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."
"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?"
"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.