The Stag Weekend, day one.
Last weekend I went on a stag weekend and it made me realise a few things about myself. Here’s what happened. Eleven lads went to Nottingham for the weekend, for a bit of weaselling (climbing over and around boulders), abseiling, drinking, visiting of lap dancing clubs and paintballing to send off our mate K.I have known K, H, G and C since school, J and M since University and didn’t really know S, C, J or A at all. I went up with G on Saturday and we arrived at the weaselling site. From the start I didn’t fancy it, I don’t know why. I had wanted to do the abseiling since I heard it was on the programme, but the weaselling just did not appeal. M also wasn’t keen, so we mostly sat about while the others did it. I took some photos and had a relaxing time, unlike the others. I really needed it after a hard half-term at school and was happy with it.
After that they went on to the abseiling and I chickened out of that too. Then we headed back to the hotel and checked in before heading out for drinks in town. I have not been drinking much recently because I have just not been enjoying it. I know I am not supposed to say that and that somehow I must live up to the stereotypical male image, but why? If I don’t fancy it, why should I do it just to please someone else? I know it was K’s stag do, but to whom am I really responsible? So I made it clear from the start that I would not be a victim of the drinking games’ rules, which H, as best man was enforcing rigorously.
Then we headed off to an American diner with girls with very skimpy clothes on and bronzed limbs. I began to enjoy myself as I relaxed a bit and the company was good, even if I did cringe a bit at the antics of some, such as J who won the bet for who could lick our waitress first. Don’t worry, she gave as good as she got and didn’t suffer the fool too gladly. Incidentally does it surprise you to discover that one thing on the menu was 20 chicken wings and a bottle of Dom Perignon? It certainly surprised me. Then there was the ritual humiliation of the stag, which involved him having to take his shirt off while standing on a chair in the middle of the restaurant, being dressed up in a top like the one the waitresses had on, being drawn on with magic marker, wearing a pair of boxers on his head and having to down a pint in one. I know I would hate this, but K seemed to enjoy it to a degree and was especially happy with the feeling of having toilet paper down his top, so that he had “boobs”. I get concerned about K sometimes.
Then we headed off to a club, which was not very enjoyable, so we headed off to a lap dancing club. Everybody had a good time of sorts there except me. Don’t get me wrong, I like to think I have a healthy appetite for naughty things, but I got a real dose of the heebie geebies. Every time one of the dancers came up to me and asked if I wanted a dance I just wanted to run away. Then every odd one would ask why not and that really made me feel bad. I was trapped, I hardly felt that I could leave and hated that I was being interrogated for not being into it. I was asked whether I was gay a couple of times. I really resented being asked and made to feel uncomfortable in a place I had paid to enter. Anyway, I left as early as possible with some of the others once they’d had their fill of it all. The next day G said he had spent more than £200 in there, all told, and he wasn’t the only one to spend so much.
That was the end of day one, which I really didn’t enjoy too much. I really felt like an old man.
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