Diary of a Male Stripper
Some time ago I figured out I wanted to be a stripper. Whether I knew it or not, those desires were always there within, waiting to be found. Perhaps it’s the musician/performer thing; the urge to be in the middle of it all. To showcase; to be watched and admired.
Almost three years since I moved away from home. Away from the expectations of old acquaintances, to a place where I could truly find who I am.
It has been almost two years since I purchased my first thong and I haven’t really looked back since. They’ve always been my favourite type of underwear on women, and quickly became my favourite type to wear as well.
About a year ago I started contemplating the idea of stripping. I was working out quite regularly and feeling like my body was far too sexy to go unseen. A bit of self confidence in how I looked almost naked. Cherrystems was a breakthrough. A place to shed any embarrassment or fear of what others may think. After all, we’re born naked, why is it so strange to be naked? Being naked is “inappropriate”, with laws to enforce restrictions on where and when. Such things should be kept behind closed doors where they will not shock.
In a world where nakedness is banished from public eye, there becomes a demand for it.
I had decided to go for it and I put an ad on craigslist under the heading “Exotic Male Dancer”. It read as follows:
Male stripper available for bachelorette, and birthday parties. Toned, fun and professional. Call LeoLondon@451-****.
I didn’t really have any hope of getting any calls, but I couldn’t just dream about it anymore. Like in many of my big ideas, my enthusiasm has a tendency to wane. It was only a couple of weeks later that I got my first call. I was just walking out my front door on my way to work when someone asked, “is this Leo?”
“Ummmm, yeeeesss.” I was scared shitless. It was some guy from a party planning company looking for someone to dress up as Santa and strip to the LMFAO song Sexy and I Know It.
“Ummmm, okay.” I had come this far, and everyone hates a coward.
Days went by and the show was fast approaching. “What the fuck am I doing? I’ve never had a dance lesson in my life!” Regardless of what I thought, I refused to turn back. I was going to give it the old college try.
On the day before the party, I got an e-mail from the organizer stating that circumstances had changed involving the guest list. It was going to be a lot less bachelorettes and rather more of a mixed crowd. We both agreed it would be weird to have a male stripper show up.
I remember thinking, “Whew, I dodged a bullet there. That felt like it was going to be weird.” I figured I had faced the storm and the storm had chickened out. Perhaps this is a sign. Maybe the stripper thing isn’t a good idea after all. According to Craigslist, my ad would expire after forty days or so. I was not planning on reposting.
Months afterwards I received a call from an American based phone number. I just assumed it was a telemarketer and ignored it. But it called back again. This time I answered. It was an agency that does online booking all over North America, trying to find someone to fill a role in Winnipeg. Someone had fallen through and they needed someone to work a bachelorette party that evening.
“Holy shit that’s soon and I’m not tanned at all! I’ll have to mull it over.” After thirty minutes I called back and agreed.
The biggest thing to organize is the costume. With this site, customers are given a number of costume choices in which they have to select their top three favourites. This client had selected Cop, Security Guard or Businessman. Well I had a suit, which would have to do.
On my way to the party, I started wondering what the hell I was going to say upon entering. “I have some important documents I need the bride to sign.” But I didn’t have any paper. I stopped off at a drug store and got some washable markers. They can write on me!
I was early, and it was too hot in my car to wait in it. I walked over to nearby vacant baseball field to sit and wonder what the hell I was doing.
Ring, ring… they’re ready for me.
It was a cute little house in a decent neighbourhood. I walked up to the door with a stereo in hand and knocked. They opened the door and I said my rehearsed line. There was some confusion. It didn’t take too long for everyone to figure out what I was doing there though. It was a bachelorette party after all.
I stood in front of the bride who was sitting at one end of the room on what is referred to as the “hot seat”. Her friends were in a circle around us. I started moving to the music. It wasn’t too long before I had my jacket off. I hung my tie on the engaged woman’s neck. Then off came the shirt. I had started giving her a lap dance.
Facing away from her, I undid my pants and pulled them down to just below the bottom of my ass cheeks. I barely sat down on her lap and began to gyrate. Her friends were cheering. There went my pants and socks. The only thing between me and complete nakedness was a little black G-string.
“Uh oh, now what do I do?” I thought. I was only one song in and nothing was left to take off. I danced around the room moving from lap to lap. Dance lessons didn’t matter much at this point. The role was easy to get into. I was gyrating, pretend fucking, and volunteering my ass for a few good slaps.
I remembered the markers. “Do you ladies want to sign?”
“What if I have a really long signature?” One of the guests asked. I informed her I had the perfect place for it.
Before I knew it, my show was over. We chatted about the new Channing Tatum movie as I put my clothes back on. “Oh that guy was hot in that movie,” stated the woman with the very long signature. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re hot too. You’re lucky I don’t take you in that room right there. And I have a gun and everything.” She laughed. I laughed too, but figured I’d better get out of there while I still could.
It was a success. I left with a huge adrenaline rush. As I drove home I found myself wondering what I had been so utterly terrified of.