Stripper's Log: March 2, 2012

I live a double life. I'm 31 years old now with a professional job. I own my own house, and everyone at work thinks I'm just live the boring lifestyle of sobriety and mediocrity. When my co-workers ask me what I do over the weekends, I usually tell them that I play video games, work out, or clean up around the house... And that's true for the most part. But I don't think they could even fathom the idea of a group of girls paying for me to strip in front of them.

Last night marked my return to stripping again. I felt a little anxious about taking the job, since it was located in the countryside of Georgia and I'm living in southern Alabama now. However, the pay was good and the reception went beyond exceptional.

Alcohol flowed endlessly during last night's bachelorette party, which took place in a house. When I arrived, the girls were already drunk and rowdy. Most of them were around 18 and 19 years old, and the bachelorette's mother hired me because she wanted her daughter and her friends to have the authentic experience of a male stripper. Me being 30 years old, I was probably closer to the mother's age than the daughter's. Like most country girls, some of them wore wedding or engagement rings.

The show started out like every other show: I stripped, fished dollars out of girls' breasts, and grinded on a few. Some girls were hesitant and shy, but as the party continued, they seemed ever eager to touch and molest me as much as possible. Next came the body shots. This act consisted me me lying on the couch doing absolutely nothing for fifteen minutes while every single girl in the room took turns drinking alcohol from my chest and abs. After that, I posed for pictures with everyone, whom by this time were weaving and tottering and spilling their drinks everywhere. While I was posing for the pictures, I felt hands groping and caressing me everywhere: around my legs, chest, ass, between my balls and my ass, and on my cock.

The bachelorette's mother mostly hung out in the background of the living room and took pictures the whole time. I almost forgot her existence because there was always a girl interacting with me.

After group pictures, I usually call it quits and head out. However, these girls were far from finished---and intoxicated to the point of stumbling everywhere. The bachelorette flashed a few five and ten dollar bills in front of me. "What are you gonna do for these, hun?"

All of the girls sat on the couch together, in a row.

"You're gonna have to give us more of a show," a brunette said. I noticed that the engagement ring she wore earlier was gone.

"Start with Cobweb first."

I was confused. "Cobweb?"

They pointed to a short, petite blonde girl with the fake, tanning bed tan sitting at the end of the couch. She was wearing a pink t-shirt, a pair of white short-shorts, and cowboy boots. Her blue eyes had a hint of the glossed-over haze that alcohol brings, but she still tensed up with shy awkwardness at my approach. "We call her Cobweb," one of the girls explained, "because she hasn't had sex, or had a boyfriend in a long time."

I grinned. "Is that so? I'll have to fix that for her then." I got down to my knees, and lifted Cobweb's short legs into the air, placing them over my shoulders. I placed my head in between and licked the crevice of her shorts. The cheers from her friends deafened my ears. I stayed between her legs for a moment, then lifted up her shirt to expose her midsection. Cobweb had a belly-button ring, which I caressed with my tongue for a few more moments. Next I climbed up onto the couch and thrust the bulge of my thong into her face. I turned and faced her friends and said, "Maybe I'll do something about removing that 'Cobweb' name for her later tonight." The other girls laughed while Cobweb smiled, and I went on to the next girl.

When I arrived in front of Angela, an attractive blonde with no tits, I thought she was going to rape me. Although she was more reserved than the other girls earlier in the night, the alcohol had chiseled away her inhibitions. As I danced in front of her, she placed both of her hands against my abs, moving them down to feel my legs, then back up toward my abs again. She repeated this motion until she started fondling my cock. I began to get hard. Angela grabbed the sides of my thong and tugged downward, exposing me. She murmured a few compliments about me before one of her friends scolded her. "Angela, stop molesting the stripper!" A few of the other girls, including the bachelorette, rushed over to get a better look before I smiled and pulled up my thong. The girls placed the five and ten dollar bills into my thong, telling me that I "more than earned it."

The way these women objectified me felt surreal. I felt like I was running a 'show and tell' exhibit at a circus, and charging money for an attraction. Who would have thought that the attraction was my cock that the women were paying to see? Attractive women, especially.

At the end of the party, I donned on my clothes and gathered my things. Some of the girls went outside to the front yard to smoke weed in an S.U.V. I went towards them to thank them for the hiring me. There were two girls in the front seats, and four in the backseat, passing two joints around. Now I don't smoke weed and avoid the stuff like the plague, so I tried to thank the girls and get out of there as best as I could without inhaling any of the fumes. I almost succeeded too.

"Wait," I heard one of the girls say.

I turned and looked into the backseat. It was Angela. I recognized her as the pretty blonde with a small chest.

"Come here and give me a hug, before you go."

I went over and leaned in to give her a hug. I felt several hands grab me and pull me in. I nearly suffocated inside the dense fog of marijuana fumes. Angela's hand reached around the back of my head and I felt her tongue in my mouth. The other girls hollered in approval. She pulled back long enough to say, "Damn you're so fuckin' fine." She resumed kissing me. I resisted the urge to cough. The girls continued to cheer, both their high-pitched screams and the smoke assaulting my sense of smell and hearing. I felt hands groping me all over.

I don't know how long I was in the backseat of that S.U.V., but when I came out, my clothes were disheveled, my hair sticking out in all directions, and my whole self was reeking of weed.

When I go back to work on Monday, I will have to tell my co-workers about another boring weekend I had. There is no way I can ever explain to them that my weekend consisted of a bunch of girls fresh out of high school molesting me, and paying me for me. It's a double life indeed.