Wednesday, December 21, 2011

8 Things I Dislike About Male Stripping

Imperfection exists in all jobs, and like all jobs, even male stripping has its drawbacks. Even though most parties provide me with entertainment, some parties make me want to quit. I know that stripping is easy money, and there are a lot of professions that dish out high stress situations with little pay, but I have to list some points about stripping that I hate. While the list below may seem trivial to some of you hard-working leaders, keep in mind that I have to demonstrate that male stripping is not perfect all the time. This job has its bad moments.

So without further ado, here are the 8 things I dislike about male stripping.

1.) Demanding Girls - These girls resemble the demanding customers who come into any business and nitpick about every little, insignificant detail. Few things satisfy these customers. They are likely to bitch and moan about you despite your best efforts to please them. Fortunately, these girls come few and far between in my line of work.

2.) Mean Girls - Some people are just downright mean no matter what you say or do. Some girls have their barbs aimed at me as soon as I open the door---they just love to throw insults around for no good reasons at all except to make themselves feel better. I notice more of this type at sorority-oriented parties than anything else. Mean girls also tend to be demanding as well, which is the worst combination. In fact, the second party of my career contained both mean and demanding girls, and I almost didn't pursue male stripping because of it. Unfortunate for them, I can leave as soon as I collect the money.

3.) Jealous Men - I have noticed that the mere fact of women paying me to take off my clothes and party with them elicits pure hatred out of some men. I have also noticed that some of these men want to hurt or even kill me if some of the women in the crowd flirt with me. I have dealt with all kinds of bullshit regarding jealous men wanting to fight me throughout my stripping career. While dealing with jealous men is not common, it can be annoying and downright dangerous at times. Once I had a bar full of cowboys wanting to jump me. To remedy this problem, I carry a gun with me at all times.

4.) No Weekends - It's hard to plan a weekend when most of my work falls on a weekend. While most people spend time with their family or friends, I have to go to work. One consoling aspect about male striping is that most parties invite out after the party, so I end up going out. I just spend my weekends with strangers instead of friends.

5.) Jealous Girlfriends - Having a serious girlfriend and being a male stripper do not go hand in hand. Most women tend to have a problem with this job for obvious reasons. Even the more understanding and selfless girls eventually grow discontent after awhile. To avoid this problem, I suggest postponing all serious relationships while working as a male dancer.

6.) Social Taboo - I work a professional job during the day. If this employer discovered that I work as a stripper on the side, they would fire me. So I have to maintain a low profile and cover my tracks.

7.) Driving - I spend the majority of my time driving to and from a location rather than stripping (this may only apply to the male strippers who work private parties instead of shows). Factoring in the cost of gas, car maintenance, and wear and tear on my vehicle, the driving part sucks.

8.) Repulsive Women - Some women are repulsive. They are so scary that I don't even want to go near them. The odor emanating from these women would cause a skunk to wear a gas mask. Some of these women can outweigh sumo wrestlers. So guess what? As a male stripper, you have to entertain these women. A male stripper should not deny one group service due to appearance, meaning that if you stumble upon a party full of overweight women who smell of rancid sweat, then it's your job to entertain them. They paid for a service, and your job is to provide that service. Yes, it sucks sometimes, but you have to smile and do your job.

So there you have it. The eight things I dislike about male stripping. No job is perfect, but male stripping sure rates high on my list. If I could do it all over again, then I would sign up over and over.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Stripper's Log: November 18, 2011

Yesterday, I had a bachelorette party that sounded promising. The girl who hired me was called Amanda, and her eager and excited tone gave me the hint that this was going to be an exciting party. "The bride is really wild," Amanda told me. "She's going to be down for whatever you do to her, and she's going to be all over you."

Amanda told me the location of the party, which would be at the soon-to-be-bride's house. She also wanted me to dress as a cop and arrive around 9 o'clock. I spoke with Amanda a bit more to get more of a feel for the party and learned that the bride was from Poland and that she would love a male stripper. Her mother, who was also from Poland, was going to be there as well. So far, Amanda's story of the bride told me that I was going to have a bachelorette fondling and groping me more in relation to the amount of alcohol imbibed.

At 7 o'clock, I sent a text message to Amanda asking if the party was still good to go. She replied back, wanting to move the party back to 10 o'clock because the girls were still eating at a restaurant. That was fine with me. It gave me more time to prepare.

At 8:56, Amanda sent me this text message (text message is unedited):

"Something just went down, groom is pissed, we have to cancel. I am so sorry."

Rarely in my career as a stripper has anyone ever cancelled one hour before a show. One day perhaps, but not one hour. I wasn't mad at all. Just curious. I had to find out what happened. Below is the text conversation that I had with Amanda:

Me - 8:57 PM : It's okay. What happened?

Amanda - 8:58 PM : Bad fall out with groom. We are all leaving. I have never been apart of such a circus. I am so sorry.

Me - 9:06 PM : It's fine. Sorry you couldn't have fun. Did the groom show up or something?

Amanda - 9:14 PM : He changed his plans and decided to stay at the house. I tried to tell him that we were hoping for some girl time and he got very disrespectful. We are all leaving and getting a hotel room :(

After reading that, I was glad that she cancelled when she did. If such a dramatic scene unfolded with just the girls there, I could only imagine what would have happened had I shown up and stripped for the bride. The pay loss from such a cancellation was well worth avoiding such a situation.

Here is my theory on what happened: The groom knew that his fiance was a wild party girl and didn't trust her alone with a bunch of girls. Therefore, he showed up to crash the party to prevent anything from happening. Of course, every girl was probably thinking that he was the biggest asshole in the world, but I can't really blame the guy. His suspicions were dead on---his fiance, according to Amanda, was wild and she probably would have tried to "get crazy" with me.

So while I applaud this guy for putting his foot down and standing his ground, I cannot help but wonder why he's marrying such a wild party girl in the first place if he feels like he cannot trust her alone. Hence, this is another example of a man who chooses a mate based on girl's beauty rather than her morals and principles.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Stripper's Log: Friday, 11-11-11

Earlier in the week, I stripped for a 40th birthday party at a beach condo by the Gulf of Mexico. These ladies came all the way down from Illinois, and they requested for a "cowboy stripper" for their wild time away from home. The birthday lady was a small, petite blonde. She had no idea I was coming.

Because I came as a cowboy, my pre-stripping routine came off as awkward. Usually, I arrive as a cop and tell the party that I am responding to a "noise violation" or such nonsense. As a cowboy wearing faux-leather pants, I could not create any justifiable excuse for being there. Nonetheless, I showed up pretending to be a friend of one of the girls, and believe it or not, the birthday girl bought into the charade.

All was well until she discovered that I was an actual stripper. Her reaction stopped me dead in my tracks. She clenched her jaw and glared at the lady who hired me, swearing at her and even kicking at her. "Why the fuck did you hire a stripper for?" she demanded.

At this point, I was wondering if I was even going to strip. In my whole career as a male stripper, I cannot remember a woman becoming angry at having a male stripper. Shocked or embarrassed, maybe. But not angry. The other ladies tried to soothe the birthday girl, but placed her hand against her forehead and sighed in exasperation.

"My husband would kill me! I can't believe you did this."

"No one will say anything," one lady said.

After much coaxing and cajoling, the petite birthday lady finally acquiesced to peer pressure. "Okay, okay... Go ahead," she said, beckoning me with her hand.

Her friends responded gleefully by shoving dollars into her. Before I dove in for them, I told the birthday lady to let me know if I was pushing any boundaries. Then, I proceeded to extract a few dollars from her bra.

"Oh my God, I'm cheating on my husband," she said.

"No you're not," another lady said. "Just enjoy it."

As though she were participating in a poker tournament, her face read no emotion as I took off my cowboy hat and placed it on her head. She wasn't impressed when I took off my shirt. However, when I thrust my ass towards her and pulled down my pants, she came to life.

"Wow," she said, grabbing my ass and shoving a few dollars into my thong. "Okay, maybe this was a good idea.

I turned and faced her and noticed that she just stared at the front of my thong where my cock was. She pulled the top down a bit and tucked a dollar in far enough down that I felt her fingers brush the base of my cock.

Soon several other girls joined in to put money in my thong. These girls came prepared with money. Not only did they use one-dollar bills, but they used fives, tens, and twenties. After awhile, my thong could not hold any more money---I felt as though I were wearing a money belt. One lady waved a hundred-dollar bill at me, then she shoved it into her bra right on her nipple. After I got it out, another lady sprayed whipped-creme on her chest and wanted me to lick it off.

The birthday girl continued drinking, and she hugged me, caressed me, and spanked me more and more as the night went on. The other girls marveled at my Southern accent and asked if I was embellishing it. I assured them that was my usual manner of speaking.

After announcing group photos to conclude the party, the petite blonde approached me and hugged me. "Dion, you were my first stripper, and you're the best. I'm sorry how I reacted at first. I was a bit overwhelmed. But you made this the best birthday ever."

Monday, October 31, 2011


Several readers have commented about whether or not I had relationships because I write more about hooking up with girls than dating them. I have had several relationships, but never thought anyone wanted to read about them. In truth, most of my relationships were mundane and not worth writing about.

So to quell the many questions about my love life, I'll give a brief run through of the more prominent relationships that come to mind:

Jackie -
I don't have anything bad to say about her. In 2000, Jackie and I met at a club of all places. We danced at first, then talked for awhile, and she gave me her number. To my surprise, she actually answered her phone when I called the next day and we talked for hours. She was a year older than I was and already had a child, a son. She was very intelligent, hard-working, and self-motivated. I wanted a serious relationship with her, but I was moving to Gainesville soon to attend the University of Florida. Jackie told me that a long distance relationship wouldn't work, but we kept in contact through the years.

When I became a male stripper, Jackie felt complete and utter shock because she could not imagine me as one, because I was "shy" and "quiet." Nonetheless, she cheered me on. I graduated UF and landed a job in Japan. She was one of the few people who would actually call me while I was over there. When I returned, we dated a short time. She wanted a relationship and even dropped a few hints about marriage, but by this time, I felt that I wasn't ready for a relationship. She ended up marrying someone and moving on. The last time I saw her was in a grocery store. She had her son with her, and she was pregnant. We spoke for awhile, hugged, and then parted ways. Knowing her, I'm sure she is doing fine now.

Karin -
She was a European girl I met during tennis class. Our relationship started out heated at first, but a language barrier and cultural differences drove the wedge between us. We would have fights over trivial matters such as me owning a gun, something which many American girls would ignore. On top of that, Karin had to go back to Europe, so we tried the long-distance relationship because we thought it could work. I must admit, it was one of my dumber ideas. Our relationship ended when Karin called me from Europe one day to inform me that she hooked up with a guy at a club.

A larger story exists between me and Karin, since she partially influenced my decisions to become a male stripper. Perhaps I'll write more about it one day...

Alishia -
After Karin, I dated Alishia. I even wrote a whole story about her. Click here to read it: Male Stripping History Pisses Off Girl.

Naoko -
When I first arrived in Japan for work after college, I made a vow to myself to never date a Japanese girl. Relationships are hard work without a language barrier and cultural differences bogging them down further, and I did not want to repeat the mistakes I made with Karin. However, I didn't make any friends at first. I dated a Canadian girl and a Scottish girl---both girls did not work out. After a few months of going to work and going back home to my small apartment, life in Japan began to get very lonely. I had no friends, no family, and I was in a different culture where everyone spoke a different language.

So when Naoko came into my life, I had forsaken my vow and dated her. It wasn't a bad time. Naoko was an extremely kind and caring person, raised in the traditional Japanese manner where manners, elegance, and the ability to please a husband took priority. I'm sure that she would have made a great wife had I married her, but I would have been unhappy. We separated before I left Japan. I hope she has found her happiness by now---she deserves it.

The Writer -
I met The Writer in 2007. The reason I am calling her "The Writer" is because she is an actual published romance novelist, and a quick use of Google can produce a good amount information about her, and I will not list her name here since I'm sure that she wants no affiliation with my blog. Anyway, we dated and I quit stripping because I liked her so much. We eventually got engaged. However, we were two different people with two different lifestyles: She likes to drink at bars or sit and watch t.v. on the couch; I like to work out and do adventurous outdoor activities such as kayaking or hunting. Moreover, I caught her in several lies and lost my trust and respect for her as a result. I should have ended it, but I actually wanted to try my best to fix things. Instead, I dragged out the relationship until we were almost at each others' throats.

Note: Before I met The Writer, I had my male stripper blog on another website with a few older stories. Well, she read it when we first started dating and told me that it was garbage and that no one would ever want to read it (of course, I'll let you readers decide that from now on). Since she was a published author and I liked her so much, I believed her and deleted the site along with all my stories. As I got to know her, I just realized that she loathed my stripping job, which was understandable. Moreover, she hated the idea of me writing any stories pertaining to it.  If I have one regret, then it's deleting my old stories for her.

I hope this post answers some of the questions that y'all had about my relationship experiences. In the meantime, you can e-mail me questions or comments here:

Monday, October 24, 2011

The Bachelor(ette) Party Conundrum

Several people have asked me if I would ever approve of my future bride having a male stripper at her bachelorette party, especially since knowing first hand the crazy stuff that can happen at these parties. This may surprise some of you, but my answer is no. I disapprove of most forms of bachelorette parties. Before some of you jump onto my case about being a hypocrite, I also disapprove most forms of bachelor parties.

There are many ways to celebrate bachelor(ette) parties. Some people just have a mild party that involves family and friends. Others just get together with their best friends and have a vacation or partake in a shared hobby. Think of it as the pre-wedding party or event---it allows friends to spend time with each other before the busy and hectic wedding day. During the past 30 or 40 years though, bachelor/bachelorette parties evolved into a crazy event where you do perform "final act as a single person before tying the knot." This act involves getting together with your friends, getting smashed, going out to the clubs, getting a stripper, and vowing to keep a secret of the entire night. Hence, the slogan "What happens at a bachelor(ette) party, stays at a bachelor(ette) party."

These are the parties I disapprove of. Let's factor in all the ingredients: loads of alcohol, a whole night without the fiance, strippers or someone hot at the club, and your friends promising to keep your secrets... Sounds like a recipe for disaster. On top of that, mixing alcohol into any situation tends to provide tragic results such as cheating, distrust, or fighting.

Guys, if your girl likes to go out without you to ladies' night out at the club to get drunk, then you should be wary. Girls, if your guy likes to go out without you with his buddies to get drunk, he may be looking for trouble---unless he just loves to watch sports or play video games a lot. Keep this in mind: Not everyone who goes out drinking or partying without his or her significant other is a cheater, but everyone who is a cheater tends to go out drinking or partying without his or her significant other.

You should know your partner before marrying. The warning signs are there for those of you in relationships. Many people who desire to party with their friends while omitting the significant others often ask for trouble. I understand that this is not always the case. Some may argue that they have only innocent intentions of "having fun" when going out and drinking, but consider this: Every relationship has a low point where both partners cling to each other by a thin thread; therefore, going out and drinking provide the knife to severe this thread. Add a bachelor(ette) party to that mix and it can provide the fatal blow to the relationship.

Although I disagree with the concept of the bachelor(ette) party, there are innocent bachelor(ette) parties that consist of pure fun with friends. I have seen such nice parties with my own eyes. However, I have also seen bachelorettes who wanted to sleep with me, and I know that their marriage will not last. Not everyone is out there to cheat, but if you're already having misconceptions about your fiance's upcoming bachelor(ette) party, then you may need to sit down and reconsider getting married.

As for what I would do if I were ever to get married, I would have a mixed bachelor and bachelorette party where friends and family come together for a good time. This would involve a lot of food, games, and activities for everyone to enjoy. Perhaps a vacation for everyone involved. It may sound lame, but I don't desire a stripper or a wild night out because as you can see, I've had enough wild nights to last a life time. In addition, I will make sure that my partner isn't the type of girl who enjoys naughty thrills behind my back. This type of party is not for everyone, but by doing things this way, I remove all the bad ingredients for a disastrous recipe that I have witnessed so many times in person throughout my career as a male dancer.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

The Good Girl - Bad Girl Paradox

On the first day of October, a group of girls booked me for a last-minute bachelorette party in southern Alabama. The girl I talked to on the phone wanted me to show up as a cop. Her raspy voice gave me the impression that she was an older lady who chain smoked, but beyond that, I could distinguish little else. When I tried to ask for more details about the party, she told me that she had to go and hung up on me. Another stingy and prudish party, I thought. Was I ever wrong.

The party took place in a beach resort hotel, and I brought a small suitcase with my police uniform and gun belt inside since I sure as hell wasn't going to walk around the hotel as a cop. The girl I talked to on the phone said that she would meet me downstairs. I entered through the sliding glass door entrace of the hotel and scanned through a small crowd of people in the lobby. A slender, young, brunette dressed in tight clothes and heels stood near the entrance as if she were searching for someone. She looked at everyone entering, and as soon as she saw me, she stared. I assumed that I looked more like a male stripper than everyone else around me, especially the elderly couple and the family with a bunch of kids. I waved at her, and she flashed me a smile and beckoned me.

"Dion, right? Nice to meet you. I'm Desi."

As soon as we shook hands, she started walking toward the elevators asking me questions about my profession on the way. The throaty voice I heard on the phone was gone, replaced by a more youthful melodic tone. Perhaps she just sounded bad on the phone. Either way, I didn't question her about it. We got on the elevator, which had a glass wall that gave a view of the white sandy beach of Alabama. Desi pulled out some money, counted it, and handed it to me. "It should all be there. Now about the bachelorette. Her name is Laura. She's really blonde and she's the only one wearing a white dress."

"And she doesn't know I'm coming, right?"

"Right, but everyone else knows. Anything we should do?"

I told Desi the routine: play along to my cop routine and stick dollar bills into the bachelorette's clothes so I can get them out. Informing customers of this tactic not only increases the amount of money earned for me, but it provides a fun game to pass the time. With male stripping, passing time is everything. The girls expect a male stripper for thirty minutes to an hour, so any game that kills time is essential. Moreover, these games provide a hell of a lot more embarrassment and pleasure than taking off clothes and dancing in place would.

The elevator stopped on the fifteenth floor. As soon as we stepped out, the sound of music and girls talking reverberated from an slightly open door down the hall. Desi walked toward that door and told me that she was going to go ahead of me and to enter whenever I was ready. I asked her what to do with my suitcase since I didn't want to leave it in the hallway.

"Just put it by the door when you enter. Everyone is in the living room. They won't see you."

"You sure?"


"Okay. Just give me a few minutes to change and I'll be in."

Just before the doorway of the party was another hallway perpendicular to the main hall. I went down this hall and rounded a corner to conceal myself from anyone passing through. Getting caught changing clothes in a hotel hallway is a suspicious matter in the very least. Getting caught changing into a police uniform in a hotel hallway defies any logical explanation possible, ensuring a dose of trouble and a possible trip to jail. Hence, I acted fast.

The door to the party was ajar, so I entered and placed my suitcase next to it. Just as Desi claimed, none of the girls could see me. There was a hallway in front of me that opened up into a large kitchen and living room where the music was playing. Several girls were talking to each other, but they stopped and stared as I entered the room.

"Excuse me," I said. "I'm here on a noise complaint from the neighbors, and I could hear y'all from all the way down the hall. Who's in charge here?"

Several girls pointed to the sole girl wearing a white dress. "Laura," they said in unison.

Laura looked around and pointed at another girl. "Alyssa," she said.

"Laura," someone said. Some girls squeaked with muffled laughter.

"Hey, why are y'all pickin' on me?"

I approached Laura. "Ma'am, in this your party?"

"Uh, n-no. It's Alyssa's."

"Nothing illegal is going on here?"

"No, sir."

"Okay, well, you're gonna have to keep everything down. I don't want to write you a citation, but if I get another call, then everyone here is getting one. Understood?"

Laura nodded, her face tense. I smiled, placed my hands on her hips and started dancing. Laura's jaw dropped and she looked at her friends. "You got me a stripper!? Oh my God, I have to sit down for a sec." Tears began to well up in her eyes. "I have to sit down."

I stopped dancing for minute as Laura sat down and wiped her eyes. It is rare that a girl starts crying when I take off my clothes, so I was confused.

"Whose idea was this?" Laura asked.

"Mine," Desi said.

"Oh my God!" Laura said, hugging me. "I love him! Thank you so much, girl!"

I resumed dancing and Laura tried to undress me with zeal. Judging from her excitement and wide smile, I felt like an opened present on Christmas Day. She placed her hands on my abs and ran them up to my chest and gave a moan of satisfaction. Desi gave her some dollar bills, which Laura tucked into the front of my thong.

"Put some on her," I told Desi, who shoved some bills into Laura's bra. I dove in, smelling the sweet fragrance of perfume and lotion. Even Laura tasted sweet as I licked around her cleavage before biting onto the dollar bill. "Mmmm," she moaned, thrusting her hips upward against my body. Perhaps she was enjoying this a little too much for a girl who was about to get married.

After extracting a few more bills from Laura, I asked her which girl she wanted me to get next. Laura pointed to another blonde in a black one-piece dress who shared a resemblance to her. "My sister. Get her next."

I obliged by picking her up and laying her on the couch. I grabbed her stilleto heels like they were handlebars and lifted so she was in a spread eagle position, causing her one piece dress to hike up her hips and exposing her red thong in the process. I aimed the tip of my thong-encased cock at the slit of her red thong and began to rub it up and down, causing this blonde smile as she placed her hands flat against my abs. I looked up at the crowd. "Now is the time for pictures." Several girls responded by laughing and taking pictures.

Laura's sister also had the fragrance of sweet perfume and lotion on her. I grabbed her tanned legs, which felt smooth, and shifted them so I could dry hump her in a different position. More camera flashes illuminated the room. Between the intoxicating smell and the soft feel of this girl, I began getting hard. I helped her up before becoming completely hard. The bachelorette had another girl ready--it was Desi.

Desi wore tight pants, so I focused on pushing my crotch against her face. In response, she faced the camera and gave a mixed expression of widenening her eyes in mock surprise while sticking her tongue out at my cock. As the cameras flashed, I thrust my hips a few inches forward, making the bulge of my thong come into contact with her tongue. Desi yelped and everyone laughed.

Next, the bachelorette tried to line me up with another girl. However, she looked up at me with wide eyes and fled the room. Several girls encouraged me to chase her down, but I refused. Forcing interaction on such girls not only slows the rhythm of the party down, but it can draw out a bad reaction, which will destroy the festive mood. I always make it a point to leave such women alone.

The next few girls acted skittish as well, which told me that the only girls willing to participate were Laura, her sister, and Desi. At this point, Desi came up and whispered that I should just focus on Laura since it was her party. So I pulled Laura toward the couch and asked the crowd for a towel and a drink of Laura's choice. I sat on the couch, spread my legs apart, and told Laura to get on her knees. "You're going to take a shot off my abs," I told her.

"Really?!" she said, beaming with excitement. One of Laura's friend handed me a bottle of scotch, which I poured into my belly button. The liquid ran off in several directions, from the side of my abs to the top of my crotch. Laura cleaned off every drop, sucking, licking, and kissing my midsection. After a few more rounds of this, Laura climbed atop of me and spoke into my ear, "Now it's my turn to strip for you."

Laura stood up and pulled off her white dress, exposing her bra and black, lycra thong. The front was mesh and I could see her pussy through it. She turned around and began shaking her ass in front of me, gyrating ever closer to my crotch. Laura had the body of a Playboy centerfold model. Even her ass had a round, firm shape---the black, upside-down triangle of her thong went into the crack of her ass perfectly. I grabbed her hips to support her balance as she sat on my lap, her pussy rubbing against my cock with only the thin fabric of our underwear separating us. For some reason, I could only think of the irony of my situtaion: Not only was I getting a lap dance a really beautiful blonde with a hot body, but these girls were paying me for it.

"I bet there aren't many girls out there who would strip for you while you're working," Laura said.

Actually, several girls have stripped for me in the past while working. Although it doesn't happen to often, it's not uncommon. I wasn't going to tell Laura that and interupt my lap dance in which her friends were paying me for. Instead, I said, "Not many."

"So are we your wildest party?"

A lot of girls who hire me would like to think that their friends are the wildest bunch I'd ever experience. I don't know why girls want that acclaim. Perhaps it's the sneaky naughtiness factor. I call it the 'Sex in the City Syndrome'--where girls try to perform the most decadent acts without the men in their lives finding out. But the truth is that unless each and every girl lined up to take turns sucking my cock, then the accolade of "Dion's Wildest Party" will always remain out of reach.

However, I was here to entertain, so I entertained Laura by telling her that her party was "one of the wildest." My response seemed to satisfy her, and she continued rubbing against me. I wondered how wet she was.

"You had better stop soon," I said. "You're making me horny."

Laura turned around and straddled atop of me. "Good. Then maybe you'll come out with us tonight."

"Laura, let the dancer strip," her sister called out.

"Yeah, I paid him to strip---not you," Desi said, accompanied by laughter.

"Okay, fine," Laura said, standing up. She jumped onto the couch and spread her legs. "All right, bitches. Put some money on me."

Desi stepped forward and tucked some bills into Laura's bra, and then handed Laura a twenty. "After you're done getting these--" Laura said, pointing to her bra--"you can get this." She waved the twenty in front of me and reached down toward her mesh thong, and tucked the bill right above her clit.

I started with the money in her bra. My tongue caressed her cleavage. She not only smelled sweet, but tasted sweet as well. Perhaps it was her lotion. I felt her taking in deeper breaths as she pulled me toward her. After all the money was gone from her bra, I moved down to where the twenty was. Laura's mesh thong was as transparent as pantyhose---I could see her clean-shaven pussy beneath it, and the twenty-dollar bill was sticking out from the left side of the thong just above. I placed my tongue against the outline of her clit and circled a few times before moving to the left toward the bill. I licked around the bill for a few seconds before extracting it, causing Laura to let out a gasp of breath.

I sat up with the twenty dollar bill, and the girls in the background cheered. At this point I announced it was time for pictures, which meant that I was finished. While taking pictures, Laura invited me to go out to the club with her. "I'll dance with you all night," she said, rubbing my abs.

"That sounds tempting."

"I just love male strippers," Laura continued. "I had one my freshman year of college and I invited him back to my place and made out with him.

A blonde girl standing next to Laura made eye contact with me and raised an eyebrow. "Ooookay," she said. "Too much information there, Laura."

I agreed as well. For some reason, the whole concept of going out with her didn't seem so appealing anymore after hearing that.

Desi approached and asked if I wanted to go to the club as well. I declined, making up a lame excuse about having errands in the morning. In truth, I wanted to avoid any drama that would unfold when Laura got drunk enough to seduce me. Desi hugged me and told me that I did an amazing job and apologized about most of the girls running away. "If Laura acted like the others, then I wouldn't have been able to hire you. The other girls don't like to have fun as much."

The idea of Desi inferring that the other shy girls were boring presented a paradox. As a male stripper working a party, I enjoy daring and eager girls, such as Desi and Laura, who test boundaries and see how naught they can get. These girls give life to my parties. I loathe having a room full of goody-two shoes, who retreat and refuse to participate, because these girls cause the atmosphere of the parties to shrivel up and die. On the other hand, I dislike girls like Laura and Desi outside the partying realm; these girls lie and cheat and can never be trusted as marriage material. For dating, I find the boring, shy girls more appealing and trustworthy. It's a strange phenomenon, but one I experience every time I work.

On the other hand, the person who deserved the most pity this night was Laura's future husband. If only he knew what kind of trouble he was signing up for, he probably would have second thoughts. Maybe that was his intention though. Laura was very attractive and perhaps he felt that marriage was the only way he could have sex with a beautiful woman such as her on a regular basis. I guess he is one of the guys who does not differentiate between the dating and the partying paradox of women.

Oh well... Laura is not my problem.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Update Notice

The next story will be posted soon. It's called "The Good Girl - Bad Girl Paradox", and it's about a show I did at the beginning of October. I finished writing it recently, but it needs editing.

To answer many questions I have received over the last week in e-mails, I'll post some of the answers here:

- I'm still writing about the very beginning of my career. One of my next projects will be part 3.

- More pics will come. I have taken a few. However, I will blur or black out the girls' faces. I don't want someone getting fired or having relationship problems because of me posting someone's pic on the internet.

- Some of you guys want me to take a more erotic approach to my writing---like a Penthouse forum story. I have a few stories like that, so hang in there. In the meantime, check out the next story.

- There's also quite the demand for stories about bachelorettes cheating. Regarding these situations, I'm not fond of sleeping with a girl who has a boyfriend or who is getting married. Of course, that is not to say that it has never happened. For those events in my past, I'll get around to writing about them, though don't expect a lot of them. In the meantime, check out the bachelorette in my next upcoming story.

- For the rest of the questions, the next batch of answers for the male stripper Q & A will be posted after "The Good Girl - Bad Girl Paradox" is up.

Till then, feel free to e-mail me any comments or questions here:

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Male Stripper Questions - Part 25

It's about that time again. Here is another batch of questions I received both from the comments section and e-mails:

1. Could you break down into percentages the amount of parties that a. the women don't touch your junk b. they just have a quick fondle/grope and c. they actually suck or jerk you off?
Keep in mind that these are just rough estimates that I pulled out of my ass. I didn't go through each and every party and break down the numbers. These numbers are also likely to change depending on when you ask me as well.

a. Women who don't touch - 25%
b. Women who fondle/grope - 70%
c. Women who jerk me off or give me a blowjob - 5%

2. Do the women you strip for ever try to play with your ass? (i don't just mean groping cheeks, I mean wanting to look at or play with your butthole and stuff like that)
A few girls have licked or kissed my ass cheeks, and a few girls have placed dollar bills in my butt crack and traced their hands inside of it, but I never had a girl "play with my butthole." I don't think most girls are into the whole ass-play or butthole thing. That's a field more suited for gay guys.

3. Have you ever had any embarrassing accidents/mishaps when performing? (like an accidental popout, getting an accidental boner, or accidentally jizzing?)
I have had accidental pop-outs and boners here and there. Boners happen when I am relaxed and the girls are turning me on. I never accidentally jizz. It takes a lot of effort for me to cum in front of a group of girls for some reason.

4. You're a good writer, but could you try writing some of your experiences in a more descriptive/erotic way (like some of the better stripping/cfnm* stories on literotica)? It'd be great for guys like myself who'd love to know what it's like stripping for groups of women but who are too shy or can't dance or are too ugly/skinny/fat/short to ever be able to try it for themselves. (*CFNM means "clothed female nude male")
Why thank you. Actually, I had a few erotic stripping stories that I wanted to send to Penthouse. I'll be sure to post some of them on here. I have only posted 50% of the interesting bits of my job, and new stuff is happening to me all the time. Keep checking back for updates.

5. How often women actually think you are a cop? Don't they know what it means when a good looking cop shows up at a bachelorette party?
Most of the time, women believe that I'm a cop. More so recently than when I first started. I believe that I had gotten used to the role of the police officer responding to the "noise complaint." When I first began the cop routine, I lacked the confidence and command presence that actual cops had because of nervousness. But I have done this routine so many times now that I sometimes feel like I am a cop showing up to quell the noise violation.

However, some women will know that I'm a male stripper for a variety of reasons. Women with good knowledge of law enforcement tend to see through my act. Other women just know that the formula of police officer and bachelorette party equals a male stripper. Most of the time, it's the bachelorette's friends that give away the ruse by blurting out that a stripper is coming, or they'll giggle and laugh in the background while I perform the cop routine.


If you have any questions, feel free to e-mail them to me here:

Friday, September 30, 2011

Tropical Storm Blackout: Part 2

Continued from this story: Tropical Storm Blackout: Part 1

Party #3

Sept. 3rd, Saturday. 1 male dancer. Arrival time: 8:30 pm. (Address and phone numbers not included. Hotel room #606. Contact Mindy. 12-15 girls. Bachelorette. Collect $250 cash.

I called Mindy and told her that I would be late. Very late.

"No worries," she said. "Just get here when ya can. We're watching the L.S.U. game and won't be doing anything till it's done."

That was a relief. I spent the next three hours driving through torrential rain. I was running so late that I could not afford any time to stop for food or a bathroom break As the time approached 11 o'clock, Mindy called me worried. The football game was over and the other girls were wanting to go out to the bar. She was having trouble keeping them occupied.

"I'm almost there," I assured her.

"Okay, I'll try to dish out two more party games to buy some time."

I thanked her. A lot of customers would have been upset with me by now. I was wondering if I would even make it on time and that presented a problem if I didn't. If the girls went out to the bar, then I would probably have to go with them, wait for them to finish, or just cut the party as a loss---which would not only make my agent furious, but it would cause me to lose money, time, and gasoline.

At 11:20, Mindy called me again. "Where are you? The girls are trying to go to the bar now."

I had just entered the parking garage of the hotel. "I'm here," I said. Now the anxiety about arriving in time was over, and a new one took its place: I had to piss. Bad. The only thing on my mind was how I was going to make it through the performance without pissing on myself or someone else, and I sure wasn't going to ask to use the bathroom before starting. I cannot explain why I don't do that, but I find it not only unprofessional, but it ruins any routine.

I exited the parking garage on the eastern side of the building and hurried along on a balcony walkway that gave a view of the beach on the south side, and the highway and shops on the north side. The police shirt and gun belt was under my arm, and I felt like a creep skulking about. I rounded a corner and almost collided with two girls. Both were short, tanned, petite, and had brown hair. However, the main difference was one girl had straight hair and the other had curly.

"Dion?" the girl with curly hair asked. I nodded. She extended her hand. "I'm Mindy, and this is my sister, Hannah. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. I'm so sorry again for being late," I told her, shaking both girls' hands.

"No worries! I am so happy you made it. Here is two-fifty," Mindy said with a warm smile, handing me the cash. "Can you give me two minutes to get the bachelorette ready?"

"Sure, take your time," I said, relieved. "I have to put on my uniform anyway."

"How should we do this?" Hannah said, the sister with straight hair. "This is our first time having a male stripper."

I told them that I would pretend to be an officer responding to a noise complaint and to stuff the bachelorette with dollar bills. Yes, I know---typical routine, but it works most of the time. I even wonder how women fall for it. There is nothing coincidental about a cop showing up at the door during a bachelorette party.

The girls loved my idea, of course. "Okay, just give us two minutes," Mindy said. "Then knock on the door. It's room 606."

The first thing I did when the girls left was search for the stairwell. Unlike the open balcony, it was enclosed by thick concrete walls. I looked up and down the stairwell and listened. No one was in the stairwell except me. I unbuttoned my pants and took a nice long piss into a corner. I hated doing such things because I felt like a homeless man, but I couldn't hold it anymore. If the girls could only see me now... I wondered if they would still hire me.

Once I finished, I donned on my police uniform and headed toward room 606. First I rang the doorbell. No answer. I knocked. No answer. I heard some girls talking and loud music inside. I knocked again. The sound of high heels clacking against the floor became louder and louder. The door flung open and a blonde girl with a tiara leaned on it. "Oooh, a police man. Is something wrong officer?"

"Yes ma'am," I said. "I received a noise complaint regarding this location. Are you in charge here?"

The blonde looked me up and down. "Aren't you sexy?"

I ignored her comment and made a show that the strong winds from the storm were bothering me. "Ma'am, may I come in and ask a few questions?"

"Sure," the blonde said, stepping aside and motioning me inside. "Are you gonna get naked?"

"Let's remain professional, ma'am," I said. About a dozen girls gathered in the living room. They all stared at me in silence, some smiling. The music droned quietly in the background. I walked behind the blonde and mouthed the words to the rest of the girls, "Is this her?"

Several girls nodded. I gestured toward a chair the chair and placed my hand on the blonde's should. "Could you sit down first?"

"I want you to handcuff me first, officer."

Damn, I thought I would be 3 for 3 tonight. This girl knew I wasn't a cop. She had to know. Still, I continued the cop routine. "Ma'am, please have a seat."

"Oooh, what are you gonna do to me?" she asked, sitting down.

"This." I straddled atop of her and thrust my crotch toward her face.

The blonde's mouth opened in surprise and she quickly covered it with her hands. The music pounded with each beat now; someone had the consideration to turn it up. Hands reached out from several direction to shove dollar bills into the blonde's bra and up her dress. The hands withdrew as quickly as they came, one hand slapping me on the ass during its retreat.

The blonde bachelorette uncovered her face. "Oh my God. I can't believe you bitches hired a stripper for me."

This time I was surprised. "You thought I was a cop the whole time?" Maybe I was 3 for 3.

I pulled off my police shirt first. Then, I asked the blonde to pull down and take off my pants. She took her time, rubbed her hands up and down my legs. After she pulled the last pant leg off, I squatted down and buried my face her breasts to extract the dollar bills. Close up, this girl had a smell of alcohol mixed with perfume. She looked at me with glassy eyes. "So am I allowed to make out with you?"

Her question left me speechless. No one had asked me such a request before and I didn't know how to answer her. Instead, I just continued to fish out dollar bills. After I finished with her, I stood up and asked who was next.

The bachelorette pulled a random girl from the crowd, whom I placed onto the couch. The only way I can describe this girl is that she was the typical "fake'n'bake" girl at a dance club: very tanned with heavy caked makeup. She wore a tight, black one-piece dress. The other girls stuffed money into her bra and I dove in headfirst to get it out. Next, I grabbed her ankles and spread apart her legs so that they formed a V-shape revealing her purple underwear with a camel toe imprint. With the front part of my thong, I rubbed against her camel toe, which caused the girl to squeal in surprise. Everyone laughed and took pictures, and the girl laughed and made funny faces as she posed for the cameras, such as opening her eyes wide and looking up and away while pursing her lips. I pretended to hump her a few more moments. As I helped her off the couch, the bachelorette had another girl ready for me.

The cycle continued. I introduced body shots next, and a few girls drank alcohol from my abs. Several girls, including Mindy, stood in the background and avoided participating. Mindy's sister, Hannah, behaved a whole lot differently.

"I want a picture with him cowgirl style," Hannah said.

I didn't know exactly what she wanted.

"Here, get down on the couch." Hannah pushed me onto the couch and staggered on top of me. Her black underwear beneath her purple dress grazed against my silver thong. She started bouncing like she was riding a bucking horse, except the bounces turned to pelvic thrusts. I admit, I was getting turned on. "Okay, take a few pictures like this, Mindy," Hannah called out.

"Whoa there," the bachelorette said. "This is my party and you're having all the fun. Move over, bitch." The bachelorette wedged herself between me and Hannah, so now I had two drunk girls sitting on me. Sometimes I can't believe that I get paid to do this.

After a few more rounds of body shots, dry-humping, and the occasional tea bagging, I was ready to wind down the party and leave. Therefore, I announced that it was time for group pictures. Like usual, I posed with the bachelorette to my left side. Hannah said that she wanted to be in the picture with me and rushed over to my right side. Mindy was the photographer. Hannah and the bachelorette wanted a picture that gave the illusion that they were grabbing my crotch, so they hovered their hands a few inches in front of me. The camera flashed several times. "Okay, just a few more," Mindy said. Hannah swatted at the bachelorette's hand, deliberately causing it to collide with my cock. She yelped and several girls laughed.

"You look really big," Hannah said. "Did you stuff your thong?"

I get this question at times. At first, I used to take women seriously when they asked me this and give a serious answer. But now, I learned to have a little fun with my answers. "Why don't you touch it and find out?"

Hannah decided to take my test. She gingerly reached her hand out and poked my cock. Unsatisfied, she grabbed and fondled. "Oh my God, it is real."

The whole party started laughing. Mindy chided Hannah, telling her to stop molesting me. The next thing Hannah did went beyond what I expected. I felt a pair of hands grab onto the straps of my thong, and I looked down in time to see her yank my thong down. Hannah let go to cup her mouth as I pulled my thong back up.

"Oh my God, Hannah---Stop that," Mindy said.

"So, how big are you when hard?" Hannah asked, her blue eyes full of lust.

"Hannah, stop molesting the stripper," Mindy said, then she turned to me. "I'm so sorry, I have never seen her like this."

"I think your sister is gonna rape me," I told her.

"Yeah, she must really like you."

"Is that so?" I asked. I draped an arm around Hannah and pulled her close. "So y'all think we'd make a good couple?"

Several girls agreed and said we would. Hannah leaned her head into me and placed her hand on my abs. "We would make beautiful male stripper babies," she said, drawing laughter from the crowd.

"Maybe we can arrange that sometime," I joked. In response, Hannah ran her hands down from my abs and began to massage my cock.

One girl announced that it was time to go out to the club. Hannah looked up at me. "Why don't you come along?" She squeezed me gently to emphasize her question.

I considered her offer.

However, fatigue from the previous two shows and several hours of driving had drained my energy, along with the fact that I hadn't eaten anything since leaving home at 3 p.m. All I wanted to do was go home, eat dinner, and relax. Besides, I had errands to run the next morning.

In response to my hesitation, Hannah dropped down to her knees, like she was a puppy begging for attention, and opened her mouth in front of the bulge of my thong. She stuck out her tongue and caressed the fabric covering the head of my cock with it. My breathing quickened. She stopped to look up at me and smile before resuming.

"Hannah, stop that," Mindy said, causing Hannah to halt what she was doing. "What has gotten into you? Oh my God, I'm so sorry. She must really want you. She never acts like this."

"It's okay," I said, laughing. Like I would be the one to complain.

Hannah stood up and grabbed my hands. "So are you going out with us?"

Despite how worn out I was, her offer tempted me to my core. Her face was so beautiful and I could only imagine how nice her petite body would feel against me in bed.

Experience has taught me the outcome though... I would go to the club with Hannah and get to know her better, meaning we would dance, make out, and grope. If she didn't become too drunk or too sick from all of the binge drinking, we would return to the condo after last call. Since all of the girls were holed up in the same condo, we would have to sneak off somewhere else (nowhere outside due to the storm) to have sex. I would either have to leave immediately afterwards, so as not to disturb the other girls staying there or stay and get two or three hours of sleep at the most. Dawn would soon break and leave me with a miserable drive back home along with errands to run.

"Sorry, I really do have to get going," I said, cringing on the inside. "I have a lot of things to do tomorrow..."

Hannah looked disappointed. I got dressed and thanked everyone for having me. Next, I went to Mindy and apologized again for being so late. She told me not to worry about it because the bachelorette was so surprised and happy. Hannah nestled up to me and begged me again to go out.

"You probably should get going," Mindy said, smiling. "My sister is acting crazy tonight for some reason.

With great reluctance, I managed to pry myself away from Hannah and leave the party. The drive home in the tropical storm was slow and uneventful. I arrived home at 2 a.m. After being on the road or at a party for the last eleven hours, I brought in over six hundred dollars. Not bad.

Just as I was ready to go to bed, I picked up my phone to set the alarm. My phone was one of those touch-screen phones, and sometimes they do unintentional things such as open unwanted programs, or worst: call someone. My phone was calling Angela(the girl who hired me for the first party tonight). I disconnected as soon as I could, but Angela called me back.

"Hey, did you need something?" she asked.

I apologized and explained to her how my phone randomly calls people sometimes because it's a touch screen. I don't know if she believed me, but she wasn't mad. She thanked me for coming out to strip at her party, and I thanked her for having me, and that was that... Or so I thought.

At 2:59 a.m., I received this message:
"We had a great time, you were hot! Wanna come over?"

Followed by this message at 3:00 a.m.:
"Omg ...sorry they stole my phone! Nevermind that have a good night."

I didn't respond. I just went to bed--to be awoken by my phone ringing. It was Angela. I ignored it and went back to sleep. The phone rang again, waking me up. It was Angela, yet again. I turned off the ringer.

The next morning, I checked my phone. Nothing more from Angela, but Mindy sent me a text message. Here was how the exchange went:

Mindy: "Thank you! The girls loved you! You were the highlight of our night."

Me: "Did everything go well afterward? Let me know if you need me again."

Mindy: "Lol. everything went great. We went out for a little while then everyone passed out. I will definitely let you know if we ever need you again!"

Me: "Glad to hear that. It's best to bring a leash for Hannah next time lol"

Mindy: "Haha she's not usually like that! She was wilder than normal for sure. You should feel lucky. Doesnt do that just for anyone lol"

I haven't heard back from Mindy or Angela since then, but I have a feeling that I may strip for Mindy and Hannah again in the future. We'll see.

***post-script note: One of the girls used my phone to take a picture of me with Hannah. I'll post it on this story as soon as I find a way to transfer the image from my phone to the computer.***

Sunday, September 18, 2011

September 17 Party

A man hired me last night to strip for his wife's 40th birthday. "I just want to surprise and embarrass my wife," he said.

The party took place in a rural subdivision in Alabama, and the house had a very nice pool with underwater lights of various colors. I saw a table with a fountain that spewed chocolate lined with strawberries, rice crispy treats, and pretzels. It was a mixed crowd of men and women in their thirties and forties, and they were all there to watch an Alabama Crimson Tide game. The husband met me outside, paid me, and lead me into the house. As soon as I entered, everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at me. It was complete silence.

I must admit, I felt rather awkward. I ignored everyone and followed the husband through the house toward the backyard where the pool was. "She's right there," he said. "Go get her."

And I did. It was a simple dance. Another older guy handed her a few dollar bills. A woman stood nearby video taping me. The husband was taking pictures. After a few minutes of stripping and dancing, the wife pointed out a few more ladies for me. I danced with them for about five minutes at the most. Then, I announced pictures. Several women rushed towards me, eager to pose. One girl gave her camera to her husband and said, "Hold the camera vertical. I want his package in the picture."

Her husband laughed and took the picture. He handed the camera back to her and said, "There honey, I got you and him together, along with his package."

After a few more pictures with the other women, I was finished. Fifteen minutes of work and I earned my money. Easy money, I must say.


Regarding the rest of the Tropical Storm Blackout story, I'm almost done writing it. The third party was the most exciting, therefore taking the most time to write. It should be up soon though.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Tropical Storm Blackout

Tropical Storm Lee pounded the Gulf Coast on the weekend of September 3rd, ruining any chance for tourists to enjoy the sunny beach over the long Labor Day weekend. Although it was grey and gloomy outside, some girls on vacation took this opportunity to hire a male stripper at the last minute to brighten up their weekend. I had three parties on Saturday alone.

I'll summarize the highlights of Saturday, because too much happened over the weekend for me to even recollect a whole detailed account of everything.

Party #1

Here is the information that my agent messaged me:

Sept. 3rd, Saturday. 1 male dancer. Cop uniform. Arrival time: 5:30 pm. (Address and phone numbers not included). Contact Angela. 15 - 20 girls. Bachelorette Party. Collect $250 cash.

This party took place at a beach condo with stucco walls and Spanish-tiled roofing. I could see the huge waves that Tropical Storm Lee churned up in the Gulf crashing against the white beach behind the condo. Angela met me outside and smuggled me inside toward the bathroom so I could change into my police uniform.

At this point, I asked her for payment.

"Can I pay you with a credit card?" she asked.

"How?" I said. "I don't carry a credit card machine with me everywhere."

"Oh... I paid everything with a credit card online," she said.

I knew that my agent said to pick up cash. His text message clearly stated that, so that told me that something was amiss. I told her that I needed to call my agent and make sure that there wasn't a mistake. Angela said that she would go upstairs and get everyone ready in the meantime.

Whenever I collect cash, I have to send my agent his cut of the money, so if I somehow lose that money or don't collect it, then I still owe money to my agent. Lucky for me, my agent answered his phone and I told him the situation. "She's bullshittin' ya," he said. "I told her specifically to pay you in cash. Don't strip until you get the money."

"Gotcha," I said. "Just checkin."

"I appreciate that. Sometimes these women will pull a fast one on ya."

Sure enough, Angela came back down with the cash in hand. She apologized for the misunderstanding and gave me the money. Now that I was paid, I went over the plans for my routine. I was going to go back outside, ring the doorbell, and Angela would answer and invite me inside. She would lead me to the girls upstairs and I would announce that someone was parked illegally. I finished donning on my police uniform and went back to the front door.

The routine went as planned. I went upstairs where over a dozen ladies waited, most of them over thirty years of age. The radio blasted music and I had to shout to be heard. As soon as I announced to the party about the illegally parked car, the bachelorette became fussy, demanding what the violation was. She stormed towards me glowering and said that she was a lawyer and wanted to go outside and document everything. If I were a real cop, then she would have been a real pain in the ass to deal with. Fortunately, I wasn't a real cop.

"Ma'am, we'll discuss everything," I assured her, placing my hands on her shoulders to guide her toward a chair. "But it's really windy outside, so just take a seat here and I'll get the paperwork."

She turned around and gave me a look mixed of puzzlement and shock.

I didn't give her any more time to contemplate because I was already moving to the rhythm of music and unbuttoning my shirt. She looked at her friends and the anger lines on her face relaxed into laughter as I stripped down to a shiny, silver thong.

Next I danced with Angela. After her were two other girls and the bachelorette again. The rest of the ladies didn't want to participate and I wasn't going to pressure them. I knew from experience that when a girl wants to be left alone, then it's best to leave her alone. After my short routine, I concluded the party by taking pictures with the girls.

After pictures, I started putting on my clothes. There were two more parties and very little time. The next party was scheduled for six o'clock and I was already running late. I thanked everyone on my way out. Angela walked me to my car and gave me an extra forty dollars for my tip.

Party #2

Sept. 3rd, Saturday. 1 male dancer. Cop uniform. Arrival time: 6:00 pm. (Address and phone numbers not included). Contact Tiffany. 10-15 girls. Bachelorette Party. Collect $250 cash.

I arrived thirty minutes late. However, I called earlier in the day and told Tiffany, the girl who hired me, that I was probably going to be late. She said that it was no problem and the girls were going to stay inside all night anyway because of the weather.

This party took place at a condo at a popular tourist resort a few miles from the beach. I have stripped at this resort for many parties in the past, so it was easy for me to find the location.

My routine started off like normal. I performed my police act, which tricked the bachelorette again. I was 2 for 2 tonight so far. As I was about to finish my routine though, the girls had a request: full nudity. At first, I told them that I usually don't do that, but they pleaded even more.

"Come on--pretty please!" one of the girls said. She pointed at the bachelorette. "This will be the last dick she gets to see because she gets married."

"Yeah, most of us are married and haven't seen another cock in years. You gotta show us!"

I think I'm the only guy I know who has ever had a room full of a dozen hot girls begging to see his cock. And let me tell you, it's hard to turn down a dozen girls eager to see you naked. The more I refused, the more insistent the girls became. Finally, peer pressure got the best of me. "Okay, but no pictures."

The girls agreed. They put away the cameras and took their seats on the L-shaped couch in the living room. The girls kept their word---no one had a camera.

As soon as I approached the couch, two pairs of hands grasped the strap of my thong and pulled downward. The rest of the crowd squealed in delight. My cock hung out there for everyone to see. I danced, moving from girl to girl, showing my goods like I was on tge catwalk of a runway.

"Let's give him a hand, girls," one girl said.

Everyone cheered and clapped like I had hit a home run at a ball game. I felt flattered and awkward at the same time. That was one of the strangest ovations I had ever received---not many people can get an ovation for showing their cock to people.

"So, are we the hottest party you've had?" one girl asked.

"That's hard to say because I have done a lot of parties with a lot of hot girls," I said, causing some girls to raise their eyebrows. "But I can say this: Y'all are easily up there with one of the hottest." Everyone smiled at this. That wasn't a lie either. These girls were all very beautiful.

Unfortunately, I forgot to keep track of the time. By the time I finished the party and returned to my car, it was already 8:00. My next party was scheduled for 8:30 and it was three hours away. I began to panic.

Party #3...Contined here: Tropical Storm Blackout: Part 2

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Labor Day Weekend

I did a whole load of parties this past Labor Day weekend. I will write about some of the things that happened at them soon. A lot of interesting things happened---several girls molested me pretty badly. I'll try to write it all down by the end of the week.

Keep checking back for the update.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Video Blogs (VLOGS)

Lately several readers have e-mailed me asking why I do not posts video blogs of myself on Youtube or here. The thought has crossed my mind before, but the consequence of posting my face on video for the world to see may come back and smack me in the face later.

As of now, the only part of me that the world sees is my writing and a few obscure pictures, of which I crop out my face. You don't see my face, hear my voice, or watch my mannerisms, and that's the way I like it. I don't want people to know my stories and background at my full time job or in my professional life. I don't want to tarnish my reputation at a future job because I talked about the getting my dick sucked by two women at a party. I just don't want the fame that may come with video blogs, especially if I don't get the money with it.

The reason I started this blog is to have an outlet for my life---a life which I hide from many people. At first, I wanted to find stories that paralleled mine, so I searched the web for stories of other male strippers. My search only yielded a few dismal results. The only consistent blog I found was barely coherent---the guy seemed drunk when he typed down his experiences. I could not find a decent book on the subject either. So I took to writing. Through writing, I can tell my stories and be anonymous at the same time, like a confession.

This blog started out small, and it only received a dozen hits a month at the most. Now my web traffic has ballooned into thousands of readers a month. I had never expected this, nor have I expected a demand for my stories. For everyone who takes the time to read my stories, I am thankful. For those readers who are critical of my experience, I am thankful as well because criticism can help one realize personal flaws. As long as there is a demand for my stories, I will continue to write. As of this time, however, I will not be doing any video blogs. But if you have any other requests, then don't hesitate to ask. The worst thing I can say is "no."

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

The Beginning - Part 2: Sculpting the Body

Continued from The Beginning: Part 1

I remembered my first real workout at the college gym very clearly. Tall, hulking men with rippling muscles filled the gym, grunting in anger and slamming weights around like they wanted to destroy something. Their menacing glares gave me the impression that I would become lunch meat if I ever made the mistake to cross their path. I felt like a cub stepping onto grizzly territory. Yet, I made sure to avoid them while I tried every machine.

As I made a lame attempt at working out, my lanky limbs struggled with the small iron plates. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I tried every single machine that day. Before I knew it, three hours had passed. My legs quivered as I left the gym. That night, I discovered new sensations in muscles that I never existed. Sharp jabs of pain that shot throughout my whole body. I couldn't sleep. When sleep finally came, I woke up the next morning sore and stiff, each small movement bringing pure agony. However, I loved this new feeling. I knew that this soreness meant that my muscles were growing. Growing bigger was my biggest desire. I would have done almost anything to grow out of my skinny frame. Thus, I became addicted to lifting weights.

I began to live at the gym. Weight lifting became more than a routine; it was a religion. I memorized its scripture: reps, sets, super-sets, squats, presses, deadlifts. Whenever I wasn't in class, I was in the gym bench pressing, or squatting. I bought books and magazines on bodybuilding, and studied them more than the textbook for my classes. Instead of going out to bars or clubs, I spent my free time at the gym.

Of course, the gym provided some difficulties. One of the regulars, a bald jock-type, decided he didn't like me. His name was Chris, and he reminded me of one of those bullying football players from various nerd revenge movies. He always wanted to use whichever machine, bench, or squat rack I was using, and would snap at me to hurry up. I always gave him a polite answer, and scrambled out of his way to provide him with whatever he wanted, but he only responded by staring me down. Another time when I was squatting inside the squat rack, my legs cramped and gave way, causing me to fall and drop the weighted barbell. The safety bars caught the barbell, but it made a loud crash of metal on metal that caused everyone in the gym to jump and turn their heads toward me. Chris, who was working out nearby, shouted, "You better not break it, or you'll have to pay for it."

"Sorry," I said.

"You better be," he said. "That shit hurt my ears. Fuckin' idiot."

I felt a mixture of anger and shame. I wanted to say something back to him, but I froze in place. A black guy, seeing our exchange, came over and offered to spot me. The sympathy on his face told me that he felt sorry for me and wanted to help, but I already felt foolish.

It was days like this that caused my motivation to wane. Because of Chris, I wanted to avoid the gym sometimes. Moreover, I was still skinny. Sometimes I would ask myself, "What's the point in spending all of this time training when I could be doing something else?" The other students around me went out to clubs, went on dates, or participated in a random social activity. I, on the other hand, became a gym rat, skulking about the gym when everyone else seemed to have fun. I felt like quitting.

I stopped going to the gym for two weeks. During this time, people began complimenting me for once.

"Damn, son. What've you been eatin' lately?"

"Are you on steroids now? You didn't have those lumps before."

"You've put on some muscle!"

Unaccustomed to compliments, I felt elated. My ambition for sculpting my body soared, and I returned to hit the weights with as much enthusiasm as ever. I took my memories of ridicule and rejection and used them to fuel my motivation, rather than shame. Whenever I saw Chris, I shifted all of my anger toward him to lifting weights instead.

Within a year, I added twenty pounds of muscle to my lean frame and almost doubled my strength. My energy level surged. From morning until night, I felt as if I could run around non-stop. I signed up for tennis and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu on campus, both of which were near the gym. My video game systems and books began to collect dust, because I moved around too much to sit still anymore. My posture changed. I no longer slouched, but stood upright with my chest out. And perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought that even a few girls looked at me a little longer than usual. I began to feel like a whole new person.

----To be continued...

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

The Beginning - Part 1

No boy ever aspires to wear a g-string in public when they grow up. At least I never did, nor did I think it were possible.

My childhood and high school life were average. I wasn’t a Don Juan or Rico Suave growing up. I was a short, scrawny half-Asian guy with glasses, too unfit to play sports. Like every other nerd who hated anything physical, I buried my nose in books and played a ton of video games. In 8th grade, the girls in algebra class voted me ‘the ugliest guy in class’—an accolade that did little to boost my confidence or self esteem. High school provided even further frustrations. I became interested in girls at this time, but they still weren’t interested in me. Most girls I tried to ask out flat out rejected me—all of their excuses centering on my appearance.

“Dion, you’re too skinny for me.”

“I’m into taller guys.”

“Sorry Dion, you’re just not my type.”

I accepted my reality. I just wasn’t very attractive. If someone had told me then that women would pay me to strip for them, I would have laughed and told them to use their creativity to write a science fiction book instead. Even my friends would have agreed.

My transition from a normal guy into a male stripper was a slow, long process, not an event. I didn’t get bitten by a spider like Peter Parker and changed into Spiderman overnight. Morphing a short, scrawny 130 lbs. boy into a male stripper took time, and it all took place during the first half of my college career. First, I reached my full height of 5’11 during my freshman year at college. I felt a little better not being one of the shortest guys in the class anymore, but I was still skinny and girls avoided me the same as usual. The next and largest part of my change occurred when I wandered into the campus gym and discovered the barbell.

Several people told me that lifting weights would help me build muscle. That sounded too good to be true though. There was no way a skinny guy like me could bulk up. However, the words of those girls calling me scrawny echoed in my mind, filling me with anger. Anger at myself for being so scrawny. Anger at getting teased for it. I had to do something. At this point of my life, I was seventeen, horny, single, and barely had a few scribbles in the pages of my sexual history. I excelled at academics, but my social life was a disaster. Anything would've been an improvement.

So I began to train.

...Continued in Part Two: Sculpting the Body

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Public Image

Several aspiring male strippers have asked me many similar questions wondering if they must show their picture on a website for a booking agency. These guys have expressed concern about keeping their stripping life private.

So the main question I get asked is this: "Do I have my pictures on the internet so anyone can see?"

My answer: Yeah. You do.

Like it or not, male stripping is a public job. Some gigs take place at clubs, bars, or restaurants. When you go out to work, you expose yourself to the public, most of which are girls. With their digital cameras, these women will cram their memory cards full of pictures of you with their friends. Many of them will upload these pics on Facebook.

Booking agencies will post your picture on their websites as a reference guide for potential customers. Some agencies make it mandatory that you send in several pictures, all of which show your face. Think about it: These girls want to see what kind of strange guy is coming to their party. How are they supposed to know what you look like if you don't have a public picture available for them? I don't know about you, but if I were a customer, I'd like to have an idea of what I'm buying before I make the purchase.

Here's the bottom line: If you don't want people to discover that you're a male stripper, then you're in the wrong line of work. People will find out that you strip. During my time, I encountered a few girls that recognized me in public as "the stripper" from their party.

When in doubt, don't do it.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Grandmother, Mother, and Daughter - 07-15-2011

It's rare to see a party involving a male stripper, a grandmother, mother, and three daughters. Such was the bachelorette party that took place a few days ago.

There were many other ladies present. The youngest were the three daughters, of which the youngest was eighteen. The oldest was the grandmother. And the bachelorette was the oldest daughter.

I started the party, like always, by stripping for the bachelorette. Next, I danced with her mom, followed by her grandmother. The grandmother, a very old lady with a thick Alabama accent, traced her hands all along my body, which drew a lot of laughter from the rest of the girls. The liver spots on her hands made me cringe. Her perverted actions also drew a rare emotion from me: shame. Yes, I actually felt ashamed and violated by the way this old woman was touching me.

The old lady pointed a gnarled hand toward two young girls sitting together. "How 'bout you get my grand-daughters."


I grabbed the first one, a blonde who had money in her bra. I licked around her tits before grabbing the money out with my teeth. She gave me a kiss on the cheek for my efforts.

Her youngest sister was my next target. She was a brunette with an olive tan and was a tall girl, standing at about six feet. Her face betrayed a degree of shyness and timidity that is usually found in teenagers. She covered her face as I thrusted the bulge of my thong into crotch. Next, I straddled atop of her and placed my bulge onto her face. "Now take some pictures," I shouted to the rest of the crowd, which included her mom and grandmother.

I finished the party with candid pictures of any girls who wanted to pose with me. The three daughters volunteered the most, with the youngest finding enough courage to grab my ass in a few.

The girls asked what else I did for a living. I told them that I was an English teacher. The youngest daughter said, "I wish you were my teacher..."

"Which college do you go to?" I asked her.

"Oh, I'll start in the fall. I just graduated high school in May."

"Don't worry, she's eighteen," the grandmother said. "She's legal for ya."

Everyone laughed, causing the young girl to blush and look at the floor. I smiled. Seldom do such things embarrass me anymore. I took off my clothes for many years in front of thousands of women. Not many girls can embarrass me... Except one.

"How 'bout I gather a buncha money and hire ya just for myself, without all these ladies around," the grandmother said. "You can strip for me one on one, sexy."

I have experienced angry cowboys who wanted to beat me to a pulp, jealous boyfriends who wanted to kill me, and possessive girlfriends who stalked me. However, the thought of being alone with this old lady scared me more than any of the above.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Updates in July

I'm going to revise this blog quite a bit in July and August. I'll start with the story of how I got into stripping, my first few shows, etc.

I apologize for the lack of updates. Life has been extremely busy. For those who are new to this blog, you can navigate around by clicking the tabs above. I suggest clicking on "Home" to view the more popular posts.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Male Stripper Questions - Part 24

I received an e-mail about dancing recently from a guy named Warren, and he asks some good questions. Here it is:

Okay, got a question. Your blog is awesome and very interesting so keep it up!

Before you started out, did you already like/know how to dance? I would say that is the obvious problem with a lot of guys (myself included) who hate the act of dancing unless your goal is to have sex with the girl who is forcing you to dance. Any tips on what your go-to moves are, what moves the girls seem to like the most, etc? Did you learn through observation or watching videos, or are just that wildcard who could do it naturally? My ex liked it when I would put on her little private strip show but the whole time it'd be awkward and I'd act more goofy to play it off easier since I'm no Michael Jackson. I know that confidence is the key to success...but damn, I hate dancing along with a legion of guys.

Also, do any of your moves translate to a normal dance floor?



I'll start by saying this: I didn't start off as the best dancer either. When I first started stripping, I hardly knew anything about dancing. Most of my performances consisted of grinding against and dry-humping girls. Similar to your situation, dancing served only as a means for me to have physical contact with girls. However, I HAD to learn something when I started stripping, so I started taking actual dance lessons.

The first thing was salsa. Next was tango, waltz, followed by swing. All of these dances require a lot of practice, but once you loosen up and get your timing down, you appear more natural and you can become comfortable enough with dancing to apply your own freestyle at the club. Other than that, join a dancing club where you can practice. I joined a salsa club and that helped me.

Keep in mind that it's not only men who have problems with dancing; most women have limited dancing skills as well. Hell, I'll even take that further and say that most women suck at dancing. They may seem comfortable on the dance floor, but beyond shaking their asses a bit and gyrating their curves, their moves aren't anything special, especially if you know what you're doing.

Ditch the awkwardness and you'll look more graceful. Once you become comfortable with dancing, you'll be able to do it anywhere. Don't be one of those guys who has to load up on alcohol to dance. They're the worst. With the drunk guys around, you won't have to worry about looking foolish while dancing, because these guys are doing all the work for you.

As for my moves at strip shows, I usually dance for as long as I strip. I'll thrust my hips like a belly-dancer while I'm unbuttoning my shirt or pants. Once the clothes are off though, the dancing ends and the body shots begins.

I hope this information helps you. I'm no expert on dancing, and if you want to get good at it, I suggest going to a dance school/academy and take a few classes. You can also watch and learn from some Youtube videos, but an instructor at a dance school can correct your mistakes whereas Youtube cannot. It's good to learn something new in life anyway, and dancing is one of those things that gives you an excuse to have physical contact with a women. I have sure as hell used it for that very reason many many times.


Monday, May 9, 2011

Male Stripping Requirements - Part 2

My post Male Stripper Requirements has generated more questions than satisfied answers. These questions revolve around more "physical" requirements of male strippers. Apparently, there are a lot of you guys out there who want to do this job and wonder whether you have what it takes to become a male stripper. Well, I'm not a hiring agent, so I can't get you hired (so stop sending me pictures!). However, I'm happy to answer most questions though.

First off, most questions ask what the appropriate penis size is. Before I go into detail about this, you guys need to understand one thing: If you're insecure about penis size, then you don't need to be a male stripper. If you have any insecurities, then the chances are that a few women will pick up on it and call you out. Regardless of whether you have a big dick or little dick, you shouldn't make an issue out of it. A friend of mine always tells girls that he has a little dick. Several girls have asked to see it, and some even start flirting with him afterward. Why? Because he's secure about himself. And that's the attitude that a male stripper needs.

Another common question inquired about how much body fat or muscularity is ideal. This answer varies depending on the audience. The closer you are to a six-pack, the better. As long as you have a nice aesthetic muscular shape, then you are good to go. You should be larger than the average girl (notice that I said average, not obese), but the Incredible Hulk physique may overdo it with a lot of women. For those of you who have a little extra body fat, then you okay as long as you have an attractive facial features and personality.

Body hair is another issue that came up. I know that some women like body hair, but those that do won't mind too much if you shave. No women has ever complained about me, and I shave almost everything. I'll keep some hair around my crotch region, but the rest of the body hair has got to go. I am so clean-shaven that some women have licked my ass crack at parties. Do you think they would have done that if I had a hairy ass? Hell no. Not many people like to lick hair. Stay on the safe side: shave.

Piercings and tattoos cover the rest of the questions I receive. Like body hair, some girls like piercings and tattoos. Yet, some girls dislike or even hate them. It's better to just play it safe and avoid both if possible. I don't have any, nor do I intend to get them. Even the girls who love piercings and tattoos don't complain about me not having a tattoo or a piercing. Self expression is nice and all, but I suggest wearing a T-shirt or buying a bumper sticker instead. At least you can take those off easily without worrying about holes or scars.

To conclude, physical features play an important role for male strippers, but many of you guys missed my point completely about personality. Personality is where most men fail regarding male stripper requirements. Insecurity, narcissism, and irresponsibility are some of the biggest flaws that most applicants or beginning male strippers have.

Monday, May 2, 2011

Stripper's Log: 4/30/11

Around March of last year, I stripped at a bachelorette party that took place in a small, obscure town far away from where I live. However, I didn't write much about this party, because nothing out of the ordinary happened.

I documented this bachelorette party in this post: Highlights From Recent Parties. I wrote, "several girls conspired to rip my thong off. One of them succeeded. Several hands fondled me." That was the only highlight of this party. Other than that, here is the back story: A girl named Ashley hired me to show up as a cop, strip for her bachelorette friend, and make my rounds with the girls. As I mentioned before, this party wasn't that much out of the ordinary.

Fast forward to over a year later, I received a booking for a party in a small, obscure town, also far away. At first, this particular party wanted a cop costume, but they changed their minds, saying that they had a male stripper who was a cop last year. They told me to wear whatever I wanted instead and provided m with the rest of information about the party: the bachelorette's name was Ashley; Ashley hired a male stripper for last year's party, and the other girls wanted to repay her; a female friend was going to strip for Ashley before me as a joke. I began to wonder if this was the same party that I stripped for a year previous, but I have done so many that my memory was hazy. However, I usually remember locations and this party took place in a different location.

As soon as I showed up to collect payment from the girl who booked me, she instantly recognized me. "Oh my God, you stripped for us last year!" she said.

The girl was wearing a denim skirt, a yellow halter top, and cowboy boots. I didn't remember her at all. Then again, I forget most faces from the collage of parties. The girl didn't care. She paid me and said, "Ashley is going to be excited--she was the one who hired you last year!"

I couldn't recall Ashley's face either. I followed the girl in cowboy boots into the house to an interesting scene that most guys would pay money to see. Inside, many girls stood on the outskirts of a dark living room facing toward the center where two chairs were. Two girls were on these two chairs. A girl with curly brown hair sat blindfolded and laughing in one chair, while a redheaded girl wearing only bra, panties, and fishnet thigh-high stockings stood atop the other chair gyrating her body to the beat of the music. The redhead hopped off to place her breasts into Ashley's face.

"Why does the stripper have boobs?" the blindfolded girl said, whom I assumed was Ashley. Ashley didn't have time talk much after that, because the redhead reached down toward her crotch and grabbed an elongated purple object, which I just realized was a strap-on dildo, and thrust it into Ashley's mouth.

The girl in cowboy boots led me to a corner directly behind Ashley and told me to start stripping during the next song. So I contented myself to watching Ashley suck the redhead's strap-on. The song ended and the redhead reached around Ashley's head and untied the blindfold. Ashley screamed in surprise and recognition. Apparently, the redhead was her friend. Ashley screamed again as soon as I left my corner and stood in front of her. It was at that moment I remembered her.

It is strange how something forgotten can surface so abundant and clear from an image. She was the attractive brunette who hired me last year. She also fed me and invited me out with her friends after I finished stripping. "Did you miss me?" I asked her.

"YES!" she said, cupping her smile with her hands.

I performed my regular routine, and Ashley joined in with enthusiasm.

After a few minutes though, the redhead intervened. First, she approached me with the strap-on pointed at me like it was giving me a salute. "Let's double-team her," she said. That was fine with me. So we double-teamed Ashley.

What the redhead asked me next tested my boundaries. And let me say this: Girls tried to lick my ass, tear my thong off, and suck my cock at these parties, so my boundaries are fairly hard for women to go beyond. However, the redhead did. "Give me head," she said, holding her strap-on pointed towards me.

I shook my head. She insisted, but the other girls pulled her away and told her to let me work. I grinded against the bachelorette, then made my way toward the next couple of girls in the living room. Several girls ran outside, but enough stayed behind for me to harass. It wasn't long though, before I came upon the redhead again.

She was aggressive... and different.

First of all, I don't usually strip for girls who are wearing underwear and fishnet stockings. Second, this girl had money in her underwear from her stripping performance with Ashley. Third, this girl was horny. I realized that by the way she was pulling me toward her and wrapping her legs tightly around my hips.

I pulled some dollars out of her bra that Ashley had given her, and dragged it along her chest, before bringing it to her face. She grabbed the back of my head pulled me toward her, biting the dollar. Had I stayed so close to her for a moment longer, I felt that she would've attempted to make out with me. I pulled away, leaving the dollar in her mouth, and thrust the front of my thong toward her face. "Put in there," I said.

She pulled my thong open, looking down at my cock for a few seconds. As she dropped the dollar bill into my thong, she traced her tongue around my pubic region. I repeated this routine with the redhead two more times, while the redhead became more daring each time. I heard the girls in the darkened living room muttering amongst themselves, especially about the neglected bachelorette, and I suddenly began to feel self-conscious. I pulled away from the redhead, stood up, and focused my attention back onto Ashley, the bachelorette.

The rest of the routine went by without incident (or anything unusual). When I finished, the girls turned on the lights and began to clean up. They invited me to stay, but I declined. "Maybe we'll see you next year," one girl said. I laughed and told everyone bye, then went to leave from the front porch.

The redhead followed me to the front porch alone and asked if I would stay. She was very close and the demanding look in her blue eyes told me that she wanted to rape me right then and there. But close-up, I could see the lines of age that lined her face. She looked much better in the darkened living room. Again, I politely declined.

The redhead's brow furrowed and her lip twisted downward. "What the fuck? Don't tell me that pussy-ass shit. You need to stay! Don't come here and strip for forty-five minutes and just leave." The redhead stood in my way to block the exit. Her feet were planted and the menacing stare that she gave me told me that she wasn't going to move without a confrontation. This girl seemed like the type of girl who had a lot of run-ins with the police regarding domestic violence.

"Okay, you're right," I said, smiling and putting my arm around her. "I'll stay... Just for you though."

The furrows in her face eased up and she smiled. It was as if the thunderstorm suddenly cleared and the sun came out. "Get something to drink and hang out," she said. "You don't have to go home tonight."

I decided to take her advice and get a drink. I went back inside and asked the girls for a drink. They offered me beer, but I said that water was fine. One girl protested my response, but another girl said that I had to drive. After a few moments, someone handed me a cup of ice water. I didn't see the redhead around and figured that she was still on the front porch, so I thanked everyone for a good time and headed toward the back door. I heard a chorus of byes as I left.

As I got into my car, I silently patted myself on the back for deceiving the redhead. From this moment on, I'll definitely remember that small, obscure town and ensure that I avoid it. The money is not worth the travel, nor is it worth getting corralled into some unwanted sex.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Stripper's Log: 4/28/11

Me with a girl from last night.

My agent called me yesterday to do a last-minute party in Alabama last night. It was an ordinary bachelorette party with about eight girls.

Several unique things occurred though. First, the girls were cautious and suspicious that I was going to take their money and run. When I go to parties, my agents stress that I always collect the money before performing. If I don't do this, then that allows the possibility of missing out on pay. The girls last night had never booked a stripper before, so they didn't know what to expect, so I don't blame them for thinking that a complete stranger would take their money. Still though, wouldn't even the most crooked of men take delight in stripping for a room full of girls?

Next, the girls indulged themselves with jello shots and whipped cream, licking it off my body. I also licked whipped cream from several belly-buttons, thighs, and breasts. In the picture above, I licked a lot of whipped cream from between that blonde's breast (they were implants and I must say that they felt very nice!). I mention jello shots and whipped cream because I usually pull out dollars from girls. This party felt comfortable enough to start with whipped cream. Not every party does this.

Last, I shoved my cock into a few faces. While this is common, one girl opened her mouth to allow the "bulge" of my thong to enter. I guess that's fairly common too...

Overall, the party was fun. The pay was a little on the low end. I can't complain though, because I'd rather take less pay and have fun, rather than go to a horrible party for more money. I have another show booked for tomorrow, so I'll write about that next.