TakeItOffAgain

by Justin Whitfield

  McHaircut—Super Sized

  Early in our dancing career we were trying anything and everything that would help us make money. We both decided to get blond highlights in our dark-brown hair. We were so broke that we went to a cosmetology school to get a good deal. Apparently this girl had no idea what she was doing. Both of our heads combined had not one strand of blond hair. Instead, we had bright orange highlights. Mine was not as bad as Taylor’s. Taylor was trying to grow out his hair and it was in that in-between phase where it’s too short to style right but too long to look good. That night when we got to the club, we saw we were booked for a double strip-o-gram.

  Before we arrived at the party, Taylor had a water bottle and wet his hair thoroughly in order to slick it back. We walked into the show but had to wait ten minutes for the guest of honor to be ready. She finally got there and we started dancing. About five minutes into it, Taylor looked at me and whispered, “Fuck! My hair is drying out!” I looked over and noticed his hair was no longer slicked back but had started to stand straight up! After the show was over, his hair was completely dry and he had this huge orange afro like Ronald McDonald! He was now forced to take photos with everybody! They seemed never ending and Taylor’s afro seemed to get bigger and bigger with every passing minute.

  The very next day, we both went to get our hair redone. Taylor didn’t want to spend more money so he just got a buzz cut hoping to get rid of all the orange. The dye had gone to the roots in spots and when he buzzed his head the only thing accomplished was making him look like an orange cheetah.

  Wheelchair Strip-o-Gram

  Doing strip-o-grams is just part of being a male stripper. It helps bring in extra cash and usually takes less than thirty minutes.

  One day, I had a strip-o-gram at a business. The instructions were as follows: Get there ten minutes before noon, dress normal and meet Jane Doe in front of the front doors. The business fits people for customized wheelchairs. I got there and met up with Jane Doe and she quickly filled me in. I was to get into a wheelchair and be the next client scheduled to meet with the employee who was getting married. I laughed a bit and just went with the flow. I was in the wheelchair and she came to the waiting area to call me in. I wheeled myself in. She had no clue what was really going on, but everyone there was grinning. She started going through her routine questions and I was just answering however I could. Suddenly, someone put on some music and turned it up. I quickly popped up, and the lady just about had a heart attack, looking at me as if it were a miracle that I could stand. I thought she was going to faint. It took her a second to realize I was a stripper and she was about to get a dance!

  Table Dance or Dancing Table?

  Once I was approached for a side gig to do a party. The pay was good so I accepted. The lady told me I would be serving desserts at a table to give the women something to look at. Sounded easy enough so I gladly showed up to the event, not knowing this would be an all-time humiliating low in my career.

  When I walked inside I realized this was a bigger party than I expected. It was an annual event of some huge company. Still no biggie, I had done a few of these types of parties before and was ready to get it started. I asked for the contact lady and the girl said with a grin, “Oh you must be the dessert table guy.” “Yep, that’s me,” I said and was brought into a prep room. I noticed everyone snickering as I walked by. Then I saw what they were so amused about. Turns out I wasn’t just at a dessert table. I was the table. They had built this ridiculous contraption that was a round table on wheels with a hole in the center. I had to stand in the middle of the table with dessert truffles all around me. They said I had to move around the party all night.

  Imagine a guy with no shirt on in suspenders that are attached to a table cloth wheeling around a party on what looked like a floating table. Three hours I had to endure this. All the guys were laughing with their coworkers while they took all my candies, so I constantly had to wheel back to the catering staff to reload. And I had to just grin and bear it.

  After about an hour everyone was drunk and wanted to take a picture next to the dessert table guy. Now I was thinking this was the worst it could possibly get for me. But once again I was wrong. The entertainment planned for the guys was none other than the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders doing their full halftime show. Talk about upstaged! But I am a fan of them so I wheeled the stupid table up close so I could watch. When they finished, they all filed past me, one by one, looking at me like I was the biggest loser on the face of the planet. To tell you the truth I didn’t blame them. To this day, occasionally someone will say, “Hey, I saw you at a party one time!” Quickly followed by, “You were wearing a fucking table!”

  Almost Hummer Time

  Sometimes a sex addict will think with his dick when he should be thinking with his head. Once, a friend and I were cruising around a local hot spot in his brand new jacked-up Hummer. The traffic was bumper to bumper so the pedestrians were walking faster than the cars were driving. My friend gave me the privilege of driving his new toy and I was a high roller for the night. As we crept along, I noticed a sexy girl in a skirt walking on the sidewalk. As she glanced over at me I noticed she smiled at me. I smiled back. As we went along we kept catching each other’s eye and giving a quick grin. I assumed she thought I was a rich guy because of my ride and that was fine with me. I pulled up next to her and said, “Hey, would you like to roll with me?”

  She smiled and said sure. She got in on the passenger side rear door. My friend and I introduced ourselves, and he told me to pull over to an upcoming gas station so he could get a drink. I whipped in and he jumped out. I turned to the girl and began my usual spiel. You’re pretty. I’m a dancer. I was in Playgirl, yadda yadda.

  She replied, “Oh you’re famous! I need an autograph.”

  I said, “Hell yeah, baby, I’ll sign wherever you want.”

  “Oh really?” she said. “How about down there?” She looked down at her lap.

  I was thinking, This is too easy. I should be given a Playboy of the Year award. I mean, damn, I’m good. I said, “Yeah I’ll sign it, girl. If I had a marker I’d do it now.”

  “You wanna see it?” she asked.

  “Show me!” I said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah!”

  She reached down and slowly pulled up her skirt. As it came up, my horniness turned to complete terror as I saw a jumbo, bratwurst-size limp wienie! I was in such shock I didn’t know what to do. Most guys say they would do something violent like deliver a Chuck Norris judo chop to the jugular. But in this moment of confusion I was speechless and stone faced at the same time.

  Just then my buddy jumped in. The only thing I could mutter was, “Hey bro, we have to go do that thing.” I turned to her/him and said, “You have to go so we can leave.”

  She jumped right out and walked away. I pulled back on the road in silence. A few blocks later after getting my thoughts straight, I spoke up. “You ain’t going to believe what just happened to me, bro!” I said.

  He started laughing. ”That was a guy, right?”

  “How the fuck did you know?”

  He said, “When I shook her hand it was rough.”

  “And you were just going to leave me with her? What the fuck, man?”

  ”I didn’t leave you with her. I left you with him!” he said and laughed his ass off.

  Dude Looks Like a Lady

  It was a slow Thursday night. Not much going on when this tall lady came up to me and tipped me on side stage. She was older and I really couldn’t tell her age but her hairstyle was straight out of the Eighties glam rock scene. She had a nice body and she was wearing a leather jacket with fringe on the arms, kind of like something out of a Bon Jovi music video. She started hitting on me and I started flirting back. I asked what she was celebrating and she said that it was her friend’s birthday. She went back to her table and my friend came to the side stage and said, “Man, that’s a big chick!”

  I said, “I
know; can you imagine me fucking her? What it would look like?!”

  He said, “Yeah, like a Chihuahua on a Great Dane.”

  “Sounds like a challenge,” I said. So I got off the stage and made my way to that table. I started introducing myself, saying happy birthday to the one girl, then I started winking at the tall chick and flirting with her a bit. I shook her hand and kissed it. She giggled. I made small talk for a minute and headed back to the locker room where I wrote down my number and then went back out and gave it to her. After work, she called me and I headed over to her place. I went inside, we started to mess around and made it to her bedroom where we start fucking. She was so tall, though, that when I was doing her doggie style, she was on her knees but I had to stand with my knees half bent.

  As I was fucking her, I was looking at her broad shoulders and toned back. I was thinking at this point that her back looked like a man’s back. My cock immediately went limp. So I closed my eyes and started to visualize anything that could turn me on. I’d start to fantasize about other girls to get me aroused. I kept having to do this until I finally finished. I was so relieved because I really didn’t think I would be able to.

  A week after that night, she called me up and invited me over. It was the middle of winter and not much going on for me so I figured why not? I was pretty horny so I figured I’d give it another try. I drove all the way out to her house after work and as I got there, I could hear the music from her house blaring. So loud. I got out of the car ready to do this and quickly realized that the song playing was Aerosmith’s Dude Looks Like A Lady. Great! Now that I had this image of a dude looking like a lady, I knew I could not go through with it so I got back in my car and left.

  How Spanky Got His Nickname

  A dancer had a customer coming into the club one night. She called him ahead of time and told him that she was hired out as a Domme and that she was going to bring her slave into the club as well. She arrived with the slave, and he was a normal-looking dude. He was in a regular tie and collared shirt. Not a big guy. She was all leathered out and wearing high heels. She was acting like she didn’t know anyone and was getting the slave to spend his money on her favorite dancer. She was calling him slave and he was responding, “Yes, Mistress.” Typical lingo for the genre. So then she told her slave that she wanted a table dance from her favorite dancer and that the slave was supposed to watch while she beat the slave, grabbed his balls and squeezed them really hard.

  While the dancer performed for her, the slave started to lick her toes on the outside of her boots. It was a dead Thursday night and everyone there was watching. She told the slave to stand up, turn around and take off his belt. He did and handed it to her. She gave the dancer the belt and told him to whip the slave for her. The slave wouldn’t even look at the dancer. The dancer was hesitant but with a bit more encouragement from the lady, he took the belt and lightly whipped the slave.

  She said, “Harder!” The dancer whipped harder. She yelled, “Harder!” The dancer whipped even harder. She screamed, “Stop being such a pussy!” Now, you could see the dancer rear all the way back and really lay one into the slave. He hit him on the back and ass over and over. Pop! Pop! Everyone was watching. He had to be bleeding. She asked the slave, “Did you like that?”

  He would respond, “Yes, Mistress.” She then told the slave to pay the dancer. He asked the dancer how much and the dancer said that he really wasn’t sure what to charge. The slave handed over a crisp hundred-dollar bill and the dancer was pretty pleased. Not ten minutes later, we all guessed that the slave must have spent his last bit of money on that dance because the slave suddenly bolted out the door and started running down the street to avoid paying his tab. The waiter was chasing him but couldn’t catch him. We all nicknamed the dancer Spanky after that night.

  The Perfect Job

  I got to work one Friday night and found out that I had a strip-o-gram scheduled for around ten p.m. I had been doing strip-o-grams for almost a year for the Dallas club at this point and was still very much a rookie just trying to make it. I got to the house dressed up as a cop and rang the doorbell. The door opened and a very lovely woman in her late forties answered the door wearing nothing but a see-through teddy. I could see everything except her vagina. ”Yes, can I help you?” she asked, but I could tell she was role playing and being funny. However, there was no one else in the house and I was thinking at this point, I hope she isn’t expecting a happy ending!

  I smiled and said, “Hi! I’m Officer Handsy, and we’re getting a complaint about a lot of noise coming from this location. Are you here by yourself?”

  Her friends jumped out at this point and all were laughing at me. They were trying to reverse the situation and make me sweat. We all had a good laugh and they let me in. I immediately put the birthday girl (the lady who answered the door) in a chair and asked all the ladies to sit on the sofa and other chairs. There were four or five other women at the party. I asked the birthday girl to stand up and assume the position. She did and I then said, “We call this assuming the position because I am assuming that she has been in this position before!”

  I told the ladies that I was going to have to do a strip search and then I proceeded to feel the birthday girl all over. The ladies always die laughing at their friend at this point. I took out my flashlight and rubbed it between her legs, pretending to check for weapons but making it look like a dildo I was ramming into her. (I have a lot of sexual innuendos in my routine.) The show went well and the ladies loved me. I got paid and tipped and headed out. I was about twenty yards beyond the door when I heard someone yell at me. I turned around and the hottest woman from the group ran up to me and laid a big, wet kiss on me. She was in her late twenties and looked every bit the part of the All-American head cheerleader when she was younger. The type of girl who never used to even give me a thought. That was the moment I realized I had the perfect job.

  Strip-o-Grams for All

  We have done strip-o-grams in gas stations, bail bonds places, Six Flags amusement park, a pharmacy, the mall, hundreds of houses, apartments, trailers (both single and double wide), restaurants, businesses, nightclubs, neighborhood bars, country bars, hotels, hotel bars, biker bars, a biker rally, gyms, mansions, party buses, in the backyard of someone’s house, the pool area of apartments and lots of other places.

  We have done them with no music, just beat of the claps.

  We have done them sometimes, for women who spoke no English at all.

  We have done them with the whole entire family present.

  We have done them everywhere!

  The parties we do always have two or more women. Very rarely have we done a strip-o-gram for fewer than four women. One time, I had a strip-o-gram at a hotel. I had a second dancer with me because we had just finished a strip-o-gram at a house. Usually, when this happens, the party is always excited to get a second dancer. We usually will call thirty minutes prior and ask if they are willing to pay an extra fifty dollars plus tips for the second dancer. It almost always works, especially since the first dancer costs anywhere from one hundred to two hundred dollars. So we both arrived at the hotel and I didn’t even think to call ahead because we were running behind and I figured he would get tips, which was better than sitting in the car waiting for me. As soon as the door opened, a very surprised older lady in her silky lingerie said, “Oh I’m sorry, I just wanted one guy.”

  I said, “He will dance for free, just tip him.”

  She replied, “Dance? Oh, I think I got the wrong service.”

  I said nothing because she was so embarrassed and quickly shut the door.

  Chapter Two

  All About the Guys

  There are many things that factor in when determining the hierarchy of the guys. Looks, personality, morals, attitude, length of career (this can be a negative if your career is too long and you obviously should have retired!) and fighting ability all are important. Very important.

  The single biggest factor in determin
ing the hierarchy, though, is the ability the dancer has on the main stage. We’ve known guys nobody cared for personally but who were so damn talented onstage that everyone looked past the “lone wolf” attitude and showed them nothing but respect. The prime time list is what we call the top guys. A club will offer anywhere from ten to twenty-five dancers. From that list, five to eight are the prime time guys. This means that they know how to “rock the house” and will do so during prime time, the busiest two hours of the night. These are the studs of the pack, and every male dancer strives to make the prime time list during his career.

  Most will never get there. Maybe they just aren’t quite good-looking enough or they don’t have a strong enough act or their stage presence is weak or they just haven’t danced long enough in their careers yet. Dancing for as long as we have, we have seen guys go from first in the list (which is usually reserved for the new guy or the worst one) to prime time. And vice versa! You want to retire when you are still on the prime time list! We cannot reiterate this enough!

  Your retirement and post-dance life are directly affected by your exit. Did you exit because you had better opportunities or because you had to? The ones who exit in their prime knew of nothing but success as a dancer and this is usually how they continue their professional life. For some others, it’s just way past the time they should’ve retired! Their time is over, yet they still dance. Here are some signs if you ever need to know when to hang up the ol’ banana hammock.

  If, instead of a three a.m. breakfast with your customers, you now have an eight a.m. breakfast with your customers…it might be time to retire!

  If many of your customers go from having jobs to retiring and now have to come to the club less due to social security cutbacks…it might be time to retire.