This story isn’t a tale about me stripping, or going to a strip club, although I’ve been to quite a few over the years as they tend to have late licenses. This one is about the time I went to an event with male strippers. It’s not the sort of thing I would ever plump to go and watch because it’s not exactly difficult to see a naked man, should one feel inclined. This was an evening of mingling, cocktails, drag show entertainment….and male strippers!
I attended the night with a work colleague whom we’ll call Amy. As tempted as I am to use her real name after her naughty shenanigans, I’ll be kind, in this blog at least!
We arrived and sampled the strawberry daiquiris which went down so smoothly, that we thought we’d try a few more! There were quite a few people present I knew, so I mingled for a while then we took our seats as the entertainment began.
The main drag host was brilliant and I relaxed into my seat, enjoying the comedy and banter as they warmed up the crowd. All was going well and at the interval, I popped to the bar for more sugary, alcoholic delights. Next the strippers were up and I can’t remember exactly how many there were but perhaps three. I sat there smugly in my chair, safely far away from the stage as the oiled-up fellas dragged up squealing women and grinded their naked, writhing bodies against them. ‘Thank God we are up here in the dark away from the glaring lights of the stage,” I thought, basking blissfully in the darkness. Then another act came out wearing a cow boy hat and trousers that were attached only by velco at the sides. Amy leaned in towards me, a sneaky look on her face. “He looks like a guy that would look good for you,” she smirked. Confusion was written all over my face. What the hell was she on about! I shook my head and muttered, “I don’t think so” as I supped, or more likely quaffed my drink by that point, spilling nearly as much as I drank. The show continued with the stripper performing his routine which consisted of the usual de-robing and oiling up that you might see in The Full Monty.
Then he started to scour the audience for his victims and my evil colleague’s plan became more clear. For some unbeknown reason, she started to wail and scream like a woman possessed by a demonic entity and draw attention to the two of us. To my sheer horror, her hands were flailing and pointing towards me, a banshee from the underworld, intent on turning this somewhat pleasant evening into something truly Hellish. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a prude by any means, but the idea of becoming part of someone’s strip routine doesn’t exactly fill me with glee. I shrank into my chair, praying for the darkness to swallow me up! I hoped that my 4’10 stature would serve me well in this situation and I would be as invisible as I am when I’m trying to get served at a crowded bar. Unfortunately, her bloodcurdling screams would have drawn attention to an ant, an atom perhaps and there was no escape from my disastrous fate, all to be witnessed in front of a braying crowd.
I can’t remember quite how I got to the front of the stage, I think there was some shoving from my sadistic friend and certainly some persuasion from the stripper who had a look of ‘don’t be a spoilsport and spoil the act’ written all over his face.
I was coaxed into kneeling down and then a chiffon scarf appeared over my head. I mistakenly hoped I could stay under there for the duration until it ended, but alas it was not to be. The scarf, my sanctuary was whipped away with a flourish. More gyrations and thrusting followed. I was so thankful for the alcoholic beverages I had consumed at this point as I may have had a full-scale meltdown and snatched the scarf back to gather up as a niqab. The urge to leg it out of the venue there and then, first cracking my colleague in the membrane was fierce! I did no such thing. I kneeled, wondering what the hell would happen next. That thing happened to be the removal of the chap’s barely-there underpants and some sort of fairy liquid concoction that was squirted over his body and lower regions with a foamy consistency as he writhed closer. ‘Well, at least his bits will be clean if they get close,’ I reasoned, which was some comfort at least.
There was lots more grinding, an oddly mechanical process, which seemed to fill the audience with much mirth. Well, at least they are bloody enjoying themselves! What I hadn’t been banking on was his final thrust which consisted of gallons of foam flying at me like missiles and splattering all over my lower lip and chin. I’d just been bukkaked with Imperial Leather!
Fabulous, I thought as my cheeks burned, I’ve been face slapped by a willy which must have smudged my carefully applied foundation no end and now I look like an Ibiza reject at a foam party. He stood back looking proud as the audience gasped and I wiped away my foamy beard.
Then the alcohol must have kicked in as I thought, Hang on a goddam, cotton-pickin minute! I’m a domme! I can’t sit here looking all meek and terrified! So guess what I did? I wiped a bit of the foam off my lip, popped the tip of the finger in my mouth, and smiled sardonically. That will show you all, I thought as I winced from the acrid taste of chemicals burning my tongue. Not even another cocktail was going to take that taste away quickly!
The stripper clocked what I had just done and looked at me in horror, one brow raised, one low, burrowing into his eye socket. As clear as day, he said on the mic, his words etched with utter disdain, ‘You aren’t meant to eat the soap!”
I’m sure there were more gasps of disbelief. Yes, I was the one freak who ate the soap instead of quietly returning to my chair with grace and dignity. Just like that, I made myself look like a big old weirdo who loves eating second-hand soap from oily men!
The scramble back to my chair was neither graceful nor dignified, but it was goddamn fast! I’m certain I could have given Ussain Bolt a run for his money that day! The run from my chair to the bar was even quicker and only slightly delayed by sternly admonishing a chuffed looking Amy who seemed as pleased as punch!
So, Amy, if you read this, it’s your turn next. If you ever have a hen party, you really don’t want to invite me as I have spectacular plans for you, it’s going to be alcohol-fuelled for you, men in the scantiest G-strings, and most likely some Teabagging, and not of the Tetley variety. I’ll leave the rest a surprise for now, but I am patient. I am happy to wait 🙂
