Selling My Underwear

September 6, 2013

I stripped for a nice bacheloette party at a seaside cottage in Miramar Beach, Florida. This bunch was from Memphis, Tennessee. The lady who hired me did not tell her anyone about me, so the event was a complete surprise.

The plan was for me to act like I was part of the property management stopping by to fix some broken window blinds in the cottage. It was quite an absurd idea in my opinion, but the customer came up with it. I dressed in a polo shirt and dress pants. Beneath them, I wore a brand new black thong from California Muscle, a skin-tight vest with a zipper down the front, and my knee-high boots.

I met the paying customer outside the cottage. It was two-story with a well-kept lawn, white picket fence, and even an outside shower to rinse the sand off from the beach. I could hear the ladies on the second floor screaming and making a lot of noise. The customer told me that she would leave the downstairs door open for me to enter.

"Just go upstairs and do your thang," she said.

Since no one else knew I was coming, I felt very hesitant about barging in a place full of women. They would probably think I was a rapist or burglar. I voiced my doubts aloud, but the customer insisted on this plan. She went upstairs and I waited a few minutes outside.

Despite the customer's instructions, I tried knocking.

No one answered.

After a minute, I entered and made my way upstairs. As soon as I rounded the corner and into the kitchen and living room area where everyone was situated, all the girls stopped what they were doing and stared. Several jumped in surprise. A few backed up towards the patio door on the opposite side of the room.

"Property management!" I said quickly. "I'm here to fix the blinds over there."

Several girls commented about me barging in, but the girl who hired me quickly intervened and said that I was late. She offered to show me where the blinds were broken. The door leading to the second story patio actually had a few blinds that were bent, and as I pretended to inspect them.

"Oh my God," one lady stated. "I thought you were some stalker coming in to kill us."

"Sorry, but no one answered when I tried to knock and bang at the door," I said.

After relaxing from the horror of a strange man appearing in the house, some of the women began making requests.

"Hey, it's her bachelorette party!"

"Is your name Jacob?"

"No," I said. "Why?"

"We're doing a scavenger hunt and we have to find a guy named Jacob to get points."

 I took this time to study the crowd. The ladies appeared to be in their late 20s or early 30s. All of them wore similar t-shirts, but of different colors: pink, blue, orange, green, yellow. Each colored t-shirts signified a team, and there were three girls per team. They showed me a list of things to do for their scavenger hunt, and finding a guy named "Jacob" was one of the items to check off.

The winning team was supposed to get a good prize.

"Can you pick her up and carry her while we take pictures?"

"Damn! He's hot!"

"Do a dance for her!"

"Yeah! Give her a strip tease!"

The women had no idea that I was the stripper, but they wanted me to take my clothes off. All of them thought I was there on behalf of the property management. I acted like I was uncomfortable with their comments and requests, even shifted from side to side nervously.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that stuff," I said. "I'm here to work. I don't want to get fired..."

"Come on! It's her bachelorette party."

"Yeah, we won't tell on you!"

Several ladies shoved the bride, a short and tanned brunette, towards me.

"Pick her up... Please?"

"Yeah, carry her across the threshold," one girl said, indicating to the patio door, which was now open.

I sighed and said, "Okay, but I can get in trouble doing this."

"We won't tell anyone!"

I picked up the bride and stood at the "threshold" of the patio door and posed for a few pictures. I wondered how a normal guy would react to all of the strange demands this crowd was making.

"Now set her down and give her a lap dance!"

"I-I don't know about this..." I began.

"Just do it!"

I lowered the bride on a nearby chair. Someone turned the music up and most of the room began to chair. I began to dance, making a show of appearing awkward and unsure. The bride sat attentively and smiled

Several girls expressed joy that they had convinced the "property management guy" to dance.

"Take it off!" a girl shouted.

My nervous facade faded, replaced by a grin. I lifted my polo shirt, revealing my shiny, pleather vest beneath. The bride's mouth dropped in surprise at first, and she gave a shriek of delight. The other women saw my vest and gave a cheer.

"He's a stripper!" one lady screamed. 

The bride placed her hands on my chest and groped my torso up and down. Next, she grabbed my zipper and yanked it downwards, opening my vest and exposing my chest and abs, which she touched with zeal.

I slowly stripped out of my pants and vest, leaving only my thong and boots on. While I was dancing with the bride, one lady came up from behind and grab my ass.

"I have a confession to make," I said to the crowd, motioning for silence. "I'm not really property management."

Everyone laughed.

A heavy-set woman took an exception to my ass, and continually fondled it. "I have a thing for asses, and you definitely have a nice one!"

Several of her friends scolded her, but I assured them that I did not mind. It was part of the job.

My favorite person that evening was a brunette wearing a miniskirt. She had on a red polyester thong that had a black outline and a camel toe wedged in the middle. I rubbed myself against her camel toe, getting partially aroused in the process.

"Can I keep him?" the brunette asked her friends, wrapping her legs around my waist and crossing them at her ankles. "Or can he at least stay the night with me?"

My performance went smoothly. Most of the crowd participated with me to some degree, and even a few ladies took body shots from my mid-section. 

After I finished my strip show, the girls surrounded me to ask help for their scavenger hunt. I decided to be a good sport and play along.

The blue team asked me to have a picture taken with a member of their team holding a razor and pretending to shave my leg. The scavenger hunt rules stated that they were supposed to shave my leg hair, but since my legs were already shaved, the pretense was good enough.

The pink team asked me to strike a silly pose with one of their team members for a picture. I posed with the woman making goofy faces together. That team giggled when they reviewed the picture.

A member of the yellow team needed to write her name on me and take a picture of it. I allowed her to write "Donna" on my arm with a black marker, and we took a picture where I held my arm up to the camera.

Several other team members asked a few questions, such as if my name was "Michael," or if I had any tattoos. I told them "no."

After I satisfied most of the teams, the crowd had one last request: they wanted to buy the thong that I was wearing.

That was one of the items on their scavenger hunt checklist.

They offered $20. I was hesitant at first, because this was my brand new thong that I paid more than $30 for from California Muscle. Then this thought occurred to me: these girls paid a lot of money for a once in a lifetime event with a male stripper, so giving them my thong would really add to their memories. I would be doing them a service.

I did not want to give them my brand new thong though. I had another one in my duffel bag that was in the trunk of my car that was clean. The women offered to follow me out to the street to get it.

My car was parked on the side of the small and narrow concrete road that winded through the cloister of cottages. The few ladies that accompanied me made a lot of noise to attract the attention of a group of people sitting on the porch of a cottage nearby. The group stopped what they were doing and stared at us, a group of girls surrounding one lone guy, in curiosity.

While I opened the trunk of my car to search for my extra thong, the ladies on separate teams began arguing about who would get to buy my thong.

"I offered him money for his underwear first!"

"But you got to shave his leg already!"

"Hey, we got dibs on his underwear!"

"Dion, can you give your underwear to us instead?"

This spectacle carried on while I was searching. I turned around and looked down at the people sitting on a porch nearby. All of them stared in silence, probably wondering what the hell a group of girls were doing fighting over a man's underwear.

When I found my older thong, the women from separate teams finally agreed that the blue team would purchase my thong.

The team leader handed me $40 and I held out the older thong to her.

"Can we have the thong you're wearing, Dion?" she asked me.

"Yeah, the rules state that it has to be the one you're wearing."

I looked around in amazement. These women were eager and excited to have my thong. Even the neighbors on the porch seemed to lean on the edge of their seats to see the outcome.

"Okay," I agreed.

We all went back inside. I went into the bathroom to change. I handed the blue team leader my brand new thong, and she snatched it with gratitude. Next, she placed it against another girl's face.

"Smell it, bitch!" she said. "You know you want it."

We all laughed at that.

Another woman took the thong from the blue team leader and wore it on her head like a headband.

After I left, the blue team leader sent me a picture of herself with my thong wrapped around her hat. I smiled when I saw it.

My Thong on Blue Team Leader's Hat

I never thought in my lifetime that I could sell my underwear to women. I guess that's just one more thing I can check off on my list of "Things That I Have Done."



Post Script:

The paying customer said that she would e-mail me some pics from the party. So far, I haven't gotten any, but when I do, I will make another update.

Regarding my performance, here is a text message she sent me after I left:

"Thank you again! Everyone has been singing your praises! hahaha"