Girl #2 was a stripper.
What was a gay guy such as myself doing in a strip club with girl strippers, you might ask.
Well, I for one never intended to meet a Brazilian stripper that night. At the time I worked for a media company and the owner of a strip club so happened to be one of my clients. He had invited me and my boss to his club to discuss stationary.
We discussed stationary, and then the owner invited us for a drink in his club, which incidentally had naked women dancing on stage.
It never occurred to me to say ‘no’. I actually rather welcomed the experience.
I figured there would only be minimal interaction between me and any kind of strippers.
I never knew it was common for strippers to randomly pull audience members such as myself onto their stage. I also didn’t know it was common for a stripper to undress me in front of my client, my boss and about a hundred strange men. I’m still not sure if this is common practice at strip clubs.
I hope it is.
It was fun. Frightening, but fun.
Not fun in the sense that it was erotic. Just in the sense that it was fun to be living the wild life. I had lost my virginity barely two years earlier at age 24. Now here I was, lying underneath a big breasted stripper who was riding me like Xenia Onatopp.
That actually hurts like hell on a wooden stage.
Still, I totally admired how Girl #2 exerted total control over me. Stripping is not an easy job, but she was good at it. Had I been straight, I probably would have been very attracted to her.
Of course it was almost unbearingly unpleasant to get my underwear torn off in front of my boss and a client, not in the least bit because I just so happened to be wearing my oldest and absolute unsexiest bit of leftover garment around my waist.
Yet as I lay there, quite literally butt naked, I couldn’t help but feel I had achieved something. I had stopped being that person that had been so religiously afraid of the unknown for so long. Instead, I was at the mercy of a stripper. By the time she started to ride me I was starting to understand how people break hips.
After Girl #2 had finished her show, I was left on stage, trying to find back my clothes just as the lights went out. I managed to get dressed pretty quickly, although my underwear had been completely destroyed. I was forced to go commando for the remainder of the night. And my boss knew about it.
Yet in a way I was happy I got to see a beautiful woman in a way I never expected to see a woman ever again. Girl #2 had sensed I was gay, or so the owner told me afterward. I guess that had made me an easy target, but I would like it if strippers really do commonly pull men on their stage to wreak havoc on their underwear for the world to see.
I wish it upon any stripper to have that kind of power over their audience, as Girl #2 did with me.