I went to an all nude male review once when I was eighteen. I used a fake ID and walked in holding my best friend’s hand in one hand and a Zima in the other. I felt out of place. Very out of place. Someone was getting married or turning twenty – one or something note worthy, so I tagged along.
It wasn’t fun. There were no Channing Tatums or Matt Bomers. They were too skinny or too chubby or too hairy or just all together too . . . wrong. When what I can only assume was a grandfather came out in a tuxedo thong, I bolted for the door, tossed my Zima into the trash and waited in the car for my friends. There was absolutely no way I needed to see Peepaw’s pee pee. My eyes still burn from the pee pee’s I did see. I swore I would never ever darken the door of a stripping establishment again. Ever.
A few years later, my friend Ronnie got engaged. We planned her wedding with painstaking detail, which was way far out of my norm. I don’t really do details. Her sister/maid of honor was taking care of the bachelorette party. It would take place at their parents’ house, and there would be tequila and food and lots of fun games, and then after, we would hop in a limo and head to a night club to dance . . . which anyone who knows me knows I love dancing. A lot.
I arrived right on time to the party. I gave Ronnie a big hug. We toasted a tequila shot and danced around in her mother’s living room which had been transformed into a cute little dance floor with Spanish tile lit up by a retro disco ball.
As the night grew later, I wondered when we might leave for the dance club. Did I mention I love dancing? My friend’s sister strutted into the room and shushed all of the ladies, saying, “I have a huge surprise for you and for you, mija.” She looked at Ronnie who’s red stained lips spread into a wide toothy smile. The lights dimmed, and the first few beats of Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get it On,” blasted through the surround sound speakers. When the lights came on, center stage (or living room) stood a six foot five beautifully cut man in blue jeans and no shirt. His head was down, looking at the floor. My eyes traveled from his bare feet to the v in his waist line that shone just above where his jeans hung perfectly loose against his light brown skin. I took in the definition of his abs, his chest, his shoulders. Then our eyes met. He didn’t react, kept his eyes set on me and started moving his hips. Dancing to the slow beat.
My heart thudded hard in my chest. I gasped. Audibly. Out loud.
This beautifully crafted specimen of the male species, this man who was trailing his long fingers down his chest to the buttons on his faded wonderfully fitted jeans, this man who was now in a cobalt blue silk thong, this man who was watching me, eyes gazing into mine, biting his lip. Sexy as hell. This man. This very almost naked man. Was my.
My high school boyfriend.
My very first love. The first boy to do . . . everything first boys do to girls. And he was dancing in a thong thrusting his self into the air, grinding a make believe something in my good friend’s mom’s living room. And staring at me while he did it.
I’m pretty sure I died. But nope, that wasn’t the end. He started moving around the room. I sat on the end of the couch, and he sauntered right over to me, walk dancing to the beat of the music. He stopped in front of where I sat. I shook my head silently telling him, “No, don’t do it. Please don’t do it.”
But then he did it. He put one leg on the arm of the chair and started bucking the air between his . . . self . . . and my face. I slumped down on the couch, and slipped right under his legs, making a bee line for the door. I sat outside in the scorching sun and waited for someone to come and get me, to tell me this incredibly weird dream was over.
A few minutes or hours or days passed, and then he finally came outside.
“What’s the matter? Why did you leave?”
I couldn’t even speak.
“Don’t be embarrassed. You’ve seen me before.”
Still nothing from me.
We broke up on excellent terms. He and I were still friends. We talked at least a couple times a month, but this little detail of his life remained a mystery to me.
Finally my brain connected to my voice, and I said, “When did you start . . . ” cough ” . . . um . . . ”
“Stripping for bachelorette parties?”
“Yep. That.”
This was apparently a fairly new gig for him. He was working to earn some extra cash to buy a new car. We laughed about how awkward the entire situation was and then went inside and had a drink together. He ended up joining us at the night club for dancing (since he’s a professional), where we promised to keep each other informed of any new career moves.
We still keep in touch and not just because he posts shirtless photos on Facebook all the time, but that helps.
FRIST!
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Oh my good grief! I giggled so much. You can’t catch a break with strippers, huh!
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Not even a little one . . . snickers.
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Ah well. Here’s hoping you catch one soon…
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Oh Mandi, girl. I’m in tears, laughing. You have the best stories. 😁
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Thank you. My friend just called to verify if this is a true story, and yes it is a very true story. Horrifying.
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That’s awesome. I don’t have ANY of those kinds of stories…the best story I have is when my ex locked himself in the trunk of our car (we were newly married) on my birthday because everyone forgot my birthday and he was trying to cheer me up….and my car keys were in our apartment…along with my apt door key. Yeah…good times.
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Hilarious! Your story ends so gracefully. My run-ins with male strippers always end with me waking up in a bathtub…what am I doing wrong…..;)
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Well, if graceful is sliding under a stripper’s legs, then yes. I am very graceful.
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Um. Is he single?
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I’m glad you said it first because that was actually my first thought…
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I’m pretty sure he is. And he’s still very gorgeous and works out all the time. I know this because he posts lots of pictures on facebook.. Lots.
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Hmm. This is in Texas, right?
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Actually, he lives out of state now.
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But west coast not east.
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*Suddenly realize that you have redefined “selfie.”*
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LOL! You’re funny.
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This is amazing. I can’t believe he went for the creepy eye contact. So much awkward…cannot handle…
Now I’m wondering if any of my exes have…alternative…careers I don’t know about.
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Better look them up.
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I’m hiring…
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I’ll let him know.
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It’s a permanent gig. Relocation may be required. Hmm that may not sound so tempting… He could read my blog and decide for himself 😉
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Hilarious! I remember the Zima night. It has taken many years to rid my mind of the horrors we saw at “male review amateur night.” It’s amazing we still like men after all of the flopping and irratic swaying we saw prior to our escape… Gag!
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Gag a maggot
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Good Lord Mandi. Zima night sounds like a nightmare. However….Mr. “one-man-show” now that made up for it all. You do realize that you have what most every woman would love. A secret in and intimate knowledge of a REAL Magic Mike. (she sighs) Jealous doesn’t cover it!!! lol Brilliant post girl!!! 😉 xo
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Zima night was horrible. Don’t be jealous. It was so awkward. So glad to see you back online. When can we get your next book?!?!
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Amazing! Holy shit. My jaw dropped.
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A grandpa in a tuxedo thong. Dying.
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I would DIE!
“he looks…smart” HAHAHAH
What would the internet do without your crazy stories?? I shudder to think……
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And once again, I wish I had just one story even remotely as awesome as yours. I’ll just pretend I’m you.
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Dear Lord, the stories you have to tell! That would have been, well, interesting. But hey, that’s a far better experience than I’ve ever had with any of my high school boyfriends!
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LOVE it. I once tried to hire a comedy stripper for my sister’s hen do, because they’re all comedy it’s just that some of them are oily and I thought it would be way more fun to have a skinny dude doing that dance from The Office or something, but to no avail. Gap in the market, clearly.
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That sounds like the most hilariously awkward encounter ever, but you really turned it around and made it work! Plus, some eye candy in a Facebook newsfeed never hurts…
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It’s great eye candy. It was hilariously awkward, but I wasn’t laughing at the time. Flipping out, panicking, but not laughing. Not until later that night when the other girls from the party rehashed it with me.
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Oh I bet! I would probably lose it if I were in that situation…
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