He had been to a few practices with the other male dancers and was getting the ropes of the group numbers. His solo dances and his playlist had been signed off on by management and Rowdy was just waiting to be scheduled for his first shift. Every night of the week the club had them taking to the stage, but he had yet to be scheduled for a shift. Since he was a new angle the club was trying, they were cautious but optimistic about the audience response.
Rowdy had been in the library on the university campus since early that morning. He was doing some research on his doctoral thesis and was making great headway into the argument of his paper. Rowdy was a student of class literature, romantic poetry, folklore and mythology. He was putting together a conceptual argument that themes keep repeating themselves throughout history and culture. He wanted to argue that the underlying stories behind tv and movies of today could have been applied to the stories and fables of ancient cultures. It was a long shot, but he was determined.
While he researched his phone vibrated in his pocket with a text message. We are on for tonight. See you at the club about 9pm.
Rowdy texted back I’ll be there.
Rowdy spent the rest of the day in the library doing his research and starting the outline of his thesis. He had been living on coffee and vending machine food all day and his stomach was not happy with him. Checking his phone, he packed up his books and his laptop and headed out of the library on his way to Roosters. On his way, he paused at a little pizza place and grabbed a few slices to make his stomach stop growling. He ate as he walked. He used this time to change his mind set from research to stripping. It took all twenty blocks for him to shove the pizza down and get his mind ready to perform so that when he opened the back door to the club, he was no longer Rowdy the dorky doctoral student who lived for poetry and all beautifully written things, he was Hellhound. He stepped into the changing room and all the guys turned to look at him. He received a few greetings but most of the guys only saw each other as competition, the vibe wasn’t all that friendly. Hellhound threw his bag down at his station and pulled his street clothes off, tossing them on the table. He stripped until he was nude as costumes were chosen for them by the costume director. Now naked, Hellhound strolled over to the flustered gay man and gave him a look that let him know he just wanted his outfit. Hellhound was handed a garment bag and a box of accessories. Hellhound opened the box and had to take a deep breath. Great...he was a cop for this dance.
He took his costume back to his station and proceeded to put on the police officer's uniform. He found it was way too small across the chest and back and he didn’t want to get in trouble for ripping a costume. All the same, he put on the navy-blue thong, his ample package barely staying covered as he adjusted the string to sit between his firmly toned ass cheeks. The tear away pants were next, followed by black leather boots. He then pulled on the navy-blue button-up shirt but only buttoned the first two buttons at his waist. He then tucked the shirt into the pants and pulled on the belt. He looked at himself in the mirror and ran his fingers through his mussed hair. He used a spray bottle at his station to wet his hair and then slicked it back with a little shine gel. The police officer's hat was the last touch. Just as he placed the hat on his head, the stage door opened and the manager said, “Hey, Hellhound, you’re in with the next group number. Make ‘em crave your private show.” The manger saw Hellhound as one of the guys that was going to be the draw for the ladies and walked with Hellhound to the area backstage. “You gotta kill it tonight, kid. If we don’t generate some revenue…” Hellhound nodded and went over to the side of the stage where he allowed himself a few stretches to ensure he was loose.
The guys in this number lined up and they stuck Hellhound front and center so he would be the temptation for audience. The lights behind the certain shut off and the announcer’s voice came over the intercom of the club. “Ladies, throw your hands in the air so these boys can strip search you.” Just then the curtain flew open and the guys were hit square in the face with bright white lights. They soon were swept off them and replaced by alternating red and blue lights, with a white strobe behind them. He followed the movements, though his were far more superior than the untrained males next to him. He moved like water; the other guys moved like they were trying to fuck in the air. Rowdy wasn’t classically trained in dance by any means, but he knew his body and how to move it. He trained several times a week and could control his muscles in ways that few could.
The music was an awful selection; nothing he ever would have chosen for himself. It was full of heavy downbeats and spastic drum solos that gave the guys multiple opportunities for pelvic thrusts and gyrating. This wasn’t Hellhound’s style, but it’s what the boss wanted. He was always a team player and wanted to do what was best for the club and the guys. Though, and this point had been brought up a few times by the guys during practice, when Hellhound practice group numbers, they felt like he got more of the attention from management. It was something he couldn’t help. When most of these guys took to the stage, they attempted to replicate sex without a partner. Hellhound, though his movements were similar, moved through the motions as he was driven by the music. He didn’t just thrust his pelvis and then stop so people could admire the six pack. He would pelvic thrust and, more realistic to sex, he would put a slight hip swivel that would carry him more fluidly into the next move. When he removed his shirt, he ‘tore’ it with the same imitated passion as the others. Only he added a body wave to the motion, letting his perfectly toned muscles flex and stretch in the flashing spotlights.
He wasn’t trying to show anyone up he had just had years more training on controlling his body. He didn’t thrust his pelvis because it was sexual. He thrust his pelvis to emphasize a climatic rise in the music where a bold move was needed to excite the audience. He ripped off his pants when the music and the progression of the dance required it. All the guys grabbed the pants at their knees and pulled the pants forward, causing the snaps to release and the fabric to break away from their skin to reveal the navy-blue thongs underneath. Hellhound, however, performed this move a little differently. He didn’t like to bend over and grab behind his knees, so instead, he stretched his upper body out like he was in the throes of passion, grabbed the pants at the crotch and ripped them forward. The end result was the same. However, while they were all hiding their bodies as the pants came off, Hellhound was displayed perfectly for the lights to hit him, revealing the bulge that was barely concealed by the thong. He really needed to request they get him a bigger cup because one day he was going to have a wardrobe malfunction, and he would expose himself on this stage. He had to be more careful with his movements now. The threat of falling out of the thong was real and he knew he would get in trouble for that. This is what seemed to get Hellhound more attention than the other guys – while they were continuing to hip thrust and shake their asses, Hellhound had to be more creative so he wouldn’t fall out of his costume. He began to move his body, still in the style of the dancers on stage with him, but in a more seductive way that would hint towards more realistic sexual encounter. While he danced, the audience could believe for an instant that his hand as it caressed his body was their hand. The look on his face and in his eyes said it all.
By the end of the song, he had broken out in a slight sweat; the heat of the lights and the warm temperatures of the club always made him sweat during rehearsal and the pressure of opening night only made it worse. He had also forgotten that at the end of this group routine glitter bombs with blue and gold glittered showered down on them. He fucking hated glitter. Not only was it impossible to get off, but it also made him itch and break out in light hives. When the song ended and the guys all gathered their costumes and jogged off the stage, Hellhound was the last one off, the first one naked, and the first one in the bathroom as he scrubbed at his skin. After only being in the bathroom a little over two minutes there was a pound at the door, “Hellhound! You’re on in six!” Rowdy took a moment to collect himself. The glitter wasn’t coming off. Now he was soaked with water and sweating due to discomfort. He placed his hands on the sink to think and tried to collect himself.
He exited the bathroom still covered in glitter. The manager was in the dressing room waiting for him. When Hellhound walked in and looked at the man the expression on Hellhound’s face showed discomfort. The manager looked at him and shrugged, “It’s a little glitter. You’re a stripper. What’s the big deal?” He went over to Hellhound and said secretively, “I’m pulling out all the stops here. I need some good reviews. Please tell me you’re going to knock them all out of their chairs.” Hellhound sighed and nodded to the manager, “Just…give me a minute. You threw me off my game with the glitter.” He left the dressing room and went to wardrobe. The gay man, who could never speak correctly around Hellhound, perked up. “I need a suit. Something classic, please.” The costume director disappeared for a moment and came out with a nice looking suit with the typical break away everything. Hellhound nodded, “Thank you,” He said as he took the suit and went back to the dressing room.
The manager was in the dressing room when Hellhound returned. “You’re on in three. What music am I cuing for you?” Hellhound liked feel good songs. Songs that everyone knew and could sing along to, to some degree, but wouldn’t expect to hear within the walls of a bump and grind kind of strip club. He ran through this playlist and he decided to slow things down and go with ‘All I Have To Do Is Dream’ by the Everly Brothers. He had only used this song once before. It was a very slow song, which meant his performance would have to be dead on. The manager flew into a panic. The song was too slow. No one would like it. But Hellhound ignored him, put on the suit, and took the stage after giving the song choice to the DJ.
Hellhound took the stage and sat backwards in a chair. He put on the look of a love-struck man with no girl at his side. Through the slow duet with only an acoustic guitar as the accompanying music, he put on a show that spoke to anyone in the room of secret love, lust, and masturbation. He peeled the suit off himself slowly, as if he were undressing for a lover. He ran his hands over the contours of his body as he made suggestive gestures with his hands to symbolize he was fantasizing about the object of his desire. These were the kind of performances that made him reach down into his imagination. Because of this, the audience received a little more of a show as he grew visibly harder in the very small thong. The way he performed made any member of the audience believe it could be them he was fantasizing about. By the end of the song, he was down to a solid white thong, that had turned almost opaque in the light, leaving barely anything to the imagination. When the song ended, after two minutes and twenty seconds, he took a bow and exited the stage.
Rowdy had been in the library on the university campus since early that morning. He was doing some research on his doctoral thesis and was making great headway into the argument of his paper. Rowdy was a student of class literature, romantic poetry, folklore and mythology. He was putting together a conceptual argument that themes keep repeating themselves throughout history and culture. He wanted to argue that the underlying stories behind tv and movies of today could have been applied to the stories and fables of ancient cultures. It was a long shot, but he was determined.
While he researched his phone vibrated in his pocket with a text message. We are on for tonight. See you at the club about 9pm.
Rowdy texted back I’ll be there.
Rowdy spent the rest of the day in the library doing his research and starting the outline of his thesis. He had been living on coffee and vending machine food all day and his stomach was not happy with him. Checking his phone, he packed up his books and his laptop and headed out of the library on his way to Roosters. On his way, he paused at a little pizza place and grabbed a few slices to make his stomach stop growling. He ate as he walked. He used this time to change his mind set from research to stripping. It took all twenty blocks for him to shove the pizza down and get his mind ready to perform so that when he opened the back door to the club, he was no longer Rowdy the dorky doctoral student who lived for poetry and all beautifully written things, he was Hellhound. He stepped into the changing room and all the guys turned to look at him. He received a few greetings but most of the guys only saw each other as competition, the vibe wasn’t all that friendly. Hellhound threw his bag down at his station and pulled his street clothes off, tossing them on the table. He stripped until he was nude as costumes were chosen for them by the costume director. Now naked, Hellhound strolled over to the flustered gay man and gave him a look that let him know he just wanted his outfit. Hellhound was handed a garment bag and a box of accessories. Hellhound opened the box and had to take a deep breath. Great...he was a cop for this dance.
He took his costume back to his station and proceeded to put on the police officer's uniform. He found it was way too small across the chest and back and he didn’t want to get in trouble for ripping a costume. All the same, he put on the navy-blue thong, his ample package barely staying covered as he adjusted the string to sit between his firmly toned ass cheeks. The tear away pants were next, followed by black leather boots. He then pulled on the navy-blue button-up shirt but only buttoned the first two buttons at his waist. He then tucked the shirt into the pants and pulled on the belt. He looked at himself in the mirror and ran his fingers through his mussed hair. He used a spray bottle at his station to wet his hair and then slicked it back with a little shine gel. The police officer's hat was the last touch. Just as he placed the hat on his head, the stage door opened and the manager said, “Hey, Hellhound, you’re in with the next group number. Make ‘em crave your private show.” The manger saw Hellhound as one of the guys that was going to be the draw for the ladies and walked with Hellhound to the area backstage. “You gotta kill it tonight, kid. If we don’t generate some revenue…” Hellhound nodded and went over to the side of the stage where he allowed himself a few stretches to ensure he was loose.
The guys in this number lined up and they stuck Hellhound front and center so he would be the temptation for audience. The lights behind the certain shut off and the announcer’s voice came over the intercom of the club. “Ladies, throw your hands in the air so these boys can strip search you.” Just then the curtain flew open and the guys were hit square in the face with bright white lights. They soon were swept off them and replaced by alternating red and blue lights, with a white strobe behind them. He followed the movements, though his were far more superior than the untrained males next to him. He moved like water; the other guys moved like they were trying to fuck in the air. Rowdy wasn’t classically trained in dance by any means, but he knew his body and how to move it. He trained several times a week and could control his muscles in ways that few could.
The music was an awful selection; nothing he ever would have chosen for himself. It was full of heavy downbeats and spastic drum solos that gave the guys multiple opportunities for pelvic thrusts and gyrating. This wasn’t Hellhound’s style, but it’s what the boss wanted. He was always a team player and wanted to do what was best for the club and the guys. Though, and this point had been brought up a few times by the guys during practice, when Hellhound practice group numbers, they felt like he got more of the attention from management. It was something he couldn’t help. When most of these guys took to the stage, they attempted to replicate sex without a partner. Hellhound, though his movements were similar, moved through the motions as he was driven by the music. He didn’t just thrust his pelvis and then stop so people could admire the six pack. He would pelvic thrust and, more realistic to sex, he would put a slight hip swivel that would carry him more fluidly into the next move. When he removed his shirt, he ‘tore’ it with the same imitated passion as the others. Only he added a body wave to the motion, letting his perfectly toned muscles flex and stretch in the flashing spotlights.
He wasn’t trying to show anyone up he had just had years more training on controlling his body. He didn’t thrust his pelvis because it was sexual. He thrust his pelvis to emphasize a climatic rise in the music where a bold move was needed to excite the audience. He ripped off his pants when the music and the progression of the dance required it. All the guys grabbed the pants at their knees and pulled the pants forward, causing the snaps to release and the fabric to break away from their skin to reveal the navy-blue thongs underneath. Hellhound, however, performed this move a little differently. He didn’t like to bend over and grab behind his knees, so instead, he stretched his upper body out like he was in the throes of passion, grabbed the pants at the crotch and ripped them forward. The end result was the same. However, while they were all hiding their bodies as the pants came off, Hellhound was displayed perfectly for the lights to hit him, revealing the bulge that was barely concealed by the thong. He really needed to request they get him a bigger cup because one day he was going to have a wardrobe malfunction, and he would expose himself on this stage. He had to be more careful with his movements now. The threat of falling out of the thong was real and he knew he would get in trouble for that. This is what seemed to get Hellhound more attention than the other guys – while they were continuing to hip thrust and shake their asses, Hellhound had to be more creative so he wouldn’t fall out of his costume. He began to move his body, still in the style of the dancers on stage with him, but in a more seductive way that would hint towards more realistic sexual encounter. While he danced, the audience could believe for an instant that his hand as it caressed his body was their hand. The look on his face and in his eyes said it all.
By the end of the song, he had broken out in a slight sweat; the heat of the lights and the warm temperatures of the club always made him sweat during rehearsal and the pressure of opening night only made it worse. He had also forgotten that at the end of this group routine glitter bombs with blue and gold glittered showered down on them. He fucking hated glitter. Not only was it impossible to get off, but it also made him itch and break out in light hives. When the song ended and the guys all gathered their costumes and jogged off the stage, Hellhound was the last one off, the first one naked, and the first one in the bathroom as he scrubbed at his skin. After only being in the bathroom a little over two minutes there was a pound at the door, “Hellhound! You’re on in six!” Rowdy took a moment to collect himself. The glitter wasn’t coming off. Now he was soaked with water and sweating due to discomfort. He placed his hands on the sink to think and tried to collect himself.
He exited the bathroom still covered in glitter. The manager was in the dressing room waiting for him. When Hellhound walked in and looked at the man the expression on Hellhound’s face showed discomfort. The manager looked at him and shrugged, “It’s a little glitter. You’re a stripper. What’s the big deal?” He went over to Hellhound and said secretively, “I’m pulling out all the stops here. I need some good reviews. Please tell me you’re going to knock them all out of their chairs.” Hellhound sighed and nodded to the manager, “Just…give me a minute. You threw me off my game with the glitter.” He left the dressing room and went to wardrobe. The gay man, who could never speak correctly around Hellhound, perked up. “I need a suit. Something classic, please.” The costume director disappeared for a moment and came out with a nice looking suit with the typical break away everything. Hellhound nodded, “Thank you,” He said as he took the suit and went back to the dressing room.
The manager was in the dressing room when Hellhound returned. “You’re on in three. What music am I cuing for you?” Hellhound liked feel good songs. Songs that everyone knew and could sing along to, to some degree, but wouldn’t expect to hear within the walls of a bump and grind kind of strip club. He ran through this playlist and he decided to slow things down and go with ‘All I Have To Do Is Dream’ by the Everly Brothers. He had only used this song once before. It was a very slow song, which meant his performance would have to be dead on. The manager flew into a panic. The song was too slow. No one would like it. But Hellhound ignored him, put on the suit, and took the stage after giving the song choice to the DJ.
Hellhound took the stage and sat backwards in a chair. He put on the look of a love-struck man with no girl at his side. Through the slow duet with only an acoustic guitar as the accompanying music, he put on a show that spoke to anyone in the room of secret love, lust, and masturbation. He peeled the suit off himself slowly, as if he were undressing for a lover. He ran his hands over the contours of his body as he made suggestive gestures with his hands to symbolize he was fantasizing about the object of his desire. These were the kind of performances that made him reach down into his imagination. Because of this, the audience received a little more of a show as he grew visibly harder in the very small thong. The way he performed made any member of the audience believe it could be them he was fantasizing about. By the end of the song, he was down to a solid white thong, that had turned almost opaque in the light, leaving barely anything to the imagination. When the song ended, after two minutes and twenty seconds, he took a bow and exited the stage.
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