Limp Dick Lashings For All Involved
Colombia generally attracts complete and utter degenerates. A cheap country full of stunning women and strong narcotics doesn’t attract too many of the “holier than thou” crowd.
I remember my first time in Cali, Colombia. Chilling with my Australian neighbor who’d been visiting the country for the past 15 years, I asked him what it was like back in the day. His reply was expected:
“I came for the coke. Everyone did. The only people that were visiting Colombia in 2001 had a significant drug problem. But I stayed for the women.”
I laughed. While I try to steer clear of certain things, I’m certainly no saint, either. We all have our vices, right?
Limp Dick Lashings For All Involved
It was boys night out. While the name couldn’t get gayer, getting five men living in Colombia to clear their schedule on the same night was no easy task, especially on a Friday.
I spent the afternoon with my girl at the time. After living in her city for nearly two months, we’d started spending a lot of time together. And she wasn’t thrilled about the plans for my guys night. She knew her city better than I did.
So, she demanded I spend some time with her before I met up with my friends. And by time, she meant cooking me ample food and doing her best to drain me of all “energy” before I head out.
Around 7 PM, I hailed her an Uber and got ready to meet up with the boys. The squad picked me up in a taxi and we headed to the shadiest neighborhood I’ve ever stepped foot in.
My boy had been here a few times and told us to walk straight into the club when we got out of the taxi. No lingering outside. It sounded legit.
The taxi pulled off the highway and into the ghetto. We turned down a side street and my jaw dropped. Homeless drug addicts were legitimately everywhere. Crack whores were plentiful.
It wasn’t a pretty sight, especially when you’re born and raised in the suburbs.
I began questioning my life choices. Mingling with crack whores and homeless heroin addicts wasn’t my idea of an exciting Friday evening with the boys.
Then we pulled up to the “club” or whatever you want to call it. Well, I thought it was a club. Then I realized we were in the red light district of Bogota, Colombia.
After paying the taxi driver, we quickly made out way into the now legendary club/brothel.
My friend said he’d been a few times, but when we walked in the staff treated him like a regular.
“Do you want your regular table, sir? A bottle of whiskey?”
A brothel with English speaking staff? Must be a classy joint.
We were escorted to a table right in front of the main stage. Smoke filled the area and a bottle of whiskey quickly found its way to our table.
We sat down and got acquainted. Shots all around. Then my friend started explaining how things worked around the place.
Basically, we were in the classiest strip club/brothel in all of Santa Fe in Bogota, Colombia.
By classy, I mean not classy. My friend pointed to the 60+ women lined up behind our table. Apparently, they were all whores. If you fancied any one of them, you just pointed at them and waved her over.
She’d walk up to the table and for the low price of $20 USD you could take her upstairs. Upstairs was the brothel area of the strip club.
Your $20 USD got you 20 minutes of happy time with the stripper-whore of your choice. And with 60+ of these classy specimens hanging around the club, you had your pick of the litter.
Now, you’re probably thinking a $20 USD whore probably looks like dogshit. Wrong.
Some of these quasi stripper-whores were legit “9s” in my book. At least five of these girls were almost hotter than any woman I’d ever seen. Truly stunning women. Near perfection.
It Gets Even Sketchier
We started drinking our whiskey, talking shit, and watching the fine strippers do their thing on the pole.
The main stage, which our table was conveniently situated right in front of, was surrounded by seating for at least 200 people. Well over 100 of the seats were filled up already.
And we were the only gringos in the joint.
Now, we had booze and whores, but there was still one thing missing. After all, we were in Colombia.
And just like, my buddy’s coke dealer showed up. We pulled him a seat to our prime table and he threw the goods on the table.
I was thinking that we should be a little more discreet about our cocaine consumption, but we were in Santa Fe. There wasn’t a police officer around. No one gave a shit.
In fact, many a Colombian had coke on their table, too. When in Rome and shit.
So now we had five gringos, a drug dealer, copious amounts of cocaine, a plethora of whores, and whiskey.
What else could a man ask for? Well…
The waiter came around and ask my friend if he needed anything. My friend whispered something in his ear and magically a half dozen little blue pills appeared next to our cocaine on the table.
We had bootleg Viagra, too. Hooray!
One by one my friends took turns selecting the hooker of their dreams and heading up to the brothel. The Colombian drug dealer even went twice.
While I was considering sampling the goods, I wasn’t confident I’d be able to muster up a full hard-on for the duration of the 20 minutes. My girl had done her job earlier that day and my “energy” was completely drained.
Still, the night was going splendidly. I was getting drunker and drunker while talking shit with the boys and having a grand ole’ time in the sketchiest place I’d ever been.
It Gets Better – MUCH Better
It was getting close to midnight and thoughts of a long shower sounded wonderful. We started talking about leaving, but my boy was insistent:
“We can’t leave yet!”
Ok, bro. Chill. You can have another 20 minutes with your favorite whore. No worries.
But it wasn’t that. As the clock struck midnight, a siren went off. Whores started combing the crowd. The stage cleared.
A Colombian MC got on stage and started yelling over the music. Apparently he was looking for volunteers.
Dudes were eager. Hands raised throughout the crowd. Whores called Colombian guys up to the stage.
Five guys were selected and they lined up around the stage. They were nervous. A bit antsy. I had a feeling things were about to get weird. I was right.
The MC, a butt ass naked stripped, and another stripped got on stage with the guys. The MC handed one stripper his leather belt and the festivities began.
The MC began shouting out the rules to the crowd.
Apparently, each guy had a chance to fuck the butt naked stripper on stage. He had two minutes to get hard, fuck her, and finish – in front of 100+ other people.
If he finished, he got a free bottle of liqour for his table.
If he couldn’t finish, he got half a dozen lashings from the stripper with the leather belt.
If he couldn’t get or stay hard, he got a dozen lashings.
And with that, the events began.
The first drunken Colombian was dragged to certer stage by the stripper. She quickly undressed him and whipped out a condom.
She slid the condom on his limp cock and started going to work. She danced. She attempted to give him a blow job. Nothing worked.
This dude wasn’t getting hard. His friends hooted and hollered. The crowd cheered and laughed.
After a minute of little movement, the MC boo’d him off center stage and the stripper with the belt got her hands on him. The MC cam over and held him in place. His bare ass bent in the air.
Then the stripper began to lash him with the belt. Now, I figured she’d be playful about it. I thought this would be a light whipping. I was wrong.
The stripper put everything she had into it. She was whipping him as hard as she could. The guy moaned with each lashing. The MC held him in place.
And the crowd loved every second of it. Cheers were had. I laughed so hard I almost cried.
The process repeated over four more times. Not a single guy could stay hard. All five of the guys got a dozen lashings. One guy even started to bleed a little after his lashing.
The crowd couldn’t get enough of it.
Apparently, it was quite difficult to maintain an errection in front of 100+ people. Or they’d all consumed too much coke. I’ll never know.
The limp dick lashings were the main event. Watching your good buddy get whipped by a hot stripper was a popular form of entertainment on a Friday night.
A True Third-World Experience
Sadly, I never went back to the strip club/brothel. While it was a third-world experience I’ll never forget, one time was more than enough.
You never know what you’re going to get while traveling. Sometimes things seem a lot like they are back home. Other times, you watch a guy try to fuck a hooker on the main stage of a strip club before receiving lashings from a leather belt due to his inability to maintain an errection.