It’s almost inevitable that a Buck’s party will end up at a strip club, it’s like an unwritten law, but Paul wanted something different for his best mate, Brian, something kind of extravagant.
The receptionist at the agency told me that this guy wanted something a bit left of centre and wanted to know if he could speak to me directly as it was a bit long-winded. Always up for a new experience and curious as to what left of centre could mean, I got his number and gave him a call.
In that first phone call he was a little bit evasive. Not in a bad or sneaky way, I could just tell he wasn't to comfortable trying to ask me all the questions he wanted to over the phone, so he asked if we could meet up before the night in question so that he could explain his idea to me properly.
About a week before the job was going to happen I went along to a small cafe in the city to meet him. He was a really good looking, young guy. Probably in his mid twenties. He looked very professional in an expensive suit and was very well spoken and polite. He told me that his mate, Brian, was going to be the last of their group to be married and, for the last hoo-hah, Paul and their other friends had decided to organise a show Brian would never forget; a live sex show, performed by me and a male escort, Sam, who worked for the same agency as me. I thought it sounded like fun and agreed to do the job. Sam had already been briefed by the receptionists at the office about it but, as our paths had never crossed before, we arranged a time to meet before the job so we could plan out the what's and where's and all the details.
The basic idea was this: Sam was going to be Paul’s “cousin”, and a last minute addition to the party. He was going to join them on their night out, and then later, they were all going to come back to the office where most of them worked where they would meet me. I was going to be the “stripper”, hired for the night to perform my routine but, as a twist during the show, I’d pick a member of the group to have sex with in front of the rest… Sam. Easy! And not only that, it sounded like fun too!
Sam and I instantly warmed to each other. He was funny, smart and really, really cute with dark, wavy hair, big brown eyes and a gorgeous body. He seemed as excited about the night as me, and it really did seem to be the perfect job. The guys were friendly, the venue spectacular (a top floor office in a tall city skyscraper), and the money was also going to be amazing. Team that with the fact that Sam was a total hottie with a great personality to boot, and I was sure nothing could possibly go wrong.
Paul was right. It was going to be a show his mates would never forget…
The night started out fine. It was around 11 pm when I got to the party and met the guys. They were all very nice, Sam had fitted in well and no-one had doubted the story of him being an out-of-town cousin. We all shared a drink and chatted for a bit and then Paul put on a CD of sexy music and the show began.
On a night where nothing could go wrong, things started to go wrong.
I probably should have thought about it a bit more beforehand, because it's something I know very well about myself: Although I’m one hell of a fuck, I’m not a great dancer. That whole line of being able to tell how good someone is in bed by the way they move on a dance floor is, in my opinion, total bullshit!
So there I was, in front of a group of guys, with slow, sexy music playing on the CD player, trying to move all sensual and snake-like while wearing these ridiculous spike heels that I could hardly walk in, let alone keep a beat with. And it was only then I realised with horror that not only was I supposed to dance in them, I had to undress in them too. All while keeping this seductive dance going! Concentrating hard I sort of wiggled my hips a bit and tried to take off my shirt.
Salome I was not.
I think If I’d unbuttoned it properly it probably would have worked better, and it took me almost a full minute to untangle myself, completely stuffing up my hair, smearing eyeliner down the sleeve and losing my balance a couple of times in the process. But, just as it all seemed lost I managed to regain composure, fling my shirt across the room in a haphazard but totally sexy way and find the beat in the music again.
Relief was short lived. I now know why strippers wear things made with easy-pull-apart velcro sides. As I delicately shimmied out of my skirt one of the stupidly high spike heels got caught in the bottom of it and I stumbled again, falling onto my hands and knees as a heel got caught in my skirt. I cleverly disguised the fall as a sexy move and slipped the offending skirt off the heel. There was a nasty ripping sound as it caught on the hem, but I soldiered on and luckily the guys hadn't seemed to notice.
Feeling awkward and clumsy I got back up, now just in my bra, knickers and stupid shoes and beckoned to Sam, pulling him out of the circle and into the middle with me, telling the boys that this show was going to be a little bit different.
Sam smiled as he let me undress him. It was definitely easier getting his shirt and pants off than it had been getting my own clothes off. I smiled to the boys as I slid down his boxer shorts, and then I knelt down in front of him, licking my lips.
There I encountered the next problem in the “perfect job”. Sam was as soft and limp as cooked spaghetti and no matter what I did I could not get him to grow. I tried everything. Long slow licks, delicate kisses, tender hands and fingers running up his legs. I ran my hands over his chest. I put him (soft and limp) into my mouth (so not a sexy thing, really.) But still nothing. Not even a twitch. It was something I had never encountered before in my life! Sure, there have been guys with beer droop and drug slug and guys with other erection issues, but never had I come across someone so unresponsive to me in every way. When I did sneak a glance up at his face he looked bored.
After about five or so minutes of my futile attempts to get him hard I stood up and whispered in his ear that maybe he could try going down on me. At least then we could give the guys who were paying us a shit-load of money to be there something to watch to give them their money's worth. Sam shook his head, replying that he didn’t really like doing that and maybe we should just give up.
I was pissed off! Not only was I feeling about as sexy as a lump of wood, I was really mad at Sam, who was getting paid the same as me but was putting in absolutely no effort whatsoever to make this job work.
In the end I gave up and apologised to the guys. They were surprisingly fine with it. They laughed and said it had been a great show and a fun experience and that they were all massively turned on by me and my dance routine and would I mind if they called me again for private jobs with them. I said I'd be happy to, and then, after getting dressed back into my ripped skirt, and make-up smeared shirt, left the party and got my driver to drive me back to the office where I told the receptionist everything. Her response totally shocked me, but at the same time explained everything.
“What do you expect?” She laughed. “Sam’s gay! He only ever works with other men! I can’t believe he didn’t tell you that. I guess he thought in a room full of blokes it’d be easy to get hard.”
It wasn't too long after that night that Sam called me to apologise. He even offered to give me the money he made that night. When I refused, he made me promise to at least take half, which I did, and now have some awesome new boots to show for it. And I have also regained my sexiness (and ego) with a few regular bookings with Paul, and other members of the group where I had absolutely no problems getting them to respond in the way I wanted.
So, in the end, I guess we were right. It was a night to remember… I just kind of wish I could forget.