'When will this be over?' I was pregnant at my hens’ party and dead sober

"My state made it just a tad harder to fully embrace the very enthusiastic police stripper."

Hens’ parties are always a hoot (pun intended).

There’s usually champagne involved. Some penis-straw munching, veil wearing, ‘bride-to-be’ signage fun with the girls. In fact, some of my funniest memories have involved getting loose at my friends’ hens’ parties.

I never in a million years thought my own hens would be a fizzer, but it was – mainly because I was four months pregnant and the only sober person in the room.

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Mocktails aplenty

When our shotgun wedding was on the horizon, my sister (and maid of honour) kindly offered to throw me a hens’ party in Melbourne.

She rented out a room at some seedy club on Chapel Street and went all out with the “entertainment”, starting with a topless waiter who delivered endless cocktails throughout the night, or in my case, mocktails.

The first activity involved painting a nude male model. That was actually really fun and provided plenty of laughs.

Next, my sister arranged for a burlesque dancer to put on a show for us. As the drinks flowed, all of the other ladies were getting into it and cheering the dancer on, but I was starting to feel more and more like the couch was calling.

By about 10pm, I was done. Everyone was getting boozed up and the conversation was deteriorating. Meanwhile, I was dead sober.

It was around this time that a male stripper arrived dressed as a policeman. With the music pumping, he began his routine, pulling me into the middle of the room.

The "seedy" location of the hens' party. Image: Supplied

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He said I’d been "a naughty girl"

He said I’d been "a naughty girl" and it was time to be punished. Lucky me. Yawn.

At one point, the stripper asked me to lie on the ground, then proceeded to thrust his hips above me.

I was smiling and pretending to laugh, but all I could think was, “when will this be over?”

I think the low point of the evening was when he rubbed his sweaty scrotum against my cheek. Ew.

That was the moment I tapped out and suggested he “punish” my sister, as she was more likely to enjoy it.

When the night finally came to an end and all of my girlfriends were pretty plastered, I was relieved it was over.

Hens' attempt #2. Image: Supplied

"And endurance test"

I never thought I’d feel that way about my hens, but being pregnant, it proved to be a bit of an endurance test, grateful as I am that my sister went to the trouble of organising it.

A few weeks later, I was lucky enough to have a second hens’ get together on the Gold Coast, which is where I grew up.

It was a much classier affair. My nearest and dearest girlfriends and family went for a high tea at the Marriott.

We ate scones, drank tea, and shared stories about marriage, love and life.

It was very vanilla and totally G-rated, but I ended up enjoying that hens' party so much more than the first.

Originally published as 'When will this be over?' I was pregnant at my hens’ party and dead sober