“I feel like I’m in a three-way!” I said Friday at the grand opening of Tekila Rocks, where I kept getting jostled by gargantuan boobage and ladies grinding like it was their job. I had heard of women keeping cash in their cleavage, but I had never seen them used to holster cell phones. This was the kind of eye-level cleavage with enough energy to potentially knock you out if it got moving fast enough.
I have never actually been in a three-way, but I’m fairly positive that the only major difference between Tekila Rocks’ dance floor and the sex act is that you couldn’t get pregnant on the dance floor. Then again, I’ve been wrong before.
This article appears in Jul 16-22, 2008.