by Nick Molloy
I deliberately kept my distance, something I should have done much earlier. Uniboy has now officially retired. As the gay work dried up he was hardly getting much work at all. He regularly sold himself to the gay venue managers to ensure he was booked back (and he was). The sad thing is that he didn’t really need to, his performance stood out on its merits but I guess his low self esteem couldn’t see through that. With the gay work gone his USP went with it. He now likes to say he is an actor. Benedict, (who appeared on a certain show called Big Brother) did a few shows for the Aphrodite occasion himself. He once accused Uniboy of having a sugar daddy. Perhaps a little unfair but it is easy to see why he would think it. Uniboy’s husband was well past pensionable age and without him Uniboy would struggle to do anything. I guess his presence meant he didn’t have to wait tables in between acting jobs. Eventually, Uniboy ruined that relationship too. I am told from those that read his facebook postings that he split up with his husband very acrimoniously claiming he was ‘groomed’ by him as a teenager. The almost nightly visits to gay sex clubs have been replaced with a female partner. This no doubt shocked all who knew him. I hope he gets cleaned up and sorts himself out. However, once betrayed by a friend I find it very difficult to trust them ever again. Good luck to him but that is also mixed in with feelings of good riddance.
Whenever someone close to you lets you down it’s always doubly disappointing. They say you should never mix business with pleasure, but it helps to have some friends in the same business, if only to let off steam at the frustrations of the said business. Those not in the business won’t want to be bored by the rudiments of the day to day machinations of something they don’t know anything about. I did acquire a new friend, Mr T. Unlike Uniboy he offered me work when he could and provided me with market intelligence.
When the film Magic Mike came out The Sun newspaper kindly offered me a fee to go and watch it and review it. They wanted to do a small piece in the paper too on the ‘Real Magic Mike’. I took Mr T along to the press screening and got him in the picture with me so the piece was on the Real Magic Mikes (plural). He loved it, especially the double page spread in The Sun and the attention it brought from friends and family. Personally, I didn’t tell anybody, although several calls were received from people saying they had seen it. I simply don’t care for the attention. I love the lifestyle that stripping provides but have no desire for fame unless it pays. I’m regularly inundated with requests from tiresome TV personnel who ask me (and no doubt every other stripper) to appear on their shows for no remuneration. I refuse on the grounds that I’m a professional. Other so called professionals suddenly revert to amateur status (e.g TT Brown-Nose) desperate for the attention that TV brings. I was asked only the other day to strip on Celebrity Big Brother. I requested a fee but was told another would do it for a train fare. Interestingly, they asked me to attend for six hours suggesting they would need to take more than one take. Reality TV would appear to be less real than it seems.
One of these TV morons (I can’t think of a better descriptive word) tried to tell me the other day that shows such as ‘The Only Way is Essex’ are not scripted and the participants are not actors. Obviously, I logic chopped him and demonstrated his imbecilic statement until he conceded his position. Stupid strippers like me must be so gullible that they literally believe everything they see and read. I didn’t realize that Emmerdale Street wasn’t real until yesterday.
I once worked for no fee under the promise of a mass of publicity The ‘Cheeky Girls’ were having their birthday party in central London and their agent assured me the press coverage would be huge. Furthermore, he’d make sure my name was all over the papers. The knock on benefits in terms of bookings would be huge (apparently)! The reality was somewhat more sobering. It made the Sun online (it might have made the actual paper but I don’t buy it and nobody told me it had, so I assume it didn’t). I was pictured with one of the victims just prior to losing my loincloth. I wasn’t mentioned by name and no bookings were forthcoming.
At three in the morning the said agent (clearly gay) called me up and said one of the cheeky girls wanted to speak to me because she fancied me. I didn’t believe a word of it and suspected it was he that was trying to get into my knickers. Sure enough he put her on the phone. I was my usual blunt self and said I could come around now and fuck her silly ! She obviously didn’t expect that and the agent hurriedly recovered the phone. Somewhat flustered, his plan to use his client to lure me in was clearly in tatters. ‘Come on, I continued, you’re her agent. Get her knickers off and I’ll be there shortly’. I don’t know whether it got him into trouble with the Cheeky Girl (I don’t know which one).
I suspected I was making a mistake beforehand and so it was proved. It seems amazing to me that the world of media and celebrity is so awash with cash, yet they never seem willing to pay it out. Is it all a ruse I wonder? I suspect they have far less than is claimed. I was asked once to attend a casting for some educational film that was being made on sex through the ages. They needed an element on striptease and somehow or other the director had asked me to attend. When the person phoned I was dismissive. I know they usually get 200 people through the door (for some reason devoid of logic) and half the time they have already decided on the person who is cast. In this instance it was strongly hinted I was the one to be cast. I therefore considered the risk-reward ratio worth attending.
When I got there an unpleasant female casting director tried to tell me that because I hadn’t brought a woman with me I couldn’t participate (we all carry them around in our pockets of course – how silly of me to forget). I exploded and demanded a fee from them for wasting my time. The director was found and a woman was found for me to do the casting with (pulled from somebody else’s pocket no doubt). I didn’t get the part. Apparently, the client didn’t like my face. However, the director (obviously contracted by the client) thought I was necessary for the role. The actor chosen didn’t know the first thing about stripping and was looking like a complete amateur on film. Thus, my services were hired to teach the other guy to look like he knew what he was doing. We agreed a fee for half a day.
On the day, half a day came and went and I was saying my goodbyes. Production females were saying I couldn’t leave – the film had not yet been shot. I pointed out that I was contracted for only half a day and they’d have to agree the same fee for another half a day and all would be rosy. ‘we don’t want to pay the same, we’ll pay half’ she says. ‘Fine, start dialing, see who else you can find’ I say as I’m walking towards the door. They make a rapid about turn and agree to my terms. This was a job I had to invoice and at the end of the day they tried to claim they hadn’t agreed to the extra time (as if I’d do it for free because I was so happy to be there !!!). When they didn’t pay the initial invoice, some county court forms followed and they were persuaded to pay with expediency.
The trouble is that actors, as I discovered, are just a one step away from models. A lot of them are quite privileged and are willing to work for free. Narcissism is common in its players. In fact I have found myself quite often at odds with other people because I want to be paid for my role in the production ! I was once asked to play the part of a stripper (not that I’m getting typecast or anything) for a spoof book on the royal wedding. I was to wave my cock around in the face of a Kate Middleton look alike - all perfectly normal and in a regular day’s work. However, when I arrived at the London wine bar where it was being filmed (yes filmed for a book), it appeared I was the only actor on the day demanding a fee. I guess all the rest were just after their big break.
As the scene was a hen night, most were actresses but three actors were also playing topless waiter roles. One of them (a rotund black guy who hit a few branches of the ugly tree on the way down) was particularly irritating trying to tell me he had done stripping before. As usual with such fantasists he didn’t have a stage name. Another was incredibly superior because he was an actor and considered such roles beneath him. The fi
nal one spoke with a foreign accent and was quite pleasant. I distanced myself from all but the latter.
Shortly after arrival, the production crew distributed a ton of model release type forms, basically a piece of paper where we would sign our lives away and have no comeback over what they did with the footage. Naturally, I told them I couldn’t sign that without my money or a written contract with their personal addresses on it. The other ‘actors’ thought I was mad. This quickly turned to jealousy and resentment when £150 in crisp notes were passed to me about 20 minutes later when it became clear I wasn’t going to sign or perform without it.
The female director was clearly unimpressed that I was a hired gun. Obviously I should do it for nothing so that she could get rich. How rude of me to want remuneration for my contribution. As a result they shot my scene early and I was told (strongly hinted) that I could leave. Interestingly Kate Middleton knew she was attending a hen night where there was a stripper. She knew that strippers have willies and tend to wave them around. She was there to play a role. I found it unbelievable that she was so uncomfortable ‘doing her job’. ‘She kept saying to the director that she didn’t want to do this’. 90% of girls on a hen night would have performed better than the alleged ‘professional’. Rather bizarrely, one of the other actresses looked more like Kate Middleton than the girl playing her. I enquired as to this and the more genuine look-a-like did say she thought she was playing Kate but had been told otherwise on the day. Maybe the girl that played Kate in the end was the director’s daughter. I don’t know but it was all a bit odd.
On another day I did actually have a part in a proper small film and there was no quibbling about the money either. They phoned me up and asked me to play the part of a stripper (typecasting again) in a small film called ‘The Park’. I am only in it for a few seconds. Basically this guy has a secret and is watching a peep show. Whilst bashing his bish, you can see what you think is a girl stripping in glimpses and shadows. Eventually the camera turns and you get a full frontal of a bloke instead (me).
I was there all day for my few seconds and had to shoot about 10-12 takes over a few hours. It was interesting because there were proper industry experienced people there and I’d never seen the workings of a proper film set from the inside. Some very able men built the set for the peep show in a couple of hours and then dismantled it again afterwards. I kept asking am I doing it right do you want me to do it another way, etc, but I was told no, I was fine. However, we just need to do it again but about six inches to the right. The next one was six inches backwards and then to the left and so on. It took all afternoon ! I guess they need all the takes so they can cut and splice and get the lighting right for the final edit. There was quite a lot of consultation and looking back over the last take as we were actually filming.
As I say, it was interesting as an experience, but, it was quite boring ! I think it probably was a true representation of what it’s like to be an actor on a film set. To be honest I really don’t see the appeal. Long hours, repetitive and incredibly dull. It would be fine every now and again but day after day I think I’d become suicidal. Of course I guess it’s different if you are being paid millions but so few are. So what’s in it for the rest of them ? That narcissism thing is raising its ugly head again……
Talking of which, let me tell you about the stripper known very briefly as Delta. This guy befriended Stimulation on Facebook saying ‘so nice to hook up with a fellow professional’. Well, you know those people who go on the X Factor and can’t sing – Delta is the stripping equivalent. I’ve always thought that the X factor ‘non singers’ are either paid actors or people who do it for a bet with a small minority representing the delusional.
I’d come across Deltas before, usually fantasists aroused by the thought of stripping but they would never actually do it. Delta however was different. He was putting up photo after photo of himself on the Facebook in various states of undress, none of them flattering. Let me attempt to draw a picture. Mid 40s, bald, hairy chest, extremely pale, no physique, skinny build but with flab. Also, to Stimulation’s dismay he was wearing a children’s fireman Sam hat in some of his pictures (Stim is very uniform proud).
I was curious so I offered him an unpaid spot on a show in Leeds and he accepted (that’s a bad sign in itself) ! We were running a bet as to his motives. I wagered that he was a wind up merchant. Stim was convinced he was delusional. Stim was right, I was very wrong. He wasn’t unintelligent (claimed to be a part time university lecturer) but was incredibly cagey about his background and personal life. He claimed to have done 50 or so strippergrams for one of the dodgy agents for around £50 a time (another bad sign).
Certainly, it looked like it wasn’t his first time performing. He had some idea of how to engage the crowd. When he came out it wasn’t too bad. The audience didn’t exactly swoon but they weren’t repulsed either. The problem started when he began to take his clothes off ! I was watching the audience as much as I was watching him. As his top came off one audience member visibly retched. As more came off those at the front retreated to the back of the room. He was left with an elderly woman (at least 25 years his senior) as the lone gunman at the front. She started playing with his dick causing more shock and awe from those who had retreated to the back. Clearly an exhibitionist he simply stood there whilst the grandma continued her exploration. At the end of this debacle he retreated to the stage and began to put his clothes back on in full view of the audience, anything to stay naked in front of an audience for just a little bit longer.
I didn’t say anything upstairs, I didn’t need to. He told me that he felt something was ‘missing’ from his performance that night. I decided to let it go and call him the next day with a ‘how do you think it went’ call. Even though his eyes had told him it didn’t go so well his brain continued the masquerade. ‘I think I’ll stick to the strippergrams’ he said. ‘Maybe shows aren’t for me’. I enquired how he reached this conclusion. Apparently, when he did strippergrams he received excellent feedback from the women, unlike on the show. I decided to open up a little bit and tell him that looking as he did I couldn’t pay him even £50 to perform a strippergram. He seemed shocked, so I put it another way. ‘Given that your ambition is be a professional stripper, why don’t you try and at least look like one ? Why are you not in shape ?’ I asked.
The response was unbelievable. ‘You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know’ he said. I persisted ‘Why then are you not in shape, this is within your capability to sort out. Women are not attracted by an overweight, hairy, middle aged bloke. They can book the opposite, so why are you making no effort’ ? He began to blub about things were going so well and then something happened and he couldn’t get to the gym anymore. I guess he proved he has one typical stripper trait. He is able to lie and come up with creative, if unbelievable, excuses for not delivering.
I was curious as to his motives. I guess it demonstrated to me that everybody has different motives for wanting to be a stripper. However, if you are going to take money for it at least try and look the part !
I must also tell you about the time that I tried compering the shows as a stand up comedian ! Wow, those guys have now really got my respect !
After this book first came out we were in the throes of recession. Also, as previously mentioned there was a concerted effort to prevent me from working. 2009 was a tough year. Stimulation had said he always fancied himself as a stand up comic. I therefore suggested that as Ladies Nights queries came in from my website I would offer them a free compere (Stim), but, would explain that it deviated from a normal ladies night in that the compere was one of the strippers.
People loved the idea of saving themselves £200 on a drag queen and we booked up plenty of shows. On the first night of this experiment, Stim assured us he had been practicing his comedy routine endlessly in the mirror. He told me he was going to do 20 minutes so I sat down to listen to his patter through the somewhat dodgy tannoy system in the dressi
ng room. He sounded a little hurried and after only two minutes I heard ‘I hope you’re nearly ready Nick, I’m dying out here’ !!!!
I hurriedly started wanking, threw on my costume and went to his rescue. The booker wasn’t that impressed but was placated by the fact that they had saved themselves £200 on a drag queen. Stim said he ‘froze’ but assured us he’d be on form for the next one. Alas, it was a repeat showing. At least this time I had my dick in my hand ready to go in case of a Stim bumble. Just as well !
This time Stim came off stage sweating profusely and said he would not endure this kind of torment any longer. His former redcoat skills didn’t aid him in front of a room of men hating women. As we had booked up several more shows in the diary it fell to me to fill the breach.
As my sense of humour is a little niche, I suspected I wasn’t going to be a natural fit telling jokes on stage. However, I at least knew I could devise a routine and stick to it. As there were several shows to fill I was able to experiment with things and noted what did work and didn’t work. Things got slightly better as I went along, but only slightly !
It turned out that the all female audience was unable to relate to us as strippers with a microphone. In fact, they seemed to resent us for such. If you have a good body and a big cock then you simply can’t speak to them beforehand as well ! That simply goes too far, apparently. Thus, I tried to take the sting out of this by coming out wearing a cheap wig and a bad dress – Les Dawson in drag type. I then tried to explain that the drag queen got stuck in traffic and I’d drawn the short straw. This seemed to work, BUT, when it came my turn to strip, they seemed to resent the fact that I’d gone from a compere taking the piss out of himself, to being a ‘real’ stripper. There was no winning in this game for us.