I had to strip at a birthday party that took place at a bar last weekend. When my agent told me that the location was a bar, I became weary because I hate stripping at bars. Bars have mixed crowds that don't even belong to the party, and sometimes these crowds interfere with my work. My concerns grew when I called the bar owner and discovered that it was a "redneck" type of bar. I had several unpleasant encounters in redneck bars in the past, some that almost resulted in fights or getting ambushed by multiple angry and jealous men. These guys usually don't take kindly to strangers coming in and stripping in front of their ladies.
When I contacted the bar owner before arrival, she assured me that she and her employees would throw out anyone acting "out of line." She also told me that I was stripping outside on the deck, whereas most of the of the patrons would be inside. This news gave me a little relief.
Next, I contacted the guy who hired me. That's right, it was a guy. Sometimes, not very often, men hire me for women. I arrived at the bar and met the customer who hired me. His name was Jim and he looked like a typical Southern, blue-collared "good ole' boy." He was tall, stout, and said he bounced at many bars. And he was gay. He told me, even though I knew from the rainbow bracelet he wore. He paid me and showed me to the deck. It was a wooden deck, with chairs, tables, and a lot of trees and flowers nearby. A row of high hedges and a wooden privacy fence surrounded the area around the deck so no one in the parking lot could see into the enclosure. The bar owner draped the back door with a curtain so no one inside could see out. These precautions were good, but nothing would stop a curious customer from coming outside if they wanted to.
Soon, the party members trickled out toward the deck from inside. It was a typical performance. I stripped, received money, and danced some more. There was nothing worth mentioning.
Unfortunately, some smokers wandered outside onto the deck and saw the tail-end of my performance. They were two guys and three girls---very country and very drunk. After I finished up my performance, the whole party went inside while I was getting dressed. One of the smokers, your typical redneck guy, came up to me with a ten-dollar bill, insisting that I perform a show for the three girls who were with him. He wanted me to "slap them in the face" with my cock. He and his drunken friend sat them into chairs on the deck. One of the girls got up and ran inside, leaving only two girls left. Usually, I wouldn't strip for another party if I'm already working one, but everyone from the party except Jim went inside the bar. Jim shrugged and said, "That's all you, man." I looked up at the drunken guy and said that I would do a short dance for them, but nothing more. He nodded and handed one of the girls the ten-dollar bill.
It wasn't a dance really. I approached the girls. They stared at my package. I turned around, and showed them my ass. They caressed my ass and my thighs. I turned back around and one of the girls placed the bill into the front of my thong. The girls complimented me in various ways and touched me a bit more. I thanked them and returned to the original party to collect my clothes.
As I slipped into my clothes, I overheard the two females talking with the rest of the smokers, praising me. The guy who paid me didn't take this news very well, because the next thing he did was pull off his shirt and puff out his chest. "He ain't got shit on me," he yelled. He looked over at me and glared, his jaw clenched shut. His two female friends said nothing. His other friend, a tall man wearing a camo shirt, gave me an icy stare. Jim shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Sounds like someone is insecure," he said.
"I wonder why he even bothered paying me when he's gonna get pissed off about it," I said.
It was time to go. The last thing I wanted was a bar fight. Jim offered to walk me to the car. "I'll whoop their ass if they try anything. I got yer back, man."
The two men were blocking the exit, but they moved aside when Jim and I approached. One of the girls said "bye" to me, which caused the shirtless guy to give me a murderous look. I turned and widened my stance, waiting for an attack. However, Jim cut in and warned him that he needed to put his shirt back on unless he wanted to get "kicked out." I made it to my car without a fight.
Once we were at my car, Jim pulled out his wallet and gave me an extra fifty dollars. "I promised yer agent that I'd give you fifty bucks for drivin' out here in the boonies," he said.
I thanked Jim for the money and walking me to my car.
"No problem, man," he said. "I figured those guys would give ya shit. I get shit from guys like that fer bein' gay, but the thing about us gay rednecks is that we'll whoop their ass."
I laughed. Jim said that I did a good job and he would call me for the next time one of his girlfriends needed a stripper. "Definitely won't be at a bar," he said, watching a drunk guy pissing on a pickup truck.
Overall, the bar experience this last weekend wasn't so bad, but my opinion remains the same: I hate stripping at bars. Private parties are much more relaxed and safe.