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."