Verna and Steven Gone Wild, Part One

Verna and I spent a week in 2008 in Cabo San Lucas, for our first vacation without kids in 11 years. We were last in Mexico for our honeymoon in 1991. We stayed then in Mazatlan at the time-share condo of Verna’s brother, Jim, and his wife, Liz. We transferred their week this time to stay in Cabo.

We spent seven glorious, sun-drenched days lounging by the pool, walking miles and miles around the marina, drinking tequila, giggling in the surf of the Sea of Cortez, dining out for each meal, and consuming more tequila.

While Verna sat in the lobby of our resort, Sol Mar Beach Club, Saturday evening, writing a postcard to a friend, I joined four women in line for dinner, a Mexican fiesta all-you-can-eat buffet. We shared vital biographical information and I learned they were sisters from Lake Charles, LA, who’d left their children and husbands behind for five days of sibling bonding, freedom, and revelry. They invited us to sit with them at dinner.

As the dinner progressed and the floor show at the fiesta droned on, they asked us to join them for the evening. They were headed to Cabo Wabo’s, a famed bar owned by rocker Sammy Hagar, in the heart of Cabo’s downtown.

“No, that’s OK. I don’t think we’re up for a late night,” said Verna.

I looked over at her, then whispered, “C’mon, let’s live it up.”

Verna somewhat reluctantly agreed, so we and the sisters–Michelle, Melissa, Colleen, and Denise– suggested we go next to the Giggling Marlin, where they’d been the night before, to see the exciting floor show.

The evening started out with females-only musical chairs. Melissa yanked Verna out of her seat and the two of them stood with at least 20 women against two rows of chairs lined back to back. The owner/MC asked men in the audience to bet on the woman they thought would win. The $20 bets would go towards the $150 winner’s share. Verna looked over at me several times and mouthed that I was not to wager on her.

No one else did either.

Verna made it to the final round of eight contestants. “Get a man’s t-shirt,” said Johnny, the owner/MC. I started taking mine off before Verna had even returned to the table. “I want all the men to come up and get their t-shirts. But stay with the women.”

Then Johnny added, “Before you get your t-shirts, you must lap dance your partner.”

At least it was my wife. So I straddled Verna as she grabbed my hips and did my best and sober Chip and Dale’s routine. We laughed, I turned beet red, Verna egged me on, and we milked our brief moments in front of a friendly and raucous bar crowd as I thrust my pelvis and booty in her face.