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Wanted:
Male stripper for ladies night at local bar.
Call Ted at 555-1212.

It was the 80's. Ladies' nights and male strippers were just coming into vogue. This ad was the first indication I'd seen of one in our area. I would have ignored the ad except for two things: I wanted to make some extra money and I was looking for a way to 'meet women' (code word for 'get laid').

I was 23 at the time and working in a packing house lugging beef. It was a union job and paid pretty well. On the other hand, it didn't have much of a future and because I was making pretty good money, I had maxed out my credit cards. I could make the payments OK, but it didn't leave much money for fun, and it would take me years to pay them off at my current rate.

So I called Ted. He told me he was looking for good-looking guys with a good build. I agreed to go over and interview.

I should explain that I'm 5' 11" and weigh about 170 lbs. In size I'm very average. But what I did all day was lift beef quarters (which weighed anywhere from 150 lbs. to 275 lbs.) off a pallet on the floor and hang them on an overhead hook. The hooks moved slowly by on a track and I did this all day. As a result, I had a very impressive set of muscles. They weren't the bulging body builder type, but rather more compact working muscles (around the plant we had a certain contempt for body builders; we thought they were afraid to do any real work because it would make their muscles smaller and more efficient). I was, if anything, even stronger than I looked.

The bar was a strip joint called the Silver Slipper. Ted was maybe 50, about 6' and around 200 lbs. Ted had me take my shirt off. "Not too bad," he said, "but I was hoping for somebody maybe a little flashier, more of a body builder type."

I stuck a hand under each of Ted's arm pits and heaved. His head took out a ceiling tile. "OK, OK, I get the point. Just put me down."

I set Ted back down on the floor. "Sorry," I told him, "but that body builder shit always pisses me off." I explained about my attitude toward body builders. Ted laughed. He actually turned out to be a really nice guy. (This was highly unusual. I had worked for a couple years as a musician and all musicians know that all club owners are ass holes. That's why I didn't hesitate to stick Ted's head through the ceiling tiles. That's how you deal with ass holes. Ted was indeed unusual, perhaps unique.)

"Here's the deal. I'm starting a ladies' night on Tuesday nights. That's my slowest night, so I can afford to give it an extended trial if it doesn't take off right away. I need four guys to go on each hour from 9 to 12. I'll give you a try on the nine o'clock slot. Have you ever done anything like this before?"

"No," I admitted.

"There's not that much to it. Just play some music, dance around, take off some clothes, flex some muscles. Drop in a few evenings between now and then and watch the lady strippers. Do a masculine version of the same thing. You'll get the idea. Pick out some music you like and give a cassette to Brad, the sound guy."

I felt rather weird after leaving Ted's place. I was glad I got the job, but I was also very nervous. I'd never done anything like this before, and didn't know if I could do it. I was also surprised that I hadn't had to audition or anything. I suspected Ted was short of applicants.

The next night, I went to the Silver Slipper and watched the girls. Ted introduced me and they told me what they were doing, how they constructed their routines, and pointed out the things they did that weren't likely to go over with a female audience. One of the girls, her name was Ann, tried to explain. "With women, you have to be more subtle. More suggestive and less overt. No humping motions. Women don't usually get instantly aroused the way men do. If you want to get a woman turned on, the place to touch her is between the ears. Leave them with suggestions of things that might have been."

I left, both heartened and confused. It was going to take a while for Ann's comments to sink in. I went home, put on some music, and started working out a routine. I worked in the basement, partially because there was a stereo down there, but mostly so no passerby would glance through the window and see me. I felt like an utter fool. I almost called Ted and told him I couldn't do it, but I persevered.

Tuesday. I got to the club about 8:00. I was really nervous. Anticipating this, I'd practiced like a maniac all week so that if I had a really severe case of stage fright, I could switch off my brain and function on automatic (that was the plan, anyway). I looked out at the audience. The place was about half full of women of all ages. Some of them could have been my grandmother. Others, I'm sure, had had their ID's scrutinized pretty carefully. Since I was first, I wouldn't even have the benefit of watching the guy before me.

       9:00. It was time. The music started and I stepped tentatively onto the stage. From that point on it was all sort of a haze. I pranced and strutted, flexed muscles, discarded clothing, and then it was done. My practice had paid off and I had managed to do it on automatic.

I sat down at the table with the other guys. They did the mandatory back slapping and congratulating, and it did make me feel better. Actually, I hadn't done a bad job, especially considering it was my first attempt. Nonetheless, audience response was somewhat underwhelming, so I felt somewhat of a failure.

Ted came over. "Good job, Dave."

"Well, maybe. I didn't get much reaction out of them."

"Hey, that's normal. Even the guys don't get rowdy during the first hour. Your job is just to get them warmed up and started buying drinks. Don't worry about it. You did fine."

Gary was next. He was slumming from the theater community. He didn't have my build, but he was a natural dancer. I saw how he watched the audience as he moved about the stage, noting reactions and adapting and responding to them. He was able to convey to them that he wanted them, and wanted them to want him. Since Gary was gay, I decided that he was indeed a good actor.  After that, things were sort of a blur. I watched Tom and Dexter do their acts, but don't remember much about them except that they were better than me. I got paid and went home.

I worked on my routine through the week and made some improvements. The next week things went better and I felt better about the whole thing. After that, things stumbled along pretty much on automatic. One evening, Ted called me into his office.

"Dave, you're a good guy, and I like having you work here, but your act needs help. You just haven't progressed as much as the other guys, and you don't get the audience reaction they do. Even though you're the first hour, you should be doing better than you are by now. I'm sure you've been disappointed with your tips. I don't want to have to replace you, but something need to be done. Any ideas?"

Ted was right. I wasn't achieving either of my goals. I wasn't making near the tips the other guys were, and I wasn't meeting any of the women either. So why was I here? Deep down, I knew what my problem was. I had no talent. I was not a dancer, not an actor. Gary could convey an interest he didn't really feel, while I couldn't convey something I did feel. Ted was trying to let me down easy, giving me the opportunity to quit so he wouldn't have to fire me. I wasn't quite ready to give up, though. I may not have been talented, but I was tenacious (code word for stubborn to the point of stupidity). On the other hand, struggling against the odds is one thing, struggling against reality is quite another. Even so, I would feel like a total idiot all my life if I quit this job without getting laid even once.

"Let me think about this. I'll call you tomorrow."

I went home feeling depressed. I would either have to come up with something, or quit, or get fired. I sat in a chair, feeling sorry for myself, and drifted off to sleep with the TV on. I woke up about 4:00 AM. There was an old Zorro movie on TV. I watched it, amazed at what a bad movie it was. That's what gave me the idea. I would do what untalented people have always done. I would get a gimmick. I started thinking about Zorro. The mask, the cape, the sword. You could get suggestive in some subtle or not so subtle ways with a getup like that.

In the morning I gave Gary a call. I told him what I was thinking and asked him about sources for costumes. He was encouraging.

"I was going to suggest something like this, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"While I appreciate the sentiment, I could have used the help."

"Sounds to me like you figured it out on your own. I'll give you input if you want it, but you probably just need to let this soak into your brain for a while and it'll come together."

I thanked Gary for the information and called Ted.

"Hey, Ted. I'm changing my whole act. Something totally different. You'll love it."

"Glad to hear it. I knew you'd figure it out."

I spent the week working out my new routine. I wasn't going to do Zorro. I'd settled on something more akin to a dungeon master. I went out and got the stuff I'd need for a costume and spent a couple afternoons at the club practicing. I wanted my new act to be a surprise, so I didn't practice in costume. I spent my time there leaping and tumbling. Although I wasn't a dancer, I did have some experience in tumbling and gymnastics. I wanted to practice on the scene to make sure I really could do what I had in mind and do it without landing on one of the customers.

Tuesday. Ted's stage is set up against one wall with a pole in the middle. The girls use the pole for dancing, and sometimes the guys used it. There is a shelf above the back of the stage which supports speakers and lighting. It was also supporting me at the moment. The lights were dim, I was wearing black and was above the line of sight, invisible. I had been practicing with Ted's sound guy and my entrance was timed pretty well.

9:00. I leapt from my perch. A thunderbolt cracked from the speakers, followed by a minor chord.  A spot light made a circle in front of the pole. Simultaneous with its arrival, I landed in the middle of the spot. I was wearing tight black pants, bloused black shirt, cape, hood, mask, gloves, and jack boots. I carried a short quirt. I stood for a moment, hands on hips, surveying the audience.  The music picked up tempo a bit. I strode back and forth across the stage, pausing occasionally to examine the audience. I danced over to the pole. I had bolted a pair of manacles (real ones, they locked) high up on the pole, dangling by about a foot of chain each. I pulled one of the manacles away from the pole with my quirt, examining it, then looking toward the audience, looking for someone to lock it on. Extending my right hand, pointing, I swept my arm across the room, pausing now and again to point at one woman or another. Finally, my point came to rest on a girl at a table in the second row directly in front of me. I held this position long enough for her to realize that I was not going to move on, that she had been chosen. Then I leapt. I turned a somersault in mid air and landed with a bang and a fluttering of cape almost on her toes.

She screamed and jumped back, nearly overturning her chair. I stepped close again. She moved back. I jumped behind her, picking up the chair, returning it to it's original position. Then I was in front of her again. I cupped her chin in my hand, tilting her face up toward mine, looking into her eyes.

"Tell me your name, wench." I was wearing a throat mic and this came over the PA after being processed to deepen my voice and add some reverb. Sort of a Darth Vader effect, but without the breathing. She just looked back at me, frozen like a mouse before a cobra. "Your name, wench. Tell me your name", I thundered.

"Melinda," she gasped.

"Melinda, you are chosen. You must come with me." I held out my hand to her. She shook her head, leaning away from me. "Do not demur. You must come."

Her friends were urging her on. "Go on. Go on. Do it."

"I'll go," said a girl at the next table. That seemed to make up her mind. She timidly extended a hand toward mine. I didn't take her hand. Instead, I wrapped my hand around her wrist, pulling her to her feet. I headed for the stage with Melinda in tow. As I led her up the steps, I whispered to her.

"If this gets to be more than you can handle, say 'I have to go now' and I'll take you back to your table. If you say anything else, I'll assume you mean it to be part of the act and ignore it. Do you understand? Nod your head." She nodded. (Brad, the sound guy, knew when to turn the mic on or off. This didn't go out over the PA.)

I led Melinda to the center of the stage, toward the front. Brad put a spot on her. She was pretty. About 5' 6", shoulder length brown hair. She was wearing a navy blue blouse, white skirt that hung to mid-calf, hose and white pumps. I stepped back for a moment and left her standing there in the light. She looked sort of dazed (probably not too different from how I looked my first night). I walked slowly around her, making a show of examining her. She stood stock still, seemingly afraid to move. Stepping behind her, I pulled her arms up and clasped her hands behind her head. I circled her again, lifting the hem of her skirt to mid-thigh with my quirt. Her legs were quite attractive. She looked down when I lifted her skirt. I moved the quirt up under her chin, tilting her head back to its previous position. I circled her again, admiring how she stood there so straight with her fingers laced behind the back of her head. I circled her again in the opposite direction, then stood behind her, looking out at the audience. I had their attention. They were all looking at us. I put my hand around the back of her neck, turning her so her back was to the audience and started guiding her to the pole. Brad shifted the spot to the hanging manacles, then widened it to include us as we reached the base of the pole. I turned her around and backed her into the pole, then pulled one of her arms up and locked a manacle around her wrist. Brad had turned on the overhead mic and the click of the manacle locking on her wrist was clearly audible on the PA. I did her other wrist. Melinda was now standing with her back to the pole, facing the audience, with her arms pulled straight up and locked in the manacles. I skipped back out of the light. She was gingerly moving her wrists around, trying to see if these were like the ones in the movies where you could scrunch your hand up and slip out of them if you wished.

"No, Melinda. They aren't fakes. You really are chained to the pole," I whispered to her. She struggled a little harder. This was the desired result. I wanted her to struggle so the audience would understand that she was really chained. I danced away, discarding my cape while watching her struggles. I glided back up to her, went down on one knee, seized her ankle, removed her shoe, and tossed it aside. I spun around behind her and removed her other shoe. I leapt away again, shedding my hood, but retaining the mask. Melinda stood chained to the pole in her stocking feet, looking even more dazed than before. So far, she had not said a word except for telling me her name. I was hoping she wouldn't freak out and blow the whole act, but that was the chance I had to take. Then I was back at her side. I laid my quirt against her cheek, then drew it slowly and sensuously down the side of her body, coming to rest at her knee. I shuffled away, working my way to the far side of the stage removing my shirt. Under my shirt I wore a heavy leather strap over my shoulder which ran diagonally across my chest. I worked my way back over to Melinda and started on her shirt. I unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. I skipped away, then returned. Another button undone. There were five white buttons on her dark blue blouse.

Only three now held it closed. I circled the pole twice, then undid another button. Two remained.

Melinda was starting to look panicked. I stood directly in front of her. Taking her chin in my hand, I turned her head to either side, emphasizing my control of her to the audience while whispering to her that she didn't need to go just yet, it would be all right. She seemed to relax a bit. I grasped her blouse and undid the fourth button. I circled her again. I undid the last button.

Her blouse fell open. She was wearing a lacy black bra that showed up nicely against her white skin. I pushed her shirt open to either side with the quirt, exposing as much of her bra clad torso as possible. Then I capered across the stage, leaving Melinda in the light, blouse hanging open, struggling in her chains. Brad kept the spot on her as he faded the house lights, then slowly faded the spot until Melinda was in the dark. I returned to Melinda and unlocked her, then picked her up.

"We're done," I whispered. "I'm taking you back to your table."

I walked to the front of the stage, Melinda cradled in my arms. Brad put the light back on us and turned up the house lights. I walked off the stage carrying Melinda and set her gently in her seat. Then I took first one foot, then the other and put her shoes back on her (I didn't button her blouse). Standing erect, I bowed, took her hand and kissed the back of it, then returned to the stage. As I walked away, I could hear her talking to her friends.

"That wasn't fake. I was really chained up..."

Back on the stage, I bowed to the audience and departed. This time there was real applause. I usually got applause after my act, but it had always been minimal and somewhat perfunctory. This time there was not only more of it, but it was enthusiastic. I glanced back at Melinda as I left the stage. One of her friends was reminding her to button her blouse. She had apparently forgotten.

"Well, Ted, what'd you think?"

"Great job, great job. I knew you'd come through if I pushed you a little. It still needs some refining, but you showed an enthusiasm tonight I never saw in you before. Now that you're motivated, you'll get better every week. This gimmick with the outfit is just the kind of thing you needed."

"I agree except for one thing. The outfit isn't the gimmick. The gimmick is the word play. I'm a stripper, but I'm not going to strip any more myself. I'm going to strip the customers."

Ted winced when I told him I was going to be undressing his customers, but I knew he'd wait to see the gross before making any decisions.

I'd been putting this performance together all week and had tended to think about various pieces of it rather than seeing it as a whole. Now that it was over I felt I had a better perspective on the big picture. Looking back, it seemed tame, even lame. I'd chained a girl to a pole, removed her shoes, and unbuttoned her blouse. That was it. But it had worked, and worked well. I had certainly touched Melinda between the ears.

On the other hand, I'd chained a complete stranger to a pole, removed her shoes, and unbuttoned her blouse, with the implicit threat of the quirt. I could probably go to jail for that. (Brad later came up with a great idea. He hooked a cassette recorder up to his mixer so that when I gave the chosen customer her bail out phrase, even though it didn't go out over the PA, he could record it in case we ever needed proof that anyone's participation was voluntary. Ted especially liked this idea.)

The problem with a gimmick is that it can get stale fast. I would have to escalate the action every week to keep it alive and lively. It had worked tonight because it was completely new and no one knew what was going to happen or how far I was going to go. It would get boring all too soon if I did the same thing every time. But it had to start off slow to leave the maximum room for expansion.

I figured I could do pretty much the same thing next week. Ted's ladies' night crowd had settled down to about 60% regulars, but less than 10% came every week. Most of the regulars only showed up once or twice a month. Next week would be a whole different crowd, so I could squeeze another week out of tonight's routine.

I was wrong, of course. The crowd on the next Tuesday was about 50% larger than usual and almost all of the increase were repeats from last week. (Melinda wasn't there, but her friends were.) This was encouraging but I hoped a repeat wouldn't bore them, although I suppose a repeat was exactly what they had come to see. This time I chose a regular I'd seen there last week, so she knew what she was in for when I selected her. Her name was Lisa.

Lisa seemed less intimidated by the whole thing than Melinda had been, so I decided to push things a little farther. After I had pulled her to her feet, I took her by the shoulders and turned her around. I removed a pair of handcuffs from my pocket, pulled Lisa's hands behind her, and locked them on her wrists. Then I placed my hand in the middle of her back and guided her toward the stage. I stood her at the front of the stage, as I'd done with Melinda. Lisa was tall, probably 5' 9", had long black hair and blue eyes with small breasts and long legs. She was wearing a dress which buttoned down the front (one of the reasons I'd chosen her). Once again I made a show of examining her, but also admiring her. I circled around her, lifted the hem of her dress, corrected her posture when she moved out of position, drawing the whole thing out longer than last time. Then I led her to the pole.

I unlocked the handcuffs, pulled her arms behind the pole, and locked the cuffs back on her. She was a captive of the pole. I danced around, removed her shoes, threw off my cape, and did the whole routine much like before only longer. I unbuttoned her dress all the way down. It hung from her shoulders, revealing her bra, panties, stockings. I danced away and left her there in the spotlight, handcuffed in her underwear. After a while I returned and released her, picking her up and carrying her back to her table. I replaced her shoes, kissed her hand, and returned to the stage. Like Melinda, Lisa had never said a word except her name. Before taking a bow, I stood scanning the audience, as if deciding who would be next (which was exactly what I was doing). The room went completely silent. Everyone seemed to be holding her breath. Was I going to do another one? Then I bowed and disappeared from the stage. Audience reaction was the best ever. They clapped and screamed and screamed some more. Ted was going to have to get me a bigger tip jar.

"Looks like you've got a winner," yelled Ted as I headed toward the back. "Just don't let it get stale."

"I'm already working on the next one," I yelled back.

The next week was a continuation along the same line. I knew where I was headed. I was going to strip one of Ted's customers completely naked. But I would work up to it over a period of weeks, or even months. I was going to ride this horse as long as I could.

After 4 weeks, I was packing the place. Ted swapped Gary and I, giving me the 10 o'clock hour. Gary redid his act. It now had an air of apprehension about it, a feel of mystery, a sense of foreboding. I don't know quite what he did. He moved around much the way he always had, but the atmosphere he created was very different. He really was good.

I talked to Gary, worried that he'd be pissed about the change. I had this image of gays being really sensitive and touchy. Gary was totally cool. He said he preferred the earlier hour because there were fewer drunks and he liked doing the warm up for my act. Creating an atmosphere was the kind of thing he was into. Besides, too many customers had been leaving after my act, so the tips were now better at 9:00.

I asked him how he managed to strip for a bunch of women and make it convincing. He said it was easy, he just pretended it was a room full of guys. I was impressed. There was no way I could strip for a bunch of guys, make eye contact, respond to their reactions, and pretend it was a group of women. My imagination is more limited than that. But then, I have no talent. That's why I need a gimmick.

As I said, my goal was to strip one of Ted's customers completely naked. And keep doing it. That would certainly turn me on, but what about the audience. Why would women come to ladies night at Ted's place to see a woman undressed? I was doing what I was doing partly because it worked and partly because I liked doing it. But why did it work? I had some ideas, but wasn't sure if I was really on the right track. I decided I needed a focus group. Kelly and Janice were the two waitresses I was the most friendly with, so I asked them.

"You're looking at it all wrong," Kelly said. "They don't come to see a woman undressed. They come because it could be them. There's a certain element of danger that's a real turn-on for many women. They aren't really sure they want to be chained up and undressed in public, but the possibility is exciting."

"That's right," Janice said. "The girl on stage is them. They vicariously experience whatever she does. They don't see some other woman being undressed on stage. They imagine themselves in her position. The thing that makes it work is that they really could be in her position. And it helps that the chains are real. It just wouldn't be the same if they were phony."

"And at the end when you carry her back to her chair and kiss her hand. They like that." This from Kelly.

While this conversation helped, I still couldn't understand the motivation and the girls couldn't really explain it to me. Why would they want the experience vicariously or otherwise? I still didn't know.

I'd recently finished reading Richard Feynman's book "Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman". He described an episode in his life after his wife died when he spent a couple summers in the late '50's hanging out in bars in the southwest. He'd buy drinks for girls, dance with them, etc. Always right around closing time they'd evaporate. He tried and tried to score. Always the same result. Finally, a guy clued him in. The guy said that if you wanted a girl to sleep with you, the thing to do was not respect her. Be rude. And above all, don't buy her ANYTHING. Not a drink, not a sandwich, not a cigarette, nothing. Then she'll sleep with you. He tried it. The guy was right. It worked. Then he thought that these were only bar girls and that's why it worked. It would never work with a nice girl. So when fall came and he returned to his teaching position at Cornell, he tried it on a nice girl. It worked just fine. Why? I don't know. He didn't know. It just worked. I wonder if that guy in the bar in the southwest is still alive. I'd like to talk to him.

My routine was like that. It worked, but I don't know why. One thing was clear from my conversation with Janice and Kelly. I needed to work on the selection process. My current system of leaping from the stage only gave me access to the first couple of rows. I needed for every woman in the room to feel she could be chosen, was likely to be chosen.

The next Tuesday I changed my opening. First I walked back and forth across the front of the stage, dangling a pair of handcuffs from an extended index finger. I looked over the crowd, making eye contact with as many as possible. Then I did my leap and somersault from the stage (this had become sort of a trademark) but this time I landed in an open area, instead of in front of my chosen target. I headed for the back of the room. I walked from table to table, still dangling the cuffs from my finger. Sometimes I would stop in front of a woman and dangle the cuffs before her, watching her reaction. Sometimes I would cup my hand under a chin and tilt her face toward me and look into her eyes. Sometimes I would lay the end of the quirt against a cheek, turning the girl's head to the side to see her profile, or brush her hair back to see more of her face.

I tried to make contact with someone at every table. Eye contact if not physical contact, but I actually physically examined quite a few ladies. One girl toward the back was wearing a hat. I made her take it off, had her stand up. I walked around her. Then I moved on. I would have chosen her except she was wearing pants (she didn't know that was the reason I'd moved on). Skirts were sexier, and I liked lifting the hem with my quirt. By now, every woman in the room realized it was a real possibility that she could be chosen. I worked my way back to the back again.

There was a woman sitting alone at a table against the rear wall. I'd seen her twice before, about a month apart each time. She appeared to be in her mid to late 30's, older than anyone I'd previously selected. The thing that had always attracted my attention was that she was always so perfectly groomed. Not a hair out of place, conservative make up done just so. It made you want to stick your hands in her hair and mess it up. She would be quite properly disheveled when I finished with her. She wore conservative business clothing, dark jacket and skirt, white blouse, scarf tucked neatly into her collar and a single strand of pearls. She always sat alone and I had the feeling she was in town on business and didn't know anyone here.

I walked up to her, dangling the handcuffs. I was directly in front of her, the small cocktail table between us. I laid the handcuffs on her table, between her and her drink.