I wear many hats. I spin many plates. Not only am I a standup comic, occasional burlesque performer, brand new yoga teacher and lazily irregular blogger, I’m also a dirty stripper. I guess the technical term for my job is “private dancer”, you know, “a dancer for money, do what you want me to do”, as Tina Turner sang. Sometimes it’s called “lingerie modeling”, but I don’t see any reason to afford the job that much class. I’m a stripper, and I work at a jackshack. I do private, fully-nude, 1-on-1 shows for masturbating men in an 8x8 room with a non-ironic red light.
I was working a few weeks ago, and around midnight, a customer came in. He looked like every other customer. Thinning hair, khakis, stupid-ass polo shirt, reeking of defeat. I asked if he wanted a show, and he said..
“Well yes, but…ummm…I want to try something…weird…”
How adorable, he thinks he’s into something “weird”. Everyone thinks they’re into something weird, and the truth is, none of it shocks me anymore. I’ve had a customer who just looked inside my vagina with a flashlight for 20 minutes. I made a nail appointment while giving a golden shower. My eyebrows have not raised incredulously since the 90’s. Before you bother calling something weird, know your audience.
"What would you like to try, sweetie?"
"…a strap-on…”, he whispered, looking around embarrassed-like, as though there was someone else in this ghost town of a jackshack that might have the nerve to judge him. We’re standing in a grimy facility that hosts alternatively-niched sex parties every weekend, and hasn’t been deep-cleaned since business was good. The place is so thickly layered in dirty energy that I’m convinced the floor has AIDS. No one’s looking down their nose at a strap-on.
I said “You buy it, we’ll do it.”, and directed him to the sex shop in front. I went back to the dressing room and began to get comfy again, because usually, when you tell a customer that they have to buy accessories for their kink, they leave instead. Not in anger, they’re just cheap. They pretend to look at the merchandise, making their way around the store, from the stockings to the dildos to the vibrators to the bondage gear, to the strap-ons, to the butt plugs, and right out the front door.
So when the customer signal light came back on, I was more than surprised. Holy shit, this motherfucker was calling my bluff. See, I’d never fucked a man’s ass before. I stay away from man-ass, it’s just not where I want to be. I’m not judging those who adore man-ass, but ever since I opened my eyes in the bottom position of an unfortunate daylight 69-ing with an unhygienic 1-man band, I stay far away from man-ass. I have long nails that have no place in man-ass. I will not give you a rim job, no matter how of my pictures you like on FB..
So there he stood in the lobby area, with a bright blue dildo (not a strap-on) in his shaking hands. I took him to my room to get comfortable. I myself was a little shaky too, because I know that this is a situation where the blind should not be leading the blind. I could’ve given the show to my more-seasoned co-worker, but with business being so slow, I have to grab every dollar I see, and not let go. So I went back to the dressing room, and asked her for a quick primer on what to do and how to do it. She waved her hand dismissively and said “You just…do it.”
Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? You just put peg A in slot B. So simple.
I returned to my room, and asked him to tell me exactly what he wanted. Turns out, he wanted spanking and humiliation, in addition to the dildo-play, so I thought, “Awesome! I’ll just make him suck it while I spank him and tell him what a little bitch he is, and he’ll be so into the sensory overload, that he won’t even notice that I don’t fuck his ass.”
And that’s the plan I put into effect, which worked beautifully, me hissing at him “suck that rubber dick, you little bitch-boy” while spanking the fuck out of his ass. And I mean, I was spanking like my life depended on it, using my hands, as well as a thick leather strap that was left in the room by the girl working before me. I really put some shoulder into it, raising welts very quickly. Things were going along swimmingly, and then he looked up at me and asked “Are you gonna…use it on me?”
“Umm…do you really want me to?”
He nodded enthusiastically.
More nodding, so I took a deep breath, steeled myself, picked up the dildo in one hand, and a bottle of lube in the other. Now he was already down on the ground in Child’s Pose, ass exposed, and slightly spread, so I poured lube down his crack, and all over the dildo as well. I began to softly prod the target, and noticed how slippery the dildo was. I could see this causing some sort of mishap, probably resulting in me breaking a nail, so I grabbed a clean jizz-towel, wrapped the base of the dildo with it for a secure grip, and headed back to work in the saltmines. I dicked around with it (pardon the expression), teasing his asshole, pushing really gently at first. The head popped in, and I took that as the green light to follow my co-workers advice, and I just DID IT. I shoved it in all the way, all at once, and with a little bit of force.
He made a noise that blended a whimper and a not-so-sexy moan, and as I began pulling out, it became very clear that he was not lying about his inexperience as part of the fantasy, this was indeed his first time. He hadn’t yet learned about preparations one must make for such an intrusive event.
I “stuck in my thumb, and pulled out a plum”. And then some. The towel looked like a Jackson Pollack, if he worked in the medium of shit. I pulled my hand away, jumped back and tried to figure out what the fuck to do. I stood with my arms spread in a “whatthefuckdoIdonow” position, my eyes stretched open as wide as they’d go, scanning the tiny, slightly humid room for something -anything- to fix the situation, but saw no button or dial to turn back time. After a fraction of a second, which felt like a fucking decade, I regained as much composure as I could while gagging from the smell, thought quick, and told him to reach back and do it himself, that he needed to fuck his own man-pussy like the little bitch-boy that he is. I didn’t want him to feel bad or ashamed for his beginner’s ignorance, so I just tried to make it part of the game.
He sat back onto it, quickly finished, cleaned up, and as I walked him to the door he said “You know, you really do provide a valuable service”…and goes on and on about the psychological, physiological, sociological, and therapeutic benefits and gifts that I give through my job. All the same justifications that I used on myself to soften the sting of paying bills through handjobs, not jokes. THIS is the guy who gets it. Of course. The man whose ass I just turned into an actively erupting volcano is the one that gets it.
As I opened the door*, he turned to me for a hug and said, “Well, I guess I can check that off my bucket list”.
All I could do was give him a high-five, and send him back into the world, to cry in his mini-van for 20 minutes before going home to his wife.
* I was going to say, “I popped open the back door for him”, but then realized how redundant that would be…