by Ava Manello
This is why I’m an investigative reporter. I get to create my stories from the sidelines, observing, rather than interacting with my subjects. I don’t get close, because normally I’m not painting them in a very good light. They wouldn’t be too pleased to know I was looking into their deep, dark secrets. I’ll be honest; I’m not a people person. I keep to myself. I always have done. Instead of the life of the party, I’m the quiet one. I’m much happier with a book and my iTunes, than a beer and a disco.
I look around the minibus, just a quick glance, but it’s enough to reinforce that I’m in my own idea of hell. The guys may be attractive, but they’re loud, raucously so. There are beer cans on the tables, and from the sound of it they’ve already got through quite a few. I must grimace because Eric looks at me in sympathy. “They’re a good bunch of guys, Sally, really.” Is he trying to convince himself or me? He looks around the bus, affection clear in his face. “They’re pretty grounded considering what they do. You’ll be fine once you get to know them.” He sounds sincere. “Let me tell you a little bit about them.” He pulls the show’s program to the center of the table.
The front cover shows the guys posing in tiny briefs against a deep red background, which only serves to emphasize the tanned and oiled bodies on display. They certainly look sculptured and fit. I look from the cover to the guys on the bus and can barely tell they're the same people. They look older and more serious in the photo compared to the relaxed and carefree guys on the minibus.
Eric opens it to the first page where there’s a picture of a half-naked guy straddling a chair and begins the introductions.
"This is Alex; he's the quietest of the guys." As he speaks he indicates Alex sitting on his own on the other side of the bus. Alex has something about him, his blue eyes standing out on the page. I have a weakness for blue eyes. He's not as well built as Tiny, but then none of the guys are, but he definitely looks like he works out in the gym despite his slimmer physique. He has short, cropped dark hair, which seems to emphasize his eyes more. He's bare chested in the photo, and through the back of the chair there's a tantalizing hint of a V, leading down to his pale, torn denim jeans and bare feet. It's a hot photo, which even I can appreciate.
The next page shows Tiny, standing tall and proud wearing a navy suit and pale blue shirt that are hanging open to reveal his bare chest. I guess they call him Tiny as a play on his size. He's easily the largest guy here, I'm five seven and he towered above me. He has scruffy, tousled hair that looks like a woman has just been running her fingers through it. He's looking out of the corner of his eye at the photographer, and has a cheeky smile that's almost hidden in the several day old stubble on his face. Beards creep me out, but this looks just right. There's enough stubble that it looks deliberate, rather than a can't be bothered to shave effect, but not too much to put him in the realm of creepy hairy guy. He's well built but not fat, perhaps solid is a better description.
“This is Tiny, you've already met him. He's probably the peace keeper in the group, although he's in there with the rest of them when they party." Eric laughs.
The next page shows Guido. When Eric points to where he's sitting on the bus I can see his tan looks more orange than healthy glow. I'm guessing that with our typical English weather none of the tans are natural, but Guido's looks overly artificial. His chest in the photo is so smooth that I suspect it may be waxed as well.
"Guido's really called Gareth, and whilst he likes to pretend he's an Italian stallion he comes from Cleethorpes on the East Coast". Eric winks at me. I look back at Guido, his short dark hair and brown eyes could pass for Italian I guess in the photo, but in real life he just looks plastic and poseurish to me. He looks older than Alex, who I guessed was mid-twenties like me. I suspect he's nearer to hitting thirty.
The next page features Jackal. His head is practically shaved, just enough of a hint not to look bald. His tan seems darker than the others; I'm not sure if it's the tan causing the illusion or if he does have a more solid build than Guido. Looking at him on the bus, sitting next to Guido, his white T-shirt does seem to fill out more.
"This is Jackal or Jackie boy as we call him. He's a local boy, and is the newest member of the team."
Rick is wearing black boxers in his profile pic; they look much better than the skimpy briefs Guido and Jackal were sporting. He's got short dark hair, dark eyes and looks more serious than the other two. His hands are splayed back in the picture, almost as though he's pushing back from the backdrop of the photo. Like the others he's well built, has prominent abs and solid thighs.
Jonny has dark blonde hair, in contrast to the others, although his picture makes it look dark brown. His chiseled nose is prominent on his face, and he's got the most serious expression of them all, he's looking forward in his photo giving the illusion he's staring deep into my eyes.
The next page catches my attention as it's Eric's photo. It's a back view of him wearing a bright orange towel, slung low on his hips. The definition in his back and arms stands out. He looks like a bodybuilder compared to the rest of the guys. He's clearly older than them, but on the page he has a hell of a lot more character as well. He's darkly tanned in his photo, but sitting next to him now he looks a lot more natural. He's attractive in the way that a lot of older men are. I do think a lot of actors get better looking as they age. Sean Connery looks more attractive to me now than he ever did as a young James Bond. Perhaps it's maturity that does it.
I sweep my glance once more around the bus. I don't see male strippers; it looks more like a stag party to me.
Eric passes the brochure over to me. "Take this with you; it's got mini bios for each of them in there. It might help you to know a little bit about them before we start rehearsals." He pauses, thinking through his next words. "They're good guys deep down; don't be fooled by the personas they adopt for the fans. They'll probably show you that side of themselves for the next few days till they get to know you, just ignore them. Once they've got comfortable around you, you'll see a totally different side to them."
I don't want to get to know them. I don't want to be here in the first place.
"Thanks." I take the brochure reluctantly. I feel soiled already from this assignment. I just want to get to wherever we're going and scrub this dirty feeling away. I'm sure several of the girls in the office envy me right now, but I can't think of a worse way to spend the next eight weeks.
I discard the brochure on the table, pulling my Kindle out of my bag instead. I know it's rude of me, but I sit back and lose myself in the book I'm currently reading, anything to distract from this painful reality I've found myself in.
Chapter Three
Alex
The guys are loud and boisterous as usual. I think they're playing cards. It's giving me a headache. Don't get me wrong; I get on well with them. I enjoy time in their company, but only in small doses.
Spending the next eight weeks touring the UK with them, even on a luxury minibus, is going to cause tempers to fray and friendships to suffer. If they behave like they normally do, then there'll be at least one physical altercation before we've reached the half way mark on the tour.
I can't say that becoming a male stripper is really how I envisaged my career path when I was asked what I wanted to do by the school careers officer. I smile when I think of what Ms. Thomas would say about the direction I've taken. She always told me I could do more if I only applied myself. All my teachers did, but she was the one who seemed the most frustrated by my lack of interest in academic pursuits.
I'd always been interested in drama and dance at school, although I never took part in the school performances. They were just too cheesy. I was lucky that my Dad supported me and encouraged me. He somehow found the money every month to send me to stage school, although I think he was a little disappointed that I didn’t go down the professional footballer route. I had some talent there, but even I knew it wasn't enough to make a career out of it. I loved playing football, being part of a team, but
I loved performing even more.
For years I was in the local pantomime, moving up from the junior ensemble to the seniors, performing alongside nationally acclaimed TV celebrities. My greatest pleasure though was performing in the youth groups and local amateur dramatic shows. There was camaraderie there. Yes, we had the odd diva, but for the most part, we had a laugh.
As with my football, I had talent, but not enough to make a decent living from it. I was dabbling with choreography as a possible career choice when I stumbled across a Naked Night's audition notice, and the rest is history.
I'm not as well built as Tiny and some of the other guys, but over the years in the gym I've kept myself fit and toned enough that I have a passable six-pack. The ladies scream for me, just not as loudly as they do for Guido and Jackal. It's not lack of dancing ability, without being conceited I'm a much better dancer than them. They just have charisma; their personality takes charge as soon as they step out on the stage. I don't have that confidence and arrogance. That charisma means the ladies forgive their lack of dancing prowess, or more likely just don't care.
I remember going home after the audition and wondering how the hell I was going to tell my Dad I was going to be a male stripper. The money was too good to turn down, and there was a possibility of some international travel if the show took off. I needn't have worried. My Dad's cool like that, as long as I was doing what I wanted to do, enjoying it and had enough money to get by on, he was happy.
Mum was the one who expressed concern over my choice. I think it was the thought of all those women ogling me. Let me tell you, my mother's not a prude. She reads loads of smut as she calls it, and loves it, often having a laugh with her friends over it. She just wasn't comfortable with the thought of her little boy being the object that her mummy porn friends would be lusting after. I've seen my Mum's Facebook timeline; it's disgusting. It's full of pictures of half-naked men, as are the book covers on her Goodreads account. Having seen that, I wasn't sure I was what the director would be looking for. Mum and her friends are into the chiseled, body builder types, covered in tattoos. I'm too slim for that, although Mum keeps telling me I'm lean not skinny. She's been to a few shows similar to the ones we'd be performing. It's fine for her and her mates to watch someone else's son perform, just not her baby boy. She's come round slowly, and even attended a few of my shows, although she never tells me when she'll be in the audience, knowing how uncomfortable that would make me.
She kept telling me that she wasn't seeing anything she hadn't seen before, reminding me that she'd been changing my diaper and bathing me from birth. Even my Gran came to one of my shows before she passed away. She loved it, and kept telling everyone who'd listen that she was my Gran. Bless her. Knowing she was in the audience really would have blown my mind. Luckily the first I knew about it was out front when we were signing autographs after the performance.
I tend to keep to myself when we're on tour. I'll join the guys for a drink on a free night, but performance nights most of them head off somewhere with one of the fans they've picked up. I think it's sleazy; a different woman every night, but Guido justifies it by saying he's performing a public service. Yeah, right. He's just a male whore. He's really not fussy who he takes home, although to be fair, he rarely takes them anywhere other than a dressing room or one of the toilets.
The guys have developed a brown bag rating. It's based on how many brown bags you'd have to put over her head to make her look attractive. It's demeaning and childish. I challenged Guido about it one day and now he's convinced the rest of the guys that I'm gay. I'm not; I just prefer to have some sort of emotional connection before I take a woman to bed. You don't find emotional connections on the road as a male stripper.
I'm drawn from my thoughts when we pull up outside a little bungalow and Tiny moves down the narrow aisle way of the bus. He just about fits through the door on the bus and it makes me smile. Out of all the guys Tiny is probably the one I am closest to. He's a giant in build, yet he's one of the gentlest souls I've ever met. He tends to be the peacekeeper amongst the group. Eric, our manager, is supposed to be the one in charge, but we all tend to listen to Tiny when it comes to disputes. It's amazing what they find to squabble over. Everything from position on stage, choice of song down to the color of G-strings!
Tiny's not been gone long when he returns to the bus followed by a woman who's hidden in his considerable shadow. He silences us quickly so he can introduce us to her. She's called Sally and she's a reporter. The poor bugger is stuck on this bus with us for the next eight weeks and she doesn't exactly look thrilled at the prospect.
I'm immediately drawn to her eyes. They're a stunning blue color, and stand out against the mane of golden brown hair. The inside of the minibus isn't quite light enough to gage the color properly but there appear to be golden highlights reflecting from the sun that's slowly setting outside the bus window.
She looks like she was going to take a seat at the front of the bus on her own, but Eric has called her over. She did well trying to hide the reluctance on her face; it was only there for a fraction of a second before she masked it. I chuckle silently; this is going to be an interesting few weeks.
The guys seem to have ignored her for now, Eric did warn us before we set off that she's off limits. We're not allowed to fraternize outside of her reporting is how he phrased it. He'd turned and looked Guido in the eye when he told us that meant no shagging! Guido had spluttered and tried to look innocent. That had the rest of us in stitches.
I'll admit to being intrigued by Sally. She's not what I expected. I'd thought any reporter prepared to travel with us guys would have to be feisty and brash. Sally looks more like a schoolteacher than a reporter.
I settle back in my seat and put my ear buds in, selecting a playlist on my phone. It's an eclectic mix of music that I can lose myself in. Everything from classical to hard rock. I close my eyes and relax as Cascada serenades me.
Chapter Four
Sally
The minibus is pulling into the car park of a Premier Inn. I guess it could be worse; we are in Blackpool after all. The Las Vegas of the North. It's funny, as a child I remember coming to Blackpool for the illuminations every October. Back then it was a bright, shiny and exciting place to visit. I came back a few years ago as an adult. We'd come for a colleague’s hen night and it was the opposite of everything I remembered. The cheap guesthouse we stayed in was so dirty I'd had to go out and buy some cleaning stuff before I'd dared set foot in the shower. Nowadays Blackpool just looks grim and dirty to me, a far cry from my childhood memories. It's a mecca for stag nights and hen parties. I'm sure with that sort of audience the boys will have a sell out show at the Blackpool Opera House.
From what I can see most of the venues seat between two to three thousand each. I break out into a shiver at the thought of two to three thousand bawdy, loud women lusting and leering.
I'm drawn back to the present when Eric starts handing out the room assignments; he's pairing the guys up. Luckily for me I have a room to myself. The thought of sharing with anyone, let alone a man is abhorrent to me. I'm far too private a person.
By the time we've all made it into reception and received our keys, our bags are there waiting for us. I thank Dan, the driver, as he hands me my case. I'm achy after the journey, I'm not used to being sat in one place for so long. I'm normally much more active, and it's made me tired and grouchy. I suppose it's not the journey that made me grouchy if I'm honest with myself; it's the job I've been assigned that's responsible for this miserable mood.
Eric suggests we all meet down in the bar in half an hour for something to eat. I'd rather hide away with the room service menu but agree to join them - this time. I suppose now is as good a time as any to break the ice and get to know a little more about everyone.
The lift is too small for us all to fit in together, and as my room is on the first floor I decide to take the stairs. Tiny is struggling to fit his large frame and his bag into the lift, much to
the amusement of the others. Cursing mildly he gives in and moves over to the stairway door, we both reach for the handle at the same time. Tiny gives me a smile that lights up his whole face.
"Ladies first, which floor are you on, I'll carry your bag up for you if you like." I'm about to refuse, and insist I can carry my own bags, when I realize he's just being a gentleman. That's something I'm not used to. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a feminist by any means, but I do like to do things for myself. The men I'm used to always seem to want something in return for any token act of kindness. There's a vibe about Tiny that immediately tells me that's not the case with him. I hand over my bag, thanking him. It turns out we're in rooms next to each other. He hands me my bag once he's made sure I get in my room okay. "Let me know when you're ready and I'll escort you down to the bar." He gives me that warm smile of his again, before unlocking his own room and disappearing from sight.
I'm confused. Tiny's not what I expected from a male stripper. He's polite, courteous and seems like a respectful guy. Then again, what experience do I have of male strippers? Just a preconceived notion in my head. I hope the rest of the guys are like him, but perhaps I'm asking too much. Only time will tell.