Monday, July 20, 2015

Chapter Six: Preparations

Chapter Six from American Stripper.

Previous chapter: The Interview

Chapter Six: Preparations

Being the type of person who rarely ventured out to clubs or dressed up, I hardly had anything appropriate in my wardrobe. I went shopping and dropped a good portion of my savings on some outfits.
I bought a cowboy outfit at a Western store, a pair of pleather pants from Hot Topic, and some khaki pants, a brown, polyester button-down shirt from The Buckle (when they still sold clothes for men), and a skin-tight black Lycra shirt. It was a questionable investment, especially if I flunked on Friday. All the more reason to pass the test.
A good performance required practice and planning. I figured that a girl would be the best judge of a male stripper act, so I called Holly and asked if she’d be willing to come over to my apartment and critique my performance.

“Sure! Of course!” she said. “What do I have to do?”
“Just act like you’re watching a male stripper perform,” I said. “Give me a few pointers on what you’d like to see, or what I can do better.” 
“Cool! Want me to bring some of my girlfriends?”
“Yeah!” I said. “Think they’ll want to see it?”
“Of course! Are you kidding?” 
We made plans that Holly to meet on Wednesday evening, just two days before my first show with Titus. That was also the day that my roommate, Beaumont, was scheduled to work, so I could avoid the awkwardness of having him around while I practiced prancing and dancing in a thong. 
The apartment was small, cramped, and unimpressive to the average observer. I had a decent home gym in the living room, complete with a squat rack, an adjustable bench, and a variety of plates and dumbells. The couch and entertainment center sat at the edge of the room beyond the weights. The kitchen merged with the living room, and a computer desk stood on its wobbly legs in the corner instead of a dining table. I hoped Holly didn’t mind the sparse furnishings.
I lined up adjustable weight bench and another chair in my apartment for Holly and her friends. A CD player with a burned CD mix of hip-hop songs sat on the kitchen floor. 
When Wednesday evening came, Holly showed up alone.
“What happened to your friends?” I asked, unable to hide my disappointment. 
“Sarah had to study for an exam, and Julie had to work,” Holly said. “Don’t worry about them. Show me what you got!”
I gathered my club attire recently purchased from the Buckle and the man thong, and disappeared into the bedroom to change. I returned and turned on some hip-hop.
Holly sat in the chair and looked up at me with a wide grin. “Let’s see your moves.”
I began to dance in front of her. My shirt came off first. Then the pants came off, leaving only my thong. Holly looked me up and down, still wearing a smile. “Nice! You have sexy legs!”
“Thanks.” I turned around, showing her my backside, feeling self-conscience and ridiculous.
“Nice ass!”
Her compliments fueled me to continue. After dancing another minute, I exhausted all the moves of my dance repertoire, which included gyrating my hips, swaying my shoulders and arm, and performing a few stationary slides and an occasional dip. Not knowing what else to do, I got closer to Holly and thrust my hips towards her in time to the beat of the music. She put her hands against my waist. Next, I leaned down towards her face, because at the time, I thought the point of the male stripper act was to be seductive.
Holly’s smile disappeared. She looked up at me with her eyes half closed and her lips parted. Her breathing became audible and deep. Even with my limited experience, I could see the lust in her eyes.
Our lips met. Her right hand went from my hip to massage the front of my thong, causing me to swell and burst forth from the top.
“Aren’t you big?” Holly said, stroking me gently.
She leaned forward and put her lips around the head. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back, and breathed out. Next, I reached down between her legs with two fingers and began rubbing her, feeling the outline of her through the thin fabric of her shorts. She spread her legs in response.
“Do you have any condoms?” she asked. 
My heart beat faster. There was a box of unopened condoms in the drawer of my nightstand, untouched for quite a long time. “Y-yeah. Just a second,” I said, sitting on the bed and fumbling through the drawer. This is really happening! I thought. 
Holly stripped completely naked and laid next to me on the bed. I rolled the condom on, clambered over her, and slid myself in. A combination of nervous and excitement built up too much pressure for me to control. It was over in less than a minute.
Holly looked up at me in surprise. “You’re done already?” she asked, the disappointment in her tone evident.
“Sorry,” I said, feeling lame and embarrassed. 
She went into the bathroom to rinse off. When she emerged, she was still naked. The sight of her lean body stirred a physical reaction from me, and I was ready for round two. This time, I vowed to deliver a more satisfactory performance. Unfortunately, I never got that chance. 
“I have to get going,” Holly said. Her face told everything. The lust in her eyes had evaporated and wouldn’t return. 
I still tried to persuade her. “Twenty more minutes won’t kill you.” 
“I’m already running late,” Holly said. 
“For what?”
“I have a date tonight with a guy from work!” she said impatiently.
I stood there in shock. We had just had sex and she was fretting about being late for a date. I couldn’t think of anything to say. 
Holly got dressed and headed towards the door. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow!”
I sat down and went over this night’s events in my head, feeling incredibly depressed. Not only did I not get a critique my stripping routine, I made a fool of myself in the process. My confidence for Friday plummeted. I didn’t feel like bothering anymore.
Later that night my roommate, Beaumont, came home from work and noticed my melancholy mood. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked.
Beaumont came from my hometown, and we graduated high school together. He’d joined the U.S. Marines and been honorably discharged due to an injury. We were good friends, so I told him about Holly.
He started laughing, which irritated me. I was not in the mood for ridicule. Then I recited the part about Holly leaving to go on a date with another guy, he broke out into a guffaw, clutching his side.
“You lucky son-of-a-bitch!” he said in between laughs. 
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You haven’t even worked yer first day at the job yet and yer already gettin’ pussy cause of it. Damn, man! Who cares if she didn’t like it? At least yer gettin’ laid! And you musta been doin’ somethin’ right while you were dancin’ fer her! Just do that same dancin’ for the ladies this Friday, and you’ll be fine.”
Upon examining things from that perspective, I began to cheer up a little. 
“Besides,” my roommate said with a giant smirk. “If someone’s gonna be upset, it should be that guy Holly went on a date with. At least yer not wining and dining somebody else’s sloppy seconds!”

Next Chapter: My First Bachelorette Party

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