Chapter 7: My First Bachelorette Party

Chapter 7 from American Stripper

Previous chapter: Preparations

Chapter Seven: My First Bachelorette Party

March 2003.

It was Friday, the big day. Excitement prevented me from getting much sleep.

I had class that morning with Holly, and she offered her usual cheery greeting. “Good luck on your first show tonight!” she said as we walked out of class.

I shook my head. “I don’t feel like I’m ready.”

“Oh, stop that. You’ll do fine.”

“So how did your date go on Wednesday?” I asked.

“It went well,” she beamed. “We’re going out again tonight!”

“That’s great! I hope it goes well for you,” I said. To my surprise, I meant that. I had already convinced myself that she wasn’t my type, thus didn’t feel the pain of losing her to somebody else.

“Give me a call afterwards and let me know how your show goes.”

***

 

I arrived at French Addiction early that evening. Luckily, I wasn’t scheduled to work at the gym. Getting a shift covered on a Friday night was nearly impossible, so there would be a problem if this stripping gig took off.

Due to the neon lights in the windows, the lingerie store looked more like a brothel at night. The scantily clad female mannequins beckoned the occasional passerby to enter. There were three people in the store: Janice, the clerk from my first visit to the store, and a young, well-dressed Italian guy who resembled a Jersey Shore guido.

Janice looked up at me and smiled. “You made it, and you look nice! I love your shirt. It shows off your muscles!”

Janice's compliment pleased me. I’d worn the new black, skin-tight shirt made of Lycra and a pair of khakis.

I greeted everyone. The guy stared at me and gave a silent nod. He was clean-cut and stood a little shorter than me, with fairly long, black hair plastered full of gel. He wore a black, flashy button-down shirt with the top portion unbuttoned, exposing his hairy chest. He looked like the type of guy who would pose for the cover of a romance novel. His presence puzzled me since he didn’t seem like a customer.

“By the way, this is John,” Janice said. “He will also be training tonight.”

I introduced myself and shook his hand. Janice told us that Titus was on his way. She and the store clerk then went behind the counter to tend to the other duties of the store. With nothing better to do, I struck up a conversation with John while we waited for Titus.

“Are you nervous?” he asked me.

“I'm shaking,” I admitted, feeling my heart pound. Every few minutes, I wiped my sweaty hands against my khakis. “I just hope I don't chicken out.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to it,” John said with poise. He appeared calm and collected like this was a regular picnic outing, and that made me feel uneasy. “I’ve always wanted to do this. What about you?”

“I never really imagined myself in this job, but it seems like fun,” I admitted. “So how did you get into this job?”

“You know Alexis?” John asked.

I shook my head. “Can't say that I do.”

“She works here as a stripper, and we dated for a bit. She said I'd be perfect for stripping and she put in a good word for me to Janice, so all I gotta do is go along with Titus and do this.”

This unexpected development unsettled me. John had me beat in the looks department, or so I thought. I envied his confidence. And he dated one of the strippers!

At seven o’clock, Titus walked in like he was in charge of the room. He had a devious look to him. His choice of attire baffled me: he wore a faded button-down shirt with slacks, but had on a pair of flip-flops instead of dress shoes. Perhaps he planned on changing later.

Janice stepped out from behind the counter to hug Titus. She handed him a sheet of paper with the directions to the party and gestured to me and John, explaining that we were to accompany him for training.

“This is Titus,” she explained. “He’s been working with me for two years, and he has the most experience out of anyone here. He’ll tell you what to do, grade your performance, and report to me. If you do well, you’re in.”

As Janice spoke, Titus’s reptilian-like eyes studied John and me. His face displayed no emotion as he held out his hand and introduced himself. “You guys ready?”

“I'm ready,” I said, feeling the opposite. My hands were cold and clammy and I was breathing fast. I hoped no one else noticed how nervous I was. So here’s the guy I have to impress, I thought, resolving to get on Titus’s good side.

“Let's do this!” John said.

As soon as we were on the road, Titus began explaining the basics of male stripping to us.

“This is an easy job,” Titus said. “The most work you gonna be doin’ is drivin’ around. If they ask you to drive a long way for a job, don’t turn it down, ‘cause you gonna get paid more money for gas and your time. You guys hook up with a lot of bitches?”

“All the time,” John said. “Have to beat 'em off with a stick.”

I was too embarrassed to answer, thinking back to my unplanned quickie with Holly.

Titus chuckled at John's comment and continued, “Well, that ain’t nothin’, son, ‘cause you gonna be hookin’ up with more bitches with this job!”

“I like the sound of it already,” John said.

“One thing though,” Titus said. “Don't hook up with a bitch at the party. Get a number, leave, then get up with her later and hook up.”

“How come you don't hook up at the party?” John asked.

“Maaaan, you don’t want the other bitches complainin’ to Janice. Trust me, son. It looks bad.”

“So how did you get started in this?” I asked.

Titus explained that a friend of his introduced him to Janice two years ago and she offered him a job because she was low on dancers at the time. Since then, he had done over a hundred shows, stripped at every sorority at the University of Florida, and dealt with all kinds of girls. He spoke about stripping for rich ladies in expensive hotels, mansions, and limousines.

“Have you ever stripped for just one girl,” John asked. “Like she hired you for herself and no one else was there?”

Titus paused in thought. “Once. She answered the door wearin’ lingerie, and she was the only one there.”

“Holy shit!” John said.

Compared to my dreary life of gaming and schoolwork, Titus's life seemed like something out of a rock star’s biography. It was too good to be true.

“I take it that you like the job,” John said.

“Hell yeah,” Titus replied. “You two are gonna meet some bad bitches on dis job. Some bad bitches. It’s been crazy for me, son, and the money is good, too!”

John and I listened eagerly. Everything sounded so surreal, so perfect. There had to be a catch. “What do you hate about this job?” I asked Titus.

“Every now and then you’ll get a party full of stingy, stuck-up bitches, but that ain’t often. All you do is leave when that happens.”

I smiled. The gym had nothing on this!

John asked, “What happens if you’re dancing with a hot chick and you get hard? Do you just let it out?”

Titus laughed. “Man, this guy…”

We waited for an answer, but Titus didn’t say anything else. I was curious too, however. “So what happens?”

“You don’t get hard,” Titus said.

“What do you mean?” John asked. “Give me a hot chick and I'll get hard.”

I laughed, thinking back to the few times I’d danced with a random girl in a club – the very few times. I became very aroused at the physical interaction and imagined that the same thing would happen while stripping.

“Trust me on this: you don't get hard,” Titus replied. “You’ll be busy workin’ the crowd. It’s like givin’ a speech. You’re too distracted to think about sex. You’ll see what I mean when you start.”

“I don't know … I think I'd get hard if I was dancin' for a hot chick,” John said.

Titus snorted. “I’m not sayin' it don't happen, son.”

“So how good is the money?” I asked.

“Better than anything else out there. You’ll be makin’ at least a hundred bucks per party. Rich ladies will hook you up. This will be the easiest job you'll have.”

“How many shows a week do you do?”

“Depends, usually two to three times a week,” Titus answered.

I calculated the possible income of stripping and compared it to my current job. I worked an average of twenty hours a week for minimum wage, which was a little more than five dollars an hour. According to what Titus was describing, a good weekend of stripping could easily net a month’s salary at the gym. I’d stumbled upon a gold mine, and John must have surely felt the same way.

We arrived at our destination. Titus turned off the engine and said, “Always arrive early. They’ll complain if you’re late.”

Identical one-story apartments spread out before us. Titus pulled out his cell phone, along with the information sheet given to him at French Addiction, and dialed the contact number. A few moments passed. “Yo, I’m here,” Titus barked. “Come meet me outside.”

Before I could comment on how rude Titus was, he hung up the phone and looked over at me and John. “By the way, you comfortable dancin’ for black women?”

“Uh, s-sure,” John replied.

“Makes no difference to me.” It really didn't, because I felt like I was going to embarrass myself regardless of the crowd.

“Good. Because these are gonna be all black girls. They're usually a tough crowd … And another thing – always collect the money beforehand.”   

Two girls approached the car. Titus opened the car door and stepped out. John and I followed his lead.

“You got the money?” Titus asked them. Titus's lack of manners appalled and impressed me. No greeting or handshake, just a blunt demand. Customer service was not his best quality.

“Yeah,” the first girl said, handing him some cash, unperturbed. The second girl peered at me and John, confused. “Who’re these two white guys?” she asked.

“They’re strippin’ too,” Titus said as a matter-of-fact as he busied himself with counting the money. After flipping the wad of cash, he pocketed it with a look of satisfaction.

The second girl feasted her eyes all of us. “Lemme see y’all’s muscles.”

“Nah, ask them,” Titus said, pointing towards me and John.

The girl turned her attention to John. “Flex yo’ biceps.”

“Nah,” John said. “I don't work out much.”

“What about you?” she said to me.

I have never had a stranger ask me to flex before. Nevertheless, I lifted my right arm, flexed, and smiled sheepishly at her. I felt like an idiot, but the girl reached up and grabbed the baseball-sized lump. “Oooh, feel that,” she said to her friend.

“Nice,” her friend said, reaching out to squeeze my arm. Her hand brushed across my chest and my midsection. “Damn, you sexy for a white guy.”

“I’m half-Asian,” I informed her.

“Even better,” she replied. “I like me some Asian.”

The compliments from these two girls diminished my insecurities a little. Maybe I could go through with this.

The girls guided us to their apartment. Once we reached the door, Titus outlined his strategy to them. The girls would place the bachelorette in the middle of the room on a chair called the “hot seat.” He handed the boombox over and told them to play it when they were ready. That would cue us to enter.

Titus dropped his large sports bag onto the ground and pulled out a bottle of baby oil. He took off his shirt and began to lather his torso. The oil helped show off muscle definition better, he explained. It looked like a slippery mess to me. Nonetheless, I lathered some on when he offered me the bottle, then passed it on to John.

Next, Titus told us that he did push-ups to “pump the muscles up” for a fuller look. I doubted the girls would care whether or not our muscles were pumped or oiled, but I wasn’t going to argue with the person who was grading me. John also dropped down to do some push-ups. While we were alternating through sets of pushups, I noticed that Titus was still wearing his flip-flops and pointed out that fact to him.

“You wear these because they're easy to kick off,” Titus said, then pointed to my shoes. “You gonna have a hard time taking those off in the middle of the show – and you're wearing socks too!”

He had a valid point, but I still thought the flip-flops were unprofessional. Once again, I didn’t argue.

John asked, “So what kind of stuff will we be doing besides taking off our clothes?”

“Just pick a girl and booty dance with her,” Titus said. “That's all. It’s real easy.”

John looked confused. “Booty dance?”

“Like you do in a club,” Titus said. He offered no further elaboration, so I planned to just watch and mimic his actions. As I was doing another set push-ups, the sound of music emanated from the apartment. “That’s the cue – let’s go,” Titus said, opening the door. “Watch me for a few minutes, then join in.”

Everything happened fast. John and I scuffled into a den of shrieking ladies. Their screams caused me and John to freeze at the doorway. My whole body felt numb. The only thing I could do was watch Titus. My first instinct was to back up against the wall and blend in like a lizard camouflaging itself. I looked back and saw John already against the wall, wide-eyed.

The ladies hooted in excitement, bobbing up and down on the couches. They were, for the most part, much older – in their late thirties and forties. The bride sat apart from the rest on a wooden chair in the middle of the room. She wore a tiara, and tube top, and tight jeans that clung to her slender frame. Titus stood in front of her and took his shirt off, causing her to fan herself excitedly. The surrounding women cheered. The bride covered her face as Titus kicked off his flip-flops and took off his pants, leaving only a black thong. This caused an avalanche from the couches; some women poured over towards Titus to shove dollar bills into his thong. One girl fingered his chest and yowled in appreciation. Apparently, females did not have to abide by the “no touching” rule. They groped Titus like he was the last desirable man on Earth.

This moment seemed like a good time to jump in. I looked back at John. “Has it been about a minute? Should we go out there?”

“No, not yet,” he said, staring at the commotion in front of him. “Let’s wait a bit longer.”

Titus approached the bride again, and the girls backed off and resumed their original places on the couch. He grabbed the bride’s hand and pulled her up from the chair. She was smiling now and began to dance with him. Titus positioned his hands underneath her armpits, and lifted her up slowly. The bachelorette’s legs dangled just above the ground as Titus held her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as if by instinct. Titus continued holding her up as he leaned slightly back and bounced her above his waist, giving the impression that she was riding a bucking stallion. I committed that move to memory.

After a few moments, Titus set her down and moved towards the other women. I knew that more than “a few” minutes had passed. I was supposed to join in, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. I looked at John for direction, hoping he would go so I wouldn’t feel so awkward. “Should we join in now?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

Titus seized another girl from the crowd and began dancing with her. He turned and looked at me and John and nodded.

John had backed up near the doorway and into a corner. Realization hit me – he was terrified, more so than I was. All of that bravado earlier was just an act. I looked back at Titus, who turned around once again and waved us over, this time his face contorted with a hint of irritation.

“You go ahead, man,” he said. “I’ll join in a sec.”

It was now or never. I felt like the kid who’d climbed the tall diving board at the swimming pool for the first time. I didn’t want to jump, but I couldn’t turn back now. There would be no second chance. So I took the plunge and headed straight toward the crowd of ladies on the couch.

They sat up as I drew near. I approached them with a detached air, as though I were playing a video game and controlling another human body to do my bidding. My shirt came off and a pair of hands began unbuttoning my pants. The surrounding ladies cheered and complimented me on my body, which caused my morale to soar. The shy demeanor disappeared.

I eased my pants down, exposing my black thong and my ass, which I turned and faced towards my audience. One of the girls reached out, pulled the side strap of my thong out and slipped a dollar in. That was the first dollar I earned in this profession. Another girl reached around and tucked a dollar bill into the front of the thong. My underwear resembled the collection tray at church, and everyone here seemed happy to donate.

By now, I felt comfortable enough to remove my pants completely so I could move freely about the room. I tried to kick off my dress shoes so I could remove my pants, but stumbled due to my pants falling down to my ankles. My face flushed with embarrassment. Now I understood why Titus wore those ridiculous flip-flops. One of the girls crouched down and said, “Here, lemme help you with that, baby," and she proceeded to help remove my shoes, socks, and pants. “I’ll help you take yo clothes off any day, sugar!”

I winked at her. “I’d love that.”

She squealed in pleasure as we embraced and moved along to the beat of the music. I imitated Titus's move from earlier and pick her up. To my pleasant surprise, she wrapped her legs around me, and I thrust my hips back and forth against her. After I finished and set her down onto the couch, I looked over at Titus. Apparently, he just dry-humped a lot of girls and shook his crotch at them. Not knowing what else to do, I copied him. Some girls were shy and didn’t want to participate. This was a little discouraging, but I moved onto the next girl until I found someone who was eager to participate.

As the show continued, a few girls surrounded me and Titus. A hand smacked my ass. Another plucked the string of my thong and deposited another dollar. The whole scene looked like the dance floor at a club, except that Titus and I were the only guys present amidst a dozen eager women, with one lonesome guy watching from the sidelines.

One woman pressed her ass against my cock and began gyrating it. Titus was right – I didn't get hard. My mind was too focused on entertaining these girls to fall into a relaxed state of arousal.

While the ladies danced around us, Titus waved John over one final time, but to no avail. John had glued himself into the corner and refused to budge. Being the only male in the room with clothes on, John looked ironically awkward and out of place. Titus gave up and resumed dancing.

 For the finale, Titus singled out the bride, picked her up, and lay her on the floor. He positioned his crotch over her face, then beckoned me over. “Get that side,” he said, nodding towards the direction of her waist. I picked up on his cue and took my position opposite of him, grabbing her ankles and spreading her legs. This gave off the impression that she was getting gangbanged, and she giggled hysterically as her friends snapped pictures.

Only one thought crossed my mind as I posed in the simulated sex position: Women actually pay for this!

The ending to the party was anti-climactic. Titus stood in the middle of the room and announced, “All right, bitches – it’s time for pictures!”

Everyone gathered for a group photograph. Titus told me to stand in the middle next to the bride as he stood on the other side of her. The rest of the ladies flanked us except for the one taking the pictures. After taking a few photos, she attempted to swap out with another girl so she could get in the pictures, but then she noticed John, who was still standing in the corner.

“Hey, white boy,” she said. “Can you take a picture for us?”

“Sure,” John said, pleased at finally having something to do.

 The other women promptly handed him their cameras, asking him to take a picture with each. He had to juggle the cameras to avoid dropping them.

First, Titus and I did regular poses with the girls, but we also took a few candid shots with the bachelorette. For one shot, Titus stood behind her, bent her over, grabbed her hips, and acted like he was ramming her from behind. During another shot, he told the bride to get on her knees, which she did. Then he positioned me to stand in front of her with my back facing the camera, so it looked like she was performing oral. The ladies giggled through every photograph.

    Once we finished taking pictures, Titus announced that we were finished. The ladies thanked us. Titus put his clothes back on, sliding on his shirt and pants while slipping his feet into his flip-flops. One lady handed me a drink and helped me put my clothes on. She kissed me on the cheek afterwards. I left that apartment with a feeling of euphoria that I had never experienced before.

“So what’d you think?” Titus asked me, as all three of us sat down into his car. I noticed that he was talking to me and not John.

“It looks like fun,” John answered before I could say anything.

Titus cast John a reproachful glance. “What happened to you, son? Why weren’t you out there with us?”

John sputtered a few excuses about watching and learning more, and promised to strip for sure at the next show.

Titus said nothing. Instead, he looked at me. “So how was it?”

“I loved it!” I said. “I can’t believe you get paid for this.”

“See? I told ya,” Titus said. “This is an easy job.”

“Speaking of which,” I said, pulling out the dollar bills the girls gave me. “This was your show. You should have the money.”

Titus looked at the wadded, wrinkled money without interest. “Nah, that’s your money, man. You earned it, not me. And it’s been all over your junk anyway, so I don't wanna touch it.”

“Thanks,” I said, stuffing the bills into my pocket.

“What was even better was that you were able dance for a crowd of black girls. They’re usually a tough crowd, especially if you ain’t black, and you managed to pull it off.”

“Those girls were awesome,” I said.

 “I’ll get the next show, man,” John said. “I just didn't think those girls would like me because I'm not black.”

“Man, he ain't black, either—” Titus said, pointing at me—“and he did it. If you gonna get into this job, you gotta strip for all kinds of people. I strip for whites, Asians, black – everybody.”

“I hear ya. I'll definitely nail the next show.”

 We arrived at French Addiction. As we were getting out of the car, Titus told me to stay behind for a few minutes. John shook hands with me and Titus. “Next party for sure, man!” he told Titus.

As soon as John was gone, Titus turned toward me with a look of approval. “You’re definitely in. I’ll tell Janice how ya did.”

We exchanged numbers and parted ways. I went home replaying the night’s events in my head, elated about what awaited me in the near future. From that moment, I knew that my life was going to change. I’d caught a glimpse of the other side, and wanted to spend more time there.

Next chapter: More Obstacles

A First Time for Everything

A girl puked on me at a bachelorette party last night.

She was taking a body shot from my midsection. She took the first three with glee. I should have stopped there, but there was only a small sliver of liquid left in the shot glass, so I emptied it out on my abs. She lapped up the remnants and sat up.

Suddenly, she lurched forward and spat it out on my abs. Then she retched and more liquid followed. The rest of the party stared in horror as she got up and bolted towards the bathroom.

The girl next in line to take a body shot off of me quickly handed me a towel. "I'm so sorry about that!" she said.

Another girl directed me towards the shower, apologizing along the way. I assured her that everything was fine.

The party was officially over. Vomit wields that kind of power over people.

I have always said that stripping is an interesting job, because each day at work is different. Well, in my twelve plus years of doing this, I had never been puked on before.

The Stolen Bike

Below is one of many stories from my memoir, American Stripper:


The Stolen Bike



A birthday party requested a male stripper in a police costume to surprise the birthday girl. The party took place in a middle-class subdivision on the outskirts of Gainesville. It was dark, around 9 o’clock. No one walked the sidewalks at this time, and the only vehicles around were parked along the streets or in driveways.

I knew better than to drive around dressed like a cop, so I wore a thin nylon jacket over my uniform. When I got out of my car, I took off the jacket and fastened my gun belt. 

I walked towards the modern ranch-style house to begin my show.

The customer, a middle-aged woman, met me on the outside porch and handed over a wad of cash. “We’re running a bit behind. Can you give us ten minutes before you knock?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Thanks!” she said. “Try to keep out of sight from the windows, because I’m worried she might be able to see you on the porch.”

The porch light illuminated the surrounding area brightly, so I walked across the lawn and waited in the shadow of a tree.

Suddenly a shrill voice yelled, “Officer! Officer!”

A boy ran towards me. I had nowhere to go. I stood there dumbstruck as he came to a stop in front of me, panting. He looked no older than ten.

“Excuse me, officer,” he panted. “I’d like to report a stolen bike.”

What exactly do I tell this kid? I thought. I couldn’t tell him the truth – that I wasn’t really a cop, but a male stripper who was going to bare it all for his female neighbor – but I didn’t want to lie to him, either. Perhaps a vague approach would work best. “I’m a little busy here,” I said.

“What’re you doing?”

“I have to go in there,” I said, pointing at the house.

“What did they do?” he asked.

“I can’t discuss that.”

“Can I stay and watch?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I took a breath to hold my patience in check. I wanted snap at him, but didn’t want him running home to his parents crying about how some cop told him to fuck off. 

“Look,” I told him firmly. “It’s late. You need to go home so I can do my job.”

“What about my bike?”

“You can file a report at the police station. For the time being, don’t leave your things outside so people can steal them.”

The boy gave me a look of shocked disappointment, as though I had betrayed him. He turned around and walked away, shoulders slumped. I felt horrible. At least I didn’t have to lie to him. Before he had a chance to change his mind and return, I clambered up the porch and knocked on the door, not caring if the party was ready.

A Sweet Letter from a Customer

A short while ago I had forgotten my music player and portable speaker at a bachelorette party in Panama City. I didn't realize it until the following night when I was getting ready to work another party, which caused me to scramble for a substitute player. So I called the previous customer and asked her if I had left the items. She confirmed that I did, and offered to mail them back to me. I text messaged her my mailing address.

The package arrived with all of my things intact. I was grateful. Usually if I forget items, most people won't even bother to help me get them back.

In addition my music player and the speaker, the customer attached this card sealed in a pretty red envelope:

In case you have trouble reading the message, it says the following:

Hey Dion! 

I went ahead and charged everything for you. I am sorry that you forgot them. Thank you for being awesome for our bachelorette party/weekend! 

Everyone had a great time! Oh and thanks for getting those guys off of our limo. Some people know no boundaries. But thanks for everything, again! Good luck with your book! I have always wanted to write one. I look forward to reading it. 

Have a great day,
(Name omitted)

That letter made me smile. It also made me realize how such nice customers make this job so much fun and rewarding. In return, I promised to mail her a free copy of my book along with another random gift.

Senior Citizen Outing

Last night, a group of old ladies got together and hired a male stripper (me) for their evening's entertainment. They turned out to be a wild bunch despite being over sixty and seventy. Maybe it had something to do with the insecurities and inhibitions of youth fading away with age. Below are some of the memorable quotes from them:

• "Careful with me... I have a bad hip!"
• "It's been a long time since I felt a man this young, this smooth. My husband is all wrinkly and saggy."
• "I touched the dance's penis more in the last three minutes than I've touched my husband's in the last three years!"
• "I may be old, but that doesn't mean I can't have fun with you all night long!
  
  
  A lady in her forties sat next to her mother and said this:
• "Mom, quit doing that to him! You're embarrassing me!"

Parties like these are rare, considering most of my clientele are girls in their twenties. Nonetheless, I had a good time, and they tipped me well above the average mark.

Rally From Disaster

The following story is a chapter from my book, "Behind the G-String: Dion's Guide to Becoming a Male Stripper"

Rally From Disaster

Nothing was going according to plan.

The bachelorette party canceled two hours before my scheduled arrival time. Apparently, the bachelorette's fiancé learned that a male stripper was going to show up and didn't take too well to the news. The bachelorette's friends thought it was wise to cancel my show to avoid the consequential fireworks show.

They notified my agent, who in turn told me. I was a little disappointed at the prospect of losing out on several hundred potential dollars, but there was nothing I could do. To salvage the scattered pieces of my planned Saturday, I decided to make the best of what was left and lift weights. 

Shortly into my workout, the girls called me again to reschedule. The bachelorette had discovered that her surprise was a male stripper and insisted on having one despite her fiancé’s wishes. I scurried about to get ready.

Over the phone, Hana, the girl who hired me, sounded hell bent on a night of decadence and perversions. She requested a police costume with handcuffs. She also said that the girls never seen a male stripper before so they didn't know what to expect. I suggested that the girls and I could take body shots off of each other, followed by a game of eating sliced strawberries off random body parts. Hana loved the idea, saying that the party was going to be “wild.”

"By the way, you're in for a treat," Hana said. "We're all really cute." 

Everything sounded great so far. 

I arrived at Hana's location almost on time, which was a miracle considering they’d changed their minds last minute. The girls had rented a three-story beach condo in Destin, Florida with a great view of the sugar-white sand and the ocean.

Hana met me outside and paid me two-hundred and fifty dollars. I gave her a small boombox and followed her into the house. As I changed into my police costume, I heard the music blare from my boombox upstairs and the cheers of half a dozen drunken girls. They seemed ready.

I went upstairs and started my routine.

The bachelorette wore a white veil and sat apart from the other girls in an armchair. I told her that she was in big trouble and proceeded to handcuff her, which was met with a resounding cheer from her friends. I sat her back down in the chair and began to strip. My police shirt came off first, then my pants.

Then the atmosphere of the room turned glum.

It started when the bachelorette shirked away, demanding that I lavish my attention towards another girl. I tried to finish my strip show in front of the bachelorette, but she shook her head and looked away, frantically jerking her head towards a girl sitting on a nearby couch. "Get her!"

Seeing no sense in pushing my luck against an unwilling participant, I sauntered over to the girl on the couch, who responded by getting up and bolting out of the room.

The bachelorette pointed to another girl in the kitchen, so I went after her. The girl in the kitchen began backing away, making it clear that she wanted nothing to do with me. "Get the bride," she said, backing into the hallway. "It's her party."

"Yeah, get the bride," another girl said.

However, the bride shook her head.

"Come on, what are you doing?" Hana cried. "Show us some moves. Do something fun! This sucks so far."

The thread unraveled, causing the whole tapestry of the party to fall apart. No girl wanted to get near me, and without an interactive audience, there was no way for me to continue my performance.

To make matters worse, Hana began to heckle me.

"I paid two-hundred and fifty dollars for you," she said. "And I'm not feelin' it. I'm definitely not gettin' my money's worth."

So much for my initial presumption of this crowd. It was far from “wild.” No one wanted to do body shots, and my idea of extracting strawberries was out of the question. I tried to dance with the other girls with one last feeble attempt stop the inevitable destruction, but they all ran away. Then I danced alone with the hopes that the girls would be content with just watching. They weren’t.

"Is this your first time doing this?" one girl asked in a derisive tone.

 Hana threw a banana at me, hitting me in the chest.

"Do something with that," she said.

I stopped what I was doing and shot a stern look at her. "Don't throw shit at me," I said.

"Then, do something!" she said. "Show us some moves! Pick up a dollar with your butt cheeks. I paid a lot of money for you and so far, I'm not impressed."

By now, the thread of this party unraveled almost to the point of where no amount of sewing could stitch it back together again. Early on in my career, I would have ended the party right then and there since I had already collected the money. That was then though.

I had a new tactic. Instead of scrambling to mend the fabric myself, I decided to hand the thread and the needle over to Hana as though she bore the responsibility of fixing everything. 

"Listen," I said, walking up to her. "I don't know what idea you have of male stripping, but I'm not here to do backflips or tricks with bananas. The amount of fun y'all are gonna have depends on participation. You gotta meet me halfway, and right now, I'm in the middle and y'all aren't doing anything to meet me."

I may have sounded harsh because Hana stared at me in shock. I did not care at this point though. The awkwardness was too suffocating to spend another minute wallowing in ridicule and shame. To my surprise though, Hana asked in earnest, "So do women at your other parties participate more?"

"Yeah," I said. "They play along and everyone has fun. I’ve done hundreds of these parties, so I’m tellin’ ya from experience. If everyone is running and not participating, then we're both gonna be bored. I'm not trying to be rude, but I really want y'all to have a good time."

A brunette girl stepped forward. "Here, I'll join in," she said. "What do you want me to do?"

Her sudden compliance was unexpected, but this was something I could work with. "We can do this," I said, placing my hands underneath her arms and lifting her up.

"What's going on?!" she said, eyes bulging.

"Act like you're riding a stallion," I smiled. "Relax---I'm not gonna bite."

It took her awhile to comprehend what was going on, but the brunette finally wrapped her arms around my neck and legs around my hips. After she jostled awhile from my bucking motion, she let go of her arms, leaving me to shoulder most of her weight. She leaned back, smiling and relaxing. The other girls watched in silence at first, then began to cheer. I could see Hana talking to her friends in the background as I humped the brunette from my standing position. 

Once I set her down, another volunteer came forward with a wad of dollar bills in her bra. I placed her onto the couch, straddled her, and buried my face into her cleavage to get the money out. Someone turned off the lights at this point, and the girls were chanting their approval. The girl underneath me seemed stiff and nervous at first, but she wrapped her arms around me while I licked the area around her breasts. Once I was done with her, another girl came forward.

"Unzip the back of my dress," said the newcomer.

I did so. It was a black and white one-piece dress. The zipper came halfway down the dress, and once unzipped, the girl was able to pull the straps off her shoulders. It fell to the floor revealing a slender form clad in only bra and a thong. Her bra bulged with money. I licked all around her breasts, much to the delight of her friends.

Soon, everyone was chanting my name: "Di-on! Di-on! Di-on!" 

The bachelorette went next. I took my physical exchange with her to a lesser extent than the others, but she decided to venture some mischief of her own by lifting up her dress to allow me to take the money sticking out of her underwear. 

Hana came forward with her dress lifted as well, exposing her white-laced panties with dollar bills protruding from the sides. I deposited her onto the couch and rubbed myself against her, simulating sex in the missionary position. The girls were screaming at this point. All trace of tension in the air was gone, replaced by a euphoria. I felt like I could do almost anything at this point.

"It's feeling wet down there," I joked to Hana, "and I don't see you sweating."

Shrieks of laughter filled the room. Hana yelped in a mixture of mirth and embarrassment.

After Hana, another girl with money in her panties came forward. I licked her ass cheek, her inner thighs, before taking the money.

Next, I took body shots of Crown Royal whiskey off of most of the girls' midsections. They were all beautiful and in good shape, and I was having as much fun as the girls were. After a few shots, we brought out the sliced strawberries, which were placed into the participant's mouth to where I would extract it with my mouth after taking a body shot from her abs. The girls said that this game was their favorite.

While I was about to take a body shot, one girl approached me from behind, lifted up her dress and pulled the dress down over my face, pressing her pussy against me.

The debauchery continued and during the midst of it all, Hana asked how much the party had improved.

"I'd give y'all an 'A+' right about now," I said.

"Wanna see my boobs?" she asked.

Before I could answer, she lowered the front of her dress, revealing her pleasant C cups.

"You like 'em?" she asked. 

"They're very nice."

“Suck on them,” she demanded.

I happily obliged, taking in a mouthful of her right breast. The other women roared in approval. Hana began to breathe deep and slow. I showed an equal amount of attention to her other breast as well.

“I bet you love this,” Hana said.

“Just a little,” I replied.

“Only a little?” Hana asked.

“A little too much.”

Everyone laughed. Someone commented about how my job was the ultimate gig for a guy.

"You'll like Mindy's boobs then," Hana said. "She just got fake ones. Mindy, show him your boobs."

Mindy was a blonde girl in a gray dress. Her breasts very large, round, and she held them in both of her hands for the whole room to see. Most of the other girls mimicked Mindy and Hana, lowering their tops and showing me their breasts.

During the midst of the impromptu exhibition, one of the girls in the background announced that their taxi would arrive soon. They planned to hit the clubs. It was time for me to end the party and collect my stuff.

"Give Dion a round of applause, everyone!" Hana announced.

Everyone in the room clapped their hands and cheered and I extended an arm and gave a flourishing bow.

Hana came up to me and said, "We had a great time. Sorry we sucked at first, but we kicked ass in the end, didn't we?"

"You did! I'm glad y'all had a good time, and I had a great time as well. That's what it's all about."

Then, Mindy came up to me and wrapped her arms around me and leaned on me with the lack of grace equal to her level of drunkenness. "Dion, you're a very handsome guy with a great body and a good personality. If I weren't engaged to such a wonderful man, I'd love to be with someone like you."

Some girls looked at each other in alarm and confusion. A few smirked. I guessed that Mindy was normally more reserved and conservative. Now she was drunk and horny.

I approached and thanked each girl individually. They told me nice things, and some apologized for "being stiff at first."

Before leaving, I asked if I could go out on the balcony to look at the beach scenery. I made a habit of enjoying the ocean views of the beach condos and hotels whenever I visited Destin, Florida or Gulf Shores, Alabama.

"Sure, go ahead," one girl said.

I went outside. The sound of the waves and the wind greeted me. The water reflected the moonlight. Mindy was out there, lounging in a chair with a glass of wine. She invited me to sit with her. I pulled up a chair.

"How did you get into this profession?" she asked.

I told her how I started in college and branched out from there. I told her about the various jobs I had and the places I lived. I then asked Mindy about her life. According to her, she was twenty-four years old, came from a wealthy family, was a multimillionaire, and a "right-wing, God-fearing Christian." She said that she was thankful that she was blessed with a good life and beauty.

I couldn't argue with her. She was beautiful and wealthy. A convenient combination. "If you weren't taken, I'd ask you out right now," I told her.

Mindy turned towards me and placed her hand on my arm and left it there. "Well now, I'm sure we'd make a hot couple. I don't know if blondes are your type."

One of the girls flipped on the outdoor balcony lights, interrupting us. Mindy did not seem eager to go, but I figured by the restless activity inside that the girls were ready to go out.

"Don't feel like you have to rush," Mindy said. "You can stay longer. Don't worry about them."

I could have, but it was time to leave. I had a lot of things to do the next day.

On the way out, Hana gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "So were we awesome?"

"Absolutely!" I told her. "And very hot."

She, along with several other girls, smiled upon hearing that. They insisted on booking me again in the future, promising to be even “crazier” next time. We all said our good-byes.

Once I got into my car, I breathed a sigh of relief. That whole incident could have gone the opposite direction and made it one of the worst parties of my career. It amazed me how a little explanation changed the whole dynamic of everyone’s attitude. I was glad I didn’t give up on them.  

A Sweet Job Offer

I work for a few agencies. One of them has an opening for a male stripper position to cover the areas near me. The company asked me to search around for a potential employee because it's very difficult for them to find any good talent They hooked me up with a lot of work, so why not return the favor? Plus, they offered to pay me a referral fee for doing so.

Some people may think that I'm setting up potential competition to replace me, but that was not the case. The agency would give me first dibs on all shows. I am reliable and established. The new guy would get the shows that I turned down or couldn't do. No problem for me, and the agency and the new male stripper benefit. Hell, even I benefit from a kickback. Everyone wins.

There was a 21-year-old guy in my gym who fit the bill. He had the looks, the build, the height, and an outgoing and friendly personality. Moreover, he's a college student and works a minimum wage job. In other words, he had perfect recipe for becoming a male stripper. He even reminded me of a younger version of myself when I first started stripping at 21, except this guy was taller, better built, and better looking.

Throughout the course of several gym visits, I talked to him. I brought up the subject that a company was hiring for male strippers that work female-only parties. He said that it seemed like a dream job, so I handed him my agency's contact information and told him they were hiring in the area. I added that I knew the owner of the agency. At this point, this kid did not know I was a male stripper.

Here's his reply: "Oh, can you tell him to call me then?"

I don't know if he just lacked maturity and experience, or maybe he wasn't that interested. Either way, I thought that was a lackadaisical response. When an employer has an open position, then the applicant should put forth effort to initiate contact and prove himself worthy. Not the other way around. I chose the nice route of explaining reality to him and said, "This guy gets tons of phone calls all the time. He gets over 30 applicants a week. I don't think he has time to juggle for calling you. You gotta call him."

"Okay, I will."

One week later, my agent asked if I found anyone in the area, because he lost two shows due to a lack of manpower. I would have taken those shows, but I had prior bookings and can't be in two places at once. I thought by now that the kid from the gym had plenty of time to contact the agency. I gave my agent the kid's name and asked if he applied yet.

"He didn't contact me," my agent said.

"Well fuck," I said. "That was a week ago at the gym. He had plenty of time."

"Talk to him and see the next time you're at the gym."

A few days later, I ran into the kid at the gym again. He approached me and talked about getting done with finals and working out. We conversed about random bullshit for awhile until I asked him if he applied at the agency.

"Not yet, but I'll do that tonight."

I decided to be straight with this kid because he seemed to lack the confidence. Maybe he was just nervous or shy, and needed a little push in the right direction. I made sure that no one was around, then I said, "Okay, I'll be straight with you. I work for this company as a male stripper."

My statement took him by surprise. I usually keep my side job a secret, and I was risking my reputation for this kid.

"If you tell anyone else about this, I will deny it up and down and tell them that you're crazy and making up shit."

The kid instantly shook his head and said, "No, I won't tell anyone."

"All right then. The owner of that agency needs some more manpower. It's a great fuckin job. I made $1,100 last week stripping and dancing for girls and did less than 15 hours of work. Anyway, you got the looks and demeanor for the job, you just need the training. I have a party of a dozen girls in their 20's this Friday. You can tag along, and I'll train you. You got a girlfriend?"

He shook his head. "Pffft. Fuck no!"

"Good. Most girlfriends have a problem with this job. You'll be meeting a lot of girls who will want you. Most men dream of working this gig. So, you interested?"

"Um, I don't know... It sounds great and all, especially the money."

"It beats working for minimum wage."

He asked me a few more questions, nodding his head along to my glorious descriptions of the parties of women. He expressed doubt about his dancing abilities, but I assured him that one can train to become a better dancer. My statement about the pay is what piqued his interest.

"That's some good money. This sounds like some Magic Mike shit."

"If you're interested, give me a call," I said, giving him my number.

He copied it down on his cell phone. As of today, May 9, 2014, the day of the show, the kid still hasn't called me yet. Perhaps he chickened out, or he thought I was full of shit.

I don't get it. Most men would love to do this job, but can't due to various physical or mental limitations. I have gotten hundreds of e-mails from guys wanting to become male strippers. Now I offer this kid a job that most men fantasize about when they're jacking off, and he doesn't want it.

Damn kids these days. No wonder my agent has a hard time finding male strippers.

***Edit (May 14, 2014)***

My agent asked if there were any prospective applicants. I told him the story above. Here was my agent's response: "That doesn't surprise me. Most guys chicken out. They like the idea of doing this job, but they get cold feet when it's show time."

Stripping On A Movie Set - Part 2

Continued from Part 1 - Click here to read

(Author's note: I will combine both part 1 and 2 into one complete post later.)

Ambyr Childers - photo courtesy of Esquire Magazine

Once Tiffanie was done painting the anniversary message on my chest and back, I put on my Metro Police outfit as quickly as I could. After that, the film crew ushered me into a white van, and we took off for the movie set that was being filmed a few blocks away. The driver used a two-way radio to communicate with another person on the set, relaying a message that “the stripper is en route.”

As we approached the movie set in downtown Mobile, I saw several real police cars from the Mobile Police Department cordoning off the movie set with flashing blue lights. One police car was blocking a street. The officer saw us and backed up his car to let our van pass. Everyone got out of the van and escorted me down the block. The scene beyond was surreal.

It was literally out of a movie. They city block looked like an artificial warzone. White smoke from an unseen smoke machine choked the street and sidewalk. The bright white lights from the lighting crew cast a washed out glow among the redbrick of the business buildings, making them look more like a stage set erected during a theater play than actual buildings. A Metro Police car was parked along the sidewalk. This scene made me feel like I was a Metro Police officer responding to the carnage. 

Before I could feel myself get into character, I saw a crowd of people down the street with cameras, lights, chairs, and everything imaginable that belonged on a movie set. My sense of immersion evaporated. 

A large and husky man approached me with a two-way radio and introduced himself as a stunt man. He told me to get into the Metro Police car on the passenger side, and he would drive me towards Ambyr Childers who was going to be in front of a parking garage. The whole movie crew was pretending to film the Metro Police car arriving on scene, and I was going to be one of the officers. Ambyr would assume that I was one of the actors and not suspect anything out of the ordinary.

Even though I was pressed for time, I was enjoying myself. I just wish I wasn’t pressed for time for my next gig so I could relax and take in the whole experience.  

I looked at the parking garage and wondered how the hell I would find Ambyr Childers in that mess. Not only did I not know what she looked like, there were too many people milling about that my brain failed to discern the actress apart from them. Then a petite girl emerged alone from the crowd and walked towards the front entrance of the parking garage accompanied by an older gentleman. They were both talking casually to each other. She caught my attention because she was dressed in some tight and shiny, black leather material from her shoulders downward. Her long blonde hair contrasted with her dark outfit.  

“That’s her,” the stuntman said. “The blonde girl in the black outfit.”

“She’ll be easy to find then,” I said in relief. “I was worried that I’d have to pick her out of the wad of people over there.” 

“Well, her stunt double is across the street dressed just like her,” he chuckled, pointing to another blonde in black leather across the street. 

“Shit! Glad you pointed the real one out then! That would’ve been embarrassing to go up to the wrong one.”

He laughed. “This is going to be great.”

Someone radioed to the stuntman that everything was ready.

“Copy,” he replied to the radio. He turned to me and muttered, “We’re gonna go in hot, so I hope you don’t mind a little speed.” 

The stuntman started the car and pushed a few buttons on a control switch mounted beneath the dash board to activate the light bar. A guy standing next to our car said that the light bar was not flashing blue lights, so the stuntman began pushing random buttons to no avail. I was already feeling each second of delay burning away my patience, so offered to help. I manage to find a switch and flip it, and saw the flicker of blue lights reflecting off the red brick buildings. 

“You got it now,” the man next to our car said. 

“Thanks! Here we go then!” the stuntman said, slamming his foot into the pedal.

We zipped across the street to the parking garage and lurched to a quick stop. The cameras were rolling. “It’s all you now, buddy,” the stuntman said.

I exited the car with a purpose, walking towards the entrance of the parking garage like I knew what I was doing. On the inside though, the lights, noise, and crowd of people in the background overwhelmed my senses. There was too much going on. I focused on the blonde girl dressed in black leather. The old gentlemen with Ambyr grinned as he saw my approach and stepped away, discreetly pointing at her for me. As I walked up to Ambyr, I heard some music come on, but it was faint and barely audible. Her face went from a blank expression to a look of horror as I started dancing in front of her. 

Someone thrust a chair behind her, but she didn’t notice and tried to run away. Somehow, some people managed to guide her into the chair where she sat and covered her face in embarrassment.

My police shirt came off first, revealing my chest and abs, and on them were the words: “Randall is God.” From the information I gathered earlier, Randall was Ambyr’s husband, and today was their anniversary. So Randall masterminded a plan for a stripper to surprise his wife. I never got to meet him, but his sense of humor infected everyone on the movie set, because I could hear them all laughing and cheering in the background.

Ambyr seemed appalled when I took off my shirt. Just before my pants came down, she muttered a quick protest, “Thanks, but you don’t have to take off your pants—OH GOD!” 

I turned and looked at her. My pants was around my ankles, and my butt encased in tight lycra briefs faced her. She was about to freak out. I felt bad for her. She curled up in the chair, her hands covering her face. 

“Happy anniversary from Randall,” I said, turning around and performing a bodybuilding pose known as a “lat spread,” where I spread my back muscles out so she could read the message on the back. It read, “Happy Anniversary” with a few hearts spread throughout my back. I hoped the gesture would put her at ease, because her discomfort was making me feel bad. 

From what I could tell, she laughed a bit at that and relaxed. 

I tried to dance the best I could, given my inability to hear the music. 

Ambyr raised her hands indicating for me to stop. “You’re a great dancer, but that’s enough.”

It was a good time to stop. In my mind, I felt like I botched the whole thing because I wanted to play out the whole charade of being a Metro Police officer a little longer, duping Ambyr into thinking we were filming a scene. I wanted to dance better and put on a more elegant show. My dance lasted probably a whole minute at the most. With that short duration, I felt like I was ripping the customer off. The crowd told me otherwise though. I turned at waved at the film crew, and they responded with cheers and applause. When I walked off towards the crowd, several people said I did a great job, and they did so with a smile or laughter on their face. Even two Mobile Police officers watched my performance and were grinning about it. Ambyr’s reaction must have been priceless.  

Since I was on the set, I wanted to stay around and watch. It’s not every day that I would get an opportunity to watch a multi-million dollar movie being made, but I was running very late for my next job. The driver of the van was ready to get me back to my car, so I could make my next appointment. I sometimes curse the excitement of my life. My schedule is so crammed that I could not even hang out on the set of a Hollywood movie. Talk about fuckin irony. 

My disappointments did not end there. I was unable to get any pictures with Ambyr since I left my phone with my real clothes in the dressing room of one of the trailers. Besides, as soon as I finished stripping, she retreated off the set in embarrassment. I couldn’t even apologize to her for making her feel uncomfortable. Even worse, I found out from one of the film crew that the Mobile Police Department arrested a man for stalking Ambyr on the previous night. No wonder she was so appalled by my approach! I felt horrible. 

Some of the crew rushed me back to the trailers where my car was parked. They did everything in their power to hurry for me. The fact that the whole crew went out of their way to accommodate my schedule was humbling. They deserve a commendation for it. 

When I got back to change, one of the crew members wanted a picture of me with the anniversary message. She took a picture for me as well:

Pic taken in dressing room of movie trailer

Even after eleven years of experience, being a male stripper always offers something new. I had to go somewhere completely out of my element, like a movie set where I’m gawking around in awe, and surprise an actress that is completely inside her element, causing her to gawk instead. I’m glad that I never got this gig early on in my career. I would not have been able to do it as a rookie. 

So now that I have stripped for an actress on a movie set, I wonder what other surprises await. I just hope that the whole scene of me stripping for her doesn’t appear on any bonus footage when the movie comes out on Blu-Ray or DVD.