The Day a Man Fell into My Panties



Zaina’s Zany Funny Stories from Years Gone ByeBye

Over the years I have danced in some of the oddest locations, and experienced some truly hair-raising moments.  So I thought I would share a few of them with you. Those that made me cringe (and still do), the funny incidents and even those embarrassing or humiliating moments.  One story at a time, one moment at a time; I hope you get as much of a giggle out of them as I have.  Let’s start with one that will forever be stuck in my mind, just like he was stuck in my panties.

The day a man fell into my panties!

So, this one time, when I was at a dance show, a man fell into my pants, well really it was more like my panties.

Setting the scene: I was scheduled for two shows at a small local Greek restaurant (in the early 90’s). My husband had invited a co-worker and his wife to have dinner with him and watch the shows. This particular location, in downtown, was close to the docks, trains and across from the county courthouse (and associated jail and bondsmen). I had been warned a few months earlier when I agreed to perform there, the restaurant-bar could get a little “rowdy” later in the evening because it was a stopping point after shifts for a brewsky or two or six. But as it turned out, this really was a fairly easy venue, with descent money, the crowd not too difficult, but admittedly the owner could be a tool. I stuck to my rule of not going in without an escort, either my husband or a couple of friends. And until this particular evening, nothing unpleasant had happened, at least nothing to really write home about.

The four of us arrived about 8pm; I headed to the office to add the extras to my costume and my husband and his friends found a table close to where I would be dancing, then they ordered dinner. About fifteen minutes later I was ready for the first show and on I went. Caveat: I have always been a stickler for how I will accept a tip (unless I am horsing around and being silly with someone I know). A few unpleasant issues early in my career taught me a trick or two to assure safety and to keep my costume on and intact; holding my hands and arms a certain way to cover the front of my bra, only allowing the side of the belt or covering the back of my belt with my hand, knowing my escape route, assuring I had space enough to lean “away” from a customer and the ever famous “two forward, one back bra hook trick” that never failed me. I have even wagged my finger and given the shame-shame to keep folks in check. However, these tricks would not serve me in any way, shape or form this particular evening; they simply didn’t apply.

I always eyeball the crowd when arriving to any performance, whether restaurant, showcase, festival, etc. And I always know my exit point. I check the rowdies, the leeries, the talkies, and the “can’t sit stillies” trying to get a feel for the energy. This particular evening seemed quiet and calm enough when arriving, but in less than a half an hour and by the time I hit the dance floor that had changed. There was a loud group sitting at the bar who the minute my foot hit the floor began catcalling and in essence, being “obnoxious”. I wagged my finger at them, stopped in the middle of the song, shook my head no and they quieted just a bit. But I still I did not take my eyes off them “much” which is how the falling in happened.

I was just a little too busy keeping an eye on those I thought to be the most unpredictable, all the while trying to reassure my husband, with only a look and wink that I had things under control. My cockiness however got the best of me because it didn’t occur to me the sweet little old guy in the corner was going to be the real problem. And believe me, I discovered quickly the problem was first, he was really snockered and second, he could barely get off that bar stool without falling. My husband had even given me a head’s up nod in the guy’s direction, but I continued to keep an eye on the rowdies instead. As I said, that was my mistake.

When it came to the last piece of music, the portion in which we generally allow tips, I was cautious as I moved towards the rowdies. In my own special way I simply said, “be nice boys – these zils really do pack a punch”. They laughed, told me I was cute and were then careful with their placement of tips. Of course I did the “here is the hip, here it is not” a couple times and since no one wanted to be embarrassed trying to catch said hip, that sobered them up enough to easily move through them without further incident.

But, then with my focus on them, as I backed away and started a turn back to the middle of the room, I was hit from behind, hard. This was at about the same time I heard my husband say “oohhh shit, turn around”. That warning was a fraction of a second too late. The little old guy was reaching for the center back of my belt with a few dollar bills just as I started into that turn. My movement combined with his forward momentum and his hand aimed at my butt landed him elbow deep in between that butt and my panties (with my skirt and belt on the other side). Everyone in the room froze. No one made a sound except for the man hung up in my belt, who began caterwauling, “help me – help me – get me outta here”. The more he tried to wrench himself away, off balance, and the more I tried to turn and see what was happening, the worse it got. My poor husband was apparently incapable of movement and sat there just looking at the two of us twisting about. He later told me the guys hand kept poofing out my skirt as he spun about with me.

Now, one must picture this fiasco – – a room full of slightly inebriated longshoremen, music still blaring, my husband and his friends and every other dinner patron looking on, whilst a little old man is buried elbow deep in the back of my panties and skirt with his face planted against my back, screeching for help. Yeah – it was like that.

Finally, I just yelled “Stop Moving Damnit”, which seemed to snap him to attention (as much attention as a drunk old guy hung up in someone’s panties can muster of course). I managed to reach around with one hand and hold onto my belt, and with the other grabbed his arm at the bicep and pulled. And out came the arm and hand which was still clutching those damned dollar bills, but thankfully not my panties. He turned and simply wobbled from the bar. As he got to the door he muttered, “damn, never fell in someone’s uniform before”.

Well, I still had to finish the show, so adjusted my belt and skirt, put a smile back on, and finished my show. At this point I think everyone felt so bad for me that they erupted into cheers and atta-girls and tossed in some more cash. As I left that evening I discovered the old guy had paid for our dinner and left a $20 bill at the door (but he stiffed me for those couple of dollars that were hanging about under my skirt). As it turned out that was the best tip night I ever had in that particular restaurant, “go figure”.

Advice: Don’t turn your back on the little old man at the bar; he could fall right into your panties.