by Nick Molloy
‘What do you do for a living ?’
‘I’m a male stripper.’
We could follow this up with a further dozen pages of discussion.
I was actually offered two jobs as a stripper whilst I was in Dubai. They both came through a Philipino friend of mine, Leon (whose floor I slept on when I arrived). Leon worked in the hotel game and knew a lot of people. He was also gay (and therefore underground in Dubai) and proud of his association with a stripper. A couple of clients of his had enquired after my services, but in both instances they had got scared of the authorities finding out and possible repercussions.
My sanity was only held together in Dubai by my training in the gym with Dimitri, my frequent visits by friends from the UK and the thought of escape at the end of my term. Zoe also came out for two months (she quit her job). She looked at working in a Dubai hospital, but being a woman (and thereby a second class citizen) the pay didn’t justify it. My employer also specialised in recruitment for the health sector. Despite my requests, they offered me no help whatsoever at placing my girlfriend in a job in Dubai. I’d swear they didn’t want me to settle there.
I resigned from the idiot company slightly prematurely, but only slightly. It would have been nice to take the money for another six months or so, but I couldn’t bear them any longer. The director who had long had it in for me said something out of turn one day, so I told them to stuff it where the sun didn’t shine and served them notice. I had earned enough to fulfil the objective. I sold the Ford Mustang I’d acquired on arrival and readied myself to leave.
When I boarded the plane to leave Dubai it was a fantastic feeling. I can only liken it to how a prisoner must feel on being released. Upon my return to Britain, my dad met me at the airport with the Impreza (I’d given it to him as a gift but he felt unable to accept it). I drove back to Wales but soon set off for London to visit friends. I needed about two weeks of friend visiting and unloading my Dubai torment onto sympathetic ears before I felt fully purged. Several of my visitations were to people I had met through stripping. All the while that I had been in exile I had been planning my comeback and now that I was back in the heartland I could smell and taste it ! Yet, before I could do anything concrete I had to disappear again to satisfy the tax people.
Zoe and I embarked on a truly fantastic four months. I can say without any exaggeration that it was four of the best months of my life. We started off by hiring a 4x4 in New Zealand and driving nearly 5000 miles in the six weeks we were there, exploring most of what it had to offer (a lot). Two weeks were then spent in Bali followed by two weeks in the jungles of Sumatra looking for Orang-Pendek (the alleged Western Sumatran Apeman). This really did turn into an adventure, one we nearly didn’t come back from. Our guide managed to get us lost for four days without food in the world’s second biggest jungle (only the Amazon is larger). I’ve never been more scared in my life but that story is for another time. It could fill an entire book in itself ! Needless to say, when you have been lost in the jungle for two days without food and the guide bursts into tears stating that he doesn’t believe he will ever see his wife and daughter again – you know you are in trouble. Anyway, we escaped in the end courtesy of some jungle natives who had never seen white people before. Finally, the highlight for me was the six weeks in Nepal, trekking in the Himalayas, reaching a pinnacle on the Thorung La at 17,820 feet.
Nearly 18 months had passed since I had retired from the stage. In essence, that first six months had been a learning curve, a toe dipped in some murky naked waters. What I was now planning went beyond a comeback – I envisaged a career.
Zoe and I had reached an uneasy truce. We were both still hurting in a strange sort of way and we were both transformed somewhat from our experiences. But, we had a plan and a goal and in that we were very much united.
When we returned from Nepal, Zoe found work within a week as a locum. In the meantime I would dedicate myself full time to finding a place to live. Our new home was to be purely functional. It had to be within easy commuting distance of London (for Zoe who envisaged herself working in a London hospital) and near all the motorways (for stripping).
I looked at several areas to the west and North of London, eventually settling on Hemel Hempstead. Finally, I found a two bedroom flat. It cost less to buy than I had money in the bank and satisfied all the requirements. It was within walking distance of the station, was within a few miles of the motorway, had off road parking, space for me to build a gym and a loft that had been partially converted (no junk allowed in the main rooms).
The bid was accepted and due to my belief that all lawyers are evil I decided to conduct my own conveyancing. This led to some snooty letters from the lawyer representing the other side (as per usual they seem unable to talk unless it is down their nose at you). I cut the lawyer out and went straight to the seller telling him that unless his lawyer started acting professionally and courteously I would pull out of the deal and buy somewhere else. It seemed to do the trick.
Conveyancing needn’t be a difficult process. Done properly it should only take a few weeks at most, but most people don’t feel confident enough to do it alone, so they hire a lawyer. This causes inevitable delays. Lawyers string out every process in an attempt to justify their ridiculous fees. If people could actually see what they pay these goons for, they would never make the same mistake again.
Anyway, I had to sit and wait whilst the other side pontificated. This meant lots of preparation time for my new career…..
Chapter 10 - Total Rebuild
First things first - I had to get back in shape. My last couple of months in Dubai had been devoid of training. There was no reason to train. I wasn’t allowed to compete because I wasn’t an Arab and both Dimitri and I grew slack towards the end. I then had nearly three months in the UK where I spent the time visiting friends (no training and then four months travelling (no training). In all I had gone nine months without doing anything, the longest break I had had from training for about ten years.
When I had moved to Dubai, my old track mate James had taken in my gym equipment. His dad was worth a few quid and had an outhouse in which it could live. So when I arrived back I based myself partly at Zoe’s (who had a room at the hospital where she was locuming) and James’ where I could train.
The first training session was quite a shock. I could never imagine that I would lose so much strength. I had managed to get a couple of gym sessions in before I left Kathmandu. The signs were worrying, but I blamed the poor equipment (wishful thinking). I also flattered to deceive, because the Nepalese are small people and they all thought I was still strong !
By best bench press ever is 140kg weighing 70kg (touch and go no pause). When I tried a max bench I was horrified to note that it was down to 95kg and my weight was about 67kg. I was struggling to deadlift 160kg (by best is up at 210kg) and a full squat felt heavy at 120kg (best of 186kg). My abs had disappeared and compared to old photos I was a sorry state. My chest measurement was down and my waist measurement up ! James obviously found all of this most amusing.
Cue the rocky music and the pictures of enemy strippers attached to the mirror in the gym. The first few sessions back are always the hardest. You have to start very light otherwise your muscles will be stiff for up to a week afterwards, preventing you from training again effectively anytime soon. However, my body began to respond very quickly to the training. I incorporated some sprint training into the regime to get that toned look back into my body and within a couple of months the poundages were again at a level that was acceptable to me.
In the meantime, I had begun the other preparations. Whilst in Dubai, Zoe had taken a set of photos which I sold to a magazine (nude photos in Dubai – if only the authorities knew) ! I used one of these, blew up the print and had 1000 run off as my new publicity photo.
I had parted with my Impreza and bought an old diesel workhorse for the many miles ahead. I christened it ‘the chug’.
My old name of ‘Marvelous’ simply had n
ot worked. Nobody got the connection with the boxer and indeed, people kept telling me I had spelt it wrong. I got fed up with telling people that it was the American spelling after a world famous boxer. Unbeknown to me at the time and to quote a now dear gay friend ‘gays don’t do sport’. The same can be said of women. In truth, ‘Marvelous’ was my fantasy. I wanted to be a boxer and there I was, sort of, being one with the name and the gown to boot. However, in terms of stripping practicality, it could have been better. It could have been worse, some of the names doing the circuit have clearly been plucked out of a hat, but at best it was a C-.
I had decided my new name over a year ago in Dubai. Whilst stuck in my desert prison, my thoughts were never far away from the life I had left behind. I had decided on the new name of ‘Sexecute’ (pronounced Sexy-Cute). The choice behind the name was threefold. Firstly, I thought the name was an apt description. My athletic physique would hopefully depict the sexy part and my baby face the cute part. Secondly, I had been planning my comeback act to be that of a medieval style Executioner. Sexecute was therefore a play on the word execute. Thirdly, in keeping with tradition and most importantly in my book, I was naming myself after another boxing hero. Bernard ‘The Executioner’ Hopkins was another great blue collar middleweight champion and a worthy successor to Marvelous Marvin Hagler. Thus, Sexecute was a derivative of the Executioner. Also, Sexecute was a much more appropriate stripping name than Marvelous. Anyone could believe and identify with a stripper called Sexecute. Only I would call a stripper Marvelous. In death, Marvelous gave birth to Sexecute.
In Dubai, I purchased a real Arthurian type sword in the one of the souks (Arabian markets). It was unsharpened, but even so I had to dull its edges a little more to make it safe. This was to be my executioner’s weapon.
I visited Michael who is an artistic genius. I described to him my vision of the new outfit and he drew it before my very eyes in a matter of minutes. He also sent me to see a friend of his who he said would be able to make it for me. This turned into another wild goose chase. His friend was the strangest chap imaginable. I just so happened to turn up with a black, butch athlete friend of mine and this seemed to frighten him to death. I think he thought I would turn up on my own and then he would be able to measure me up for a g-string. Because that wasn’t the case he threw a camp hissy fit and refused to help. It was probably just as well, because Lynn, who I initially found through the local wedding dress shop, did a fantastic job and very reasonably priced too !
Michael also sent me to meet a stripper called Arson that had enjoyed some success whilst I had been away in Dubai. Arson was in touch with Michael regularly updating him on his alleged successes. He had supposedly spent £3000(!) on his first costume, but had apparently recovered the money in a matter of weeks because it produced so many bookings. Thus it was, that I began to get my first whiff of bullshit. Nonetheless, I called the man called Arson to seek his advice and contacts. Michael was less than complimentary about Arson’s appearance but stated that he was reasonably popular. Either Arson had stumbled on some magic formula, or perhaps he was exaggerating his claims of his own stripping prowess.
Arson agreed to meet, albeit with hesitance, so I made my way to a pokey flat near Peckham. Arson opened the door and I immediately understood what Michael had meant. Someone (a punter) was later to describe Arson as having a ‘face like a bag of spanners’. Another stripper perhaps summed it up better by describing him as ‘old rubber face – he reminds me of deputy dog with such pliable jowels’. I wouldn’t like to compare myself with Brad Pitt, but Arson had definitely been hit a few more times with the ugly stick than most. Physically, he was hardly imposing. I am certainly not large, but Arson was smaller than I. He had worked hard on his physique, but it looked like he needed to work harder. Apparently, his saving grace was his large cock.
Perhaps, I thought, Arson woos the audience and bookers with his overwhelming charm and smooth talk, rather than his stunning good looks. I was soon to be disabused of that notion. At the time, I was yet to meet a stripper I liked and I was clearly going to have to wait a bit longer. Arson was loud, obnoxious and full of shit. Nothing new there then. He was also insecure, paranoid and had a voracious ego. In addition to all the normal stripper ailments he also liked to name drop a list of famous people he supposedly had as friends.
Initially, he clearly perceived me as threatening and probably thought I was planting listening devices around his flat. But, as Michael had recommended me he said he would be prepared to hand over a few of his illustrious contacts (I’m still waiting to this day). I made my excuses and left. Arson clearly wasn’t going to be much help to me and I categorized and filed him with the rest of the strippers I had met so far. I was going to have to do this all alone.
With regards to the music, this time I didn’t mess about trying to get favours off other strippers. I just went straight to a music producer (a blue collar one of course) who cut the music for me, blended each track into the next, added sound effects and even put a voice over onto the introduction for me.
I worked out my act, acquired myself a skull for a dark grand entrance and was ready for the re-launch. In truth, my executioner act was really aimed at the gay scene. Although, it may sound silly, I didn’t really realize it at the time. I had learnt a lot in my first incarnation but I was and still am learning, albeit at a diminished rate. In my first six months I hadn’t done an awful lot of shows and the majority of those I had done had been on the gay scene. This perhaps explains why I designed the executioner act in the way I did and why I thought it would work.
I began to phone around in exactly the way I had before. I started with the gay venues and then tried the drag queens. The results were similar to before, but seemed slightly more positive. The gay venues were willing to book me, one even turned around and said they would have me within a few days. This caught me a little unawares, but I accepted. The drag queens prompted little or no response. I also re-contacted some of the agents I had used previously. One of them, Andy at Xanadu, had been far and away the most professional I had dealt with previously. So he has proved to be again and he came up with a booking for me immediately that weekend. I had anticipated getting bookings within a few weeks, but now I had them within a couple of days and had to get ‘in the zone’ earlier than I expected to.
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I performed my first strip on the comeback as an executioner at a house party for a gang of female teachers. The show went fine, although they perhaps found my entrance a little strange. It was only after the event that I found out that they were a group of secondary school teachers. The chemistry teacher was soon to be married, but it was the French teacher who enquired as to whether all girls behave in the way that their group had. It was with a wry smile that I tried to imagine the teachers from my school days behaving in the same fashion. Try as I might, the image proved very difficult to conjure. The show had reached its climax with the chemistry teacher wanking my cock to raucous encouragement from all the other educators.
In all honesty, the executioner act did not really work that great for the girls. The teachers were fine, they took it for what it was – a man taking his clothes off in a different way. However, as I was to discover pretty quickly, certain female audiences were not quite as understanding. They found the whole masked entrance with a huge sword (designed to be a phallic symbol) intimidating and as stupid as it may sound, some were actually frightened by it ! Only on a couple of occasions did girls approach me and say they found the whole entrance incredibly sexy. Both of those girls had a certain gothic look about them and they were both in gay clubs at the time !
I performed a large hen night with Arson and a stripper called Lucifer’s Offspring only a few weeks later. After the show I had quite a few girls come up to me saying that I was the best looking of the three, but they preferred Lucifer’s Offspring’s act. As for Arson no comments were offered. I performed the act only a couple more times for girls, with some modification
s, only for the same thing to happen. I quickly discontinued it from the ladies night scene.
On the night in question Arson spent the entire evening parading around like he was a demi-god of strip, boosting his own ego to all and sundry whilst reducing his own insecurity. This was the first time I had seen Lucifer’s Offspring since our encounter in Bromptons before I left for Dubai. He had transformed into a completely different person. Whereas before there had been a real person and a stage character, there was now only his stage character left. He had taken a leaf straight out of the Arson manual (they were good mates at the time). He arrived in a blaze of arrogance, proclaiming his own greatness as he went. He seemed to look down his nose at all around him and spoke with a contempt for everything bar himself and his routine. He arrived in an old BMW chariot with the personalized number plate ‘Kit Off’. When the relationship between Arson and Lucifer’s Offspring cooled, the devil child lost some of his prickly heat and we got along much better. Anyway, on that particular night, no allies were going to be made, so I exited promptly at the end of proceedings.
By contrast to the ladies night circuit, the executioner act seemed to go down a storm on the gay scene. My first strip back at a gay club immediately followed the teachers and was received very well. I was approached by a man in the audience that night who introduced himself as Diamond White (a drag queen). His name had been on the original list provided by Michael and I had called him several times previously and left messages. He had never returned any of my calls. I talked to him for a good while that night, or rather I attempted to talk to him whilst he talked at me. He was full of bluster, bold claims and mighty statements. He critiqued many drag queens, professed his greatness and told me he was about to have his own chat show on a mainstream television network (to my knowledge it has never appeared). He became very cagey when I pressed him over details and enquired as to how he secured the alleged deal. I was to come into contact with Diamond White again on a couple of occasions. I’m afraid he was yet another example of a delusional, bitter and twisted drag queen. It transpired that whilst he was telling all and sundry that he earned a six figure income from dressing as a woman at night times, he lived off the state during the day. I don’t know what is worse – his hypocrisy or the fact that he gets away with it.