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.