My First and Last Male Stripper Show?

Male stripper shows.  Ladies, I know that many of you love em, many of you can’ wait to get your hands on the body oil and many of you can’t keep your hands to yourself but I beg to differ.  Maybe it was the tender and oh so shockable age at which I was initiated into rippling, glistening baby oil laden muscles and engorged members – but to be honest it didn’t do much for me at all.

My first show was on the occasion of a hen party.   It was loud, raunchy, full of heaving bosoms, plenty of laughter with a little sinister undertone of ravaging pack mentality.   I had a headache, was unimpressed and wanted to go home.  Then to top it all the performer seeing a shy, retiring, lightweight girl looking as if she would be anywhere else in the world than in that dark, steamy room with music so loud that the static was practically sparking off people, picked on me.    Dragging me into the middle of the stage he whispered in my ear “Don’t worry try to relax” .  Seriously?   He had to be joking?  That’s like your gynaecologist telling you to relax before they stick a cold, metal implement up you in order to take a smear test!  The next thing I knew he had picked me up, whirled me upside down and had started to gyrate his hips in my face – I closed my eyes and prayed for it to be over.   It seemed to take forever before I was set down on my feet and allowed to dizzily totter back to my seat.  Of course the group were all envious, “could not believe” how lucky I was and were desperate for details.   ” I don’t feel very well” I replied to all pleas for an in-depth dissemination on the experience “In fact I think I’m going to be sick” I announced and made a dive for the loos.   My mate took me home early – “What a party pooper” they must have thought, “how naive is she? they must have asked.  I dreaded going into work the next day – was I going to get the rip taken out of me!      The next day I woke up feeling even worse and as  it turned out,  had a really bad ear infection.  Being tossed around like a twirling baton had not helped.  Well at least I had a reason for why I felt so shit and my singular lack of   enthusiasm.    The only problem was that the girls were then keen to take me out to another show in order to appreciate the full monty without the impediment of an infection.     “Not going to happen” I vowed to myself.  So how the hell then did I end up being peursuaded to go to a Chippendales show?

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