* Girls From Manhattan *
My agent booked a show for me with some customers from Manhattan, New York. He gave me a brief warning about them, which was out of the ordinary.
"Just give a call and calm her down," my agent said. "You're gonna be this group's first male dancer ever, and the customer was really nervous speaking to me over the phone. You might need to ease her into this."
When I called the customer, whose name was Jen, she did seem a little nervous and unsure of herself. Moreover, my initial thought from speaking with her was that this was going to be a difficult performance.
"We're a bunch of prudes," Jen told me over the phone. "Most of us are married, in our 30s, and never seen a male stripper before.
"The bride is very shy and reserved," she continued. "So no grinding or rubbing on her or anything too physical."
Being "too physical" is part of my job, so I really didn't know where to start. I walked Jen through what my typical routine would consist of, minus a few of my more risqué acts, so I suggested doing a striptease and taking dollar bills off the bride. Jen thought my idea was tame enough. She wanted me to show up as a cop. Since she and her friends were renting a resort cottage in the Florida Panhandle instead of a crowded resort hotel, I had no problem with handling her request.
"So do any of the other girls know I'm showing up?" I asked.
This was an important question because girls who are unpleasantly surprised tend to make horrible customers.
"No. Just one other person besides me."
Her answer worried me.
Jen also wanted me to arrive at midnight, another oddity. Most bachelorette parties take place in the evening before the ladies go out. This group would have me right before bed. The good thing about a late party was that there would be no rush.
When I arrived at the cottage just before midnight, Jen met me outside at my car. She handed me the money and gave me an appraising look.
"I like your costume," she said. "This will definitely work!"
She walked back inside the cottage. From my car, I could see the entire living room of the cottage through the large, front window. Several girls were jumping up and down on the couches. They were laughing, yelling, and having a drunk and merry time. Nothing prudish about any of it.
I walked up to the front door and banged on it. The bride, a pretty girl with brown hair, opened the door.
"Ma'am, I need to talk to you about your party," I said, gesturing for her to allow me inside.
She did, looking very bothered that I was there.
"First," I said, waving a hand towards the radio, "y'all gotta turn that down."
The bride motioned with urgency for her friends to turn the music off, which they did. The other ladies became quiet.
"I'm so sorry about that," the bride said, turning to me and looking very apologetic. "We'll keep it quiet."
"Well, just lettin' ya know that if I better not have to come out here again," I said.
A hipster girl with glasses sneered at me. From her perch on the upper part of the couch, she asked, "Why do you have to be such a dick?"
I turned and stared at her. Everyone else gasped in surprise. The bride rounded on the hipster girl and urged her to shut up.
The hipster girl continued, "Everyone is having a good time and you're just being an asshole and ruining our fun."
"I'll tell you what, ma'am. I've only been here for a minute and you're already startin' to piss me off. Keep it up and I'll find a reason to throw your ass in jail."
"Find a reason then!" the hipster girl said.
By now, the bride was horrified. She tried to intervene and stop her friend.
"Shut up!" she told her friend. Then she turned to me and said, "I'm so sorry about her, officer."
I placed my hand on her shoulder and suggested that she sit down, while turning around and gesturing for Jen to turn the music up. The bride became flustered the turn of events, and as soon as she took a seat, the music came on. I began dancing and unbuttoning my police shirt.
Her eyes widened and she screamed in delight.
"I thought you were a real cop!" she said.
Once my shirt came off, the bride's hands found their way to my chest and abs. She groped and squeezed my muscles like I was her personal play toy.
Her friends crammed dollar bills into her bra and pants. Her laughter was full of mirth as I took each bill from her.
These girls weren't prudish at all.
Jen tapped me on the shoulder, wearing a look of approval, and said, "Your cop routine alone was worth the money for you coming out here!"
That comment made me happy. She was already a satisfied customer, and I had barely even started.
About half of the ladies did not participate. Those who did seemed to take sexual pleasure in my performance.
"There aren't many guys like you in Manhattan," an Indian lady said.
"Definitely not," her friend agreed. "The Southern accent is an extra charm."
Jen seemed to enjoy my company the most. After her friends and the bride were finished with me, she invited me to stay. Most of the crowd began to retire for the night.
I went in the kitchen with Jen where we talked a lot. A few other ladies joined for a short time, but they soon left us alone.
Jen suggested we dance together, so we reentered the living room and danced salsa, two-step, and even swing. She was much better than I was, and even corrected my mistakes. We smiled at each other as we trotted through the steps.
We made an odd duo. She wore a one-piece dress, and I wore a black pleather thong.
"You have a really hot body," she said shyly, admiring me up and down while we danced. "I just thought I'd tell you that."
After we danced, we talked some more for awhile. I discovered that she worked as a talent agent in Manhattan. She asked me a lot of questions about my job, such as how I got started and how long I have been doing it. I really enjoyed talking to her, and wanted to spend more time with her.
It was late now, about 2 o'clock in the morning. Almost everyone was asleep, or falling asleep. It was time for me to go.
Jen offered to walk me out.
"You were perfect," she said. "And attractive. This turned out to be a great experience. I was skeptical at first."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," I said.
We hugged and she kissed me on the cheek. She was still close to me.
"Well, too bad I didn't know you when I was in Manhattan last year," I said.
"If you come up again, give me a call. I'll be happy to show you around, Dion."
We hugged again. This time, we kissed each other on the lips. A light peck. Then our tongues intertwined.
She pulled away, as though she were on guard. I wondered if she was married or had a boyfriend. I remembered her words from earlier: "Most of us are married, in our 30s, and never seen a male stripper before."
Either way, I decided that it was best to go. However, we decided that one more hug was necessary, which led to another kiss. I ran my fingers through her blonde hair as I kissed her. We pulled away slowly.
"I had fun, Dion," she whispered. "I won't forget this. Call me if you're ever in Manhattan."
She stood on the front porch of the cottage and gave a final wave as I walked to my car. She returned back to Manhattan the next morning. I haven't heard from her since, but maybe I'll see her again in the future. Or maybe I'll just become a distant memory.