During the first weekend of February, I stripped for the first time in a few years. It was also the first time I stripped with a sprained ankle.
A older man hired me to strip for his wife's fiftieth birthday at a bar in the countryside. I met him outside of the bar by his pickup truck, where he paid me. He told me that his wife, daughter, and their friends were all inside the bar. He also told me to place any drink I wanted on his tab. You gotta love Southern hospitality.
He noticed my sprained ankle at the last moment and asked what happened. I told him that I rolled on it thirty minutes prior to arriving. He didn't seem too happy to hear that, but I had already received the money. I assured him that his wife will have a great time. Only by being a male stripper could I get away with saying stuff like that. He nodded and told me to do a good job.
I went inside and was instantly bombarded by several women. They smelled me out right away, surrounded me, then touched and flirted with me. They led me to the birthday lady, who was sitting on a chair on the dance floor. A stripper pole stretched from the ceiling to floor next to her. I felt lucky, because I could grasp the stripper pole and chair for assistance, making up for my sprained ankle.
At least fifty people, both men and women, filled the small bar. As I stripped for the birthday lady, I was instantly surrounded by over a dozen women. They were groping me and stuffing my thong full of dollar bills. I felt a few hands squeeze my ass, caress my balls, and one even grabbed my cock. I felt something strike my chest with a thud, then looked down and saw a coin falling to the floor. I guessed one of the men decided to have a laugh at my expense. I overlooked his rudeness, because I had over a dozen women surrounding me.
After I ended the routine, I put on my clothes and stayed at the bar for awhile longer and talked with a few people. Everyone was nice to me. Then a man in a cowboy hat approached me.
"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" he asked.
"Sure," I said.
"Wayne (not real name) is outside waiting for you. He's wantin' to fight ya."
I shook my head in exasperation. "Let me guess. About a woman, right?"
"Yeah, he's pissed you were dancin' with his wife--" he said, then hurriedly continued when he saw I was about to say something--"Oh, I don't think you did anything wrong, man. His wife was the one who wanted to dance with ya. Wayne's just drunk and he's blamin' ya. I personally think he's bein' a dumbass."
I explained to the man that I didn't show up at these parties to steal some man's girl or start trouble, but if trouble came to me, then I was prepared to deal with it. The man nodded. I really didn't want to get into a fight, especially with a sprained ankle.
The old man who hired me approached us. He asked what was going on. The man in the cowboy hat explained everything. Apparently, Wayne was the old man's son-in-law. The old man appeared angry. "Come on," he said. "We'll walk you your car."
The old man and the guy in the cowboy hat accompanied me to my car. We did not encounter Wayne. The old man thanked me again for a job well done, then told me that his wife had a really great time. I thanked him for the hospitality.
With the combination of a sprained ankle and an angry redneck, I think that things can only get better from here.