” she told me, “but you can touch yourself.”

That’s where this country boy began to realize that something strange was going on in the big city.

Turned out there was no massage, no workout. It was just me sitting there and watching as she put on some music and took off everything but a wisp of a G-string and danced. When the music stopped, so did she, and I had forgotten about my neckache.