C: love you
L: Awwww I love you TOO <3 <3 <3
L: give Harry my number or i’ll defiantly fight you
I roll my eyes and jump out of my seat. We have a pull-up bar installed in one corner of the room, and I hop up onto it, doing a couple reps. In my experience, there’s a very obvious correlation between tips, and how pumped I get before the show. It’s why I spend so much time in the gym. These biceps pay my rent.
Harry watches me, his eyes narrowed. “Seriously, man. You good? You look like shit.”
“Lot of weird stuff going on at home,” I mutter.
“Well, perk up.” He looks meaningfully at my boxers. “We’re on in five.”
There’s a knock on the dressing room door, and the show’s announcer, Seth, comes into the room. He’s wearing a shiny silver jacket and sunglasses. He looks like an absolute wanker.
“Alright, boys,” he shouts, flashing a Crest-white grin around the room. “Line up. The girls lookhungrytonight. Give them a good show, okay?”
I sigh, dropping off the pull-up bar and taking my spot at the end of the line. Seth opens the door, and we all file through the corridor, heading out backstage. It’s dark here, and the music is pounding unbelievably loudly, shaking the walls. The crowd is chanting for us to come out. Harry claps me on the back and gives my navy-blue policeman’s trousers a pointed look before stepping out of the wings.
We get into position, posing across the dark stage. Before the lights come up, I reach under my boxers, grab the end of my dick, and give it a tug. The last thing I’m thinking about when I’m onstage is sex, so it helps to wake the little guy up.
That’s a weird misconception about male strippers—that we’re horny while we’re performing. When I’m dancing, I’m not thinking about sex. I’m thinking about the performance. The music. Giving the audience what they want. Even when we bring girls up to the stage for lap dances, I never get turned on. I’m nothumpingthese women, I’m essentially using them as props to dance with. I don’t think anyone expects a female dancer to be getting wet while she’s swinging around a pole, but when it’s a guy, people assume we’re just sex-crazed nymphos who picked this job because we want to fuck everything that moves. I have girls propositioning me every single night, trying to pay me to go home with them. I never have, though. I never sleep with clients. That’s a hard line.
Seth starts introducing the dancers. One by one, spotlights flash down over each of us, illuminating us to the audience.
“Next up, ladies, we have Hunky Harry!” he bellows. “Raise your hand if you find yourself getting hot tonight, and this strapping fireman will be sure to hose you down until you’re nice and wet!”
The audience screams as a spotlight shines down over Harry. He grins, winking at the crowd, then unravels a length of rubber hose from around his waist. He holds it suggestively between his legs and squeezes a hidden pump attached to one end. Water comes spurting out, showering the first few rows of guests, and the squeals reach a new crescendo.
I can’t help the dumb grin that swipes over my face. Despite my shitty mood, the adrenaline in the room is infectious. This is why I like stripping, more than ballet or hip-hop or all the other kinds of dance I used to do. Stripping doesn’t take itself too seriously. It’s a laugh; campy and cheesy and just freakingfun.
Harry tosses one last wink at the crowd, and Seth comes to stand by me. “And last, butdefinitelynot least: you’ve seen him around town. Maybe you’ve spotted him on one of our fliers. Perhaps you’ve stared at one of his Underground billboards on your 7AM commute. Well, now’s your chance to turn your wildest fantasies into reality. He’s the Magic Nights Poster Boy, the sexy stud you all know and love: give it up forRandy Romeo!”
The final spotlight cracks down over my head, and I grin, grabbing my shirt and ripping it open. Buttons scatter across the stage floor. The screams get even louder as I do a backflip in time with the music, then skid across the floor on my knees, landing right on the very edge of the stage. A girl in the front row ends up with my crotch about two inches from her face. Her eyelashes flutter, and I vaguely wonder if she’s about to pass out as I wrap my arms around her waist, tugging her up onto my lap. I start grinding my hips into her, keeping beat with the music, and she moans loudly, clinging to me and giggling. Her friends cheer and whoop as I flip us both over, rolling her onto her back and sliding my body over hers, thrusting into her missionary-style.
Seth laughs. “Okay, boys, get back in line, we’re just getting started.”
I wrap my arms around the girl again and gently slide her back off the stage. She grabs a handful of Magic Dollars from her seat, shoving them down my pants.
I laugh. “Thanks, babe,” I call over the music. She grabs at me as I pull away, pawing at my waistband. I kiss her hand, then jog back into formation. Seth is still talking as all of the guys get into position for our first dance.
“Remember—those Magic Dollars are your key to gettingluckytonight, so keep them raining on the stage.” Seth pauses for effect. “Oh. And one more thing. If you girls arereally nicetonight, and you shoutreally loud,these young men will probably take their pants off.”
As one, we all grab the legs of our velcro rip-away pants and tear them away from our bodies, revealing identical Union Jack-patterned jockstraps.
The crowd loses it. Money starts showering the stage. Women jump out of their seats. Red, white and blue strobes flash across the stage, cutting through the plumes of dry ice streaming from the fog machines.
Steve waves the crowd down, laughing. “Okay, okay, enough introductions. Boys, take it away!”
The first few beats of ‘Pump it’ start beating through the speakers, and the lights above the audience flash on, illuminating the girls’ faces. Immediately, my eyes focus on a mess of bright red curls, and I stumble over my own feet.
It’s Beth. She looks unbelievable, in a tight red dress that clings to her curves. She’shere,at one of the guest tables, holding hands with a hot black guy I’ve never seen before, a drink raised halfway to her mouth.
And she’s staring right at me, her red-painted lips parted in horror.
Well, shit.
Thirty