Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Stripper's Log 03-23-12

Friday, March 23rd, 2012. A small country town in Georgia, about three and a half hours away from where I live.

I had to strip for a birthday party consisting of black women. I couldn't remember who the birthday girl was, but her friend owned a restaurant and threw a party for her after closing. That meant that there was plenty of food to go around, a perk which I love about this job.

Another thing I rememberer was how conservative this group was, meaning that out of the dozen girls present, only three of them dared to interact with me without running away, jumping over chairs and ducking behind tables. They paid and tipped me well though.

One girl, a beautiful girl by the name of Tamara, took an keen interest in me. She touched and grabbed more than the average girl. After finishing my routine and while I was gathering my clothes, she nodded towards my crotch and asked me, "So is that real, or did you stuff it with a sock?"

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I don't know. That's why I'm askin' you."

"Here." I grabbed both of Tamara's hands and guided them toward the front of my thong, placing both of them against my cock. My audacity caused her to gasp in surprise, but she did not withdraw or let go. She smiled nervously and even fondled me for a few moments before turning to see if anyone else was watching.

"I better stop," she said. "They be talkin' bout this to everyone."

I got dressed and the girls offered me food, which I graciously accepted. As I was going to leave, Tamara and another girl, who was heavy-set, approached me. The heavy-set girl was holding a camera. "Let's go outside and take some pictures," she said. "Tamara wants some with you."

We went outside and I posed with Tamara as her friend snapped pictures of us.

"Get a lil' raunchy," the larger girl said. "Tamara, lift yo leg up on him, girl. Yeah, like that." She continued to snap more pictures, with more provacative poses. After we finished, Tamara offered to walk me to my car.

"She gonna be all over you," her friend said. "She likes white guys."

"Is that so?" I asked Tamara, who just smiled.

"Yeah," her friend answered. "Especially the cowboy types."

"Well, I can ride her like one," I said, causing both girls to laugh.

Tamara accompanied me to my car, and her friend went inside to leave us alone. The parking lot was empty, all of the other businesses in the small plaza were closed for the night. I knew why Tamara walked me to my car. She wanted to exchange contact information, and perhaps something even more.

"So you like the cowboy types?" I asked her in attempt to get her to talk more.

"Yeah," she said. "My family don't approve of my tastes though..."

"Why not?"

"Because they want me to get with a black guy, but I'm just not attracted to them. Not to sound racist against my own kind or anything, I just don't like them."

"So am I more your type?"

Tamara giggled, and slapped me playfully on the arm. I held out my hand and she took it and held it. "How far away do you live?" she asked.

"Like three hours away," I said.

"How often do you head out this way?"

"Sometimes," I replied. In truth, I would only come out toward her area if I had a strip show. Nonetheless, she gave me her phone number and told me to call or text her. She kissed me on the cheek as I got into my car to leave.

Unfortunately, that will most likely be the first and only time that I would see her. Such is the fate of this job---it's like a traveling circus that comes to town to perform and then disappears.

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