Stag Fill-in Ch. 1byStrangetwist©
Our financial situation had become desperate. My husband hadn’t worked in two years and his prospects were bleak. Financially, I had been trying to carry the load, but, as a sales clerk, my paycheck wasn’t quite enough to cover the bills. For my family, and especially for our two young ones, I needed to find a way out. We were awash in overdue notices and I was willing to try almost anything. That is when I spotted the ad in the weekend paper.
Wanted. Exotic dancers 19-25 to work stag parties. Experience preferred. Must be prepared to start immediately. Pays well. Call 761-STAG.
It took me a few days to work up my courage, but by Wednesday, faced with another flood of collection notices, I was ready. During a break at work, I went to a pay phone and called. The man who answered introduced himself as Frank. To me, he sounded black. He asked me about my looks. I answered as best I could. I asked him about the pay. He countered by asking if I had any experience as an exotic dancer. “No,” I said. He asked if I understood what was expected of an exotic dance at a stag party. “Of course,” I said, though I really only had a vague idea.
I pressed him again about the pay. He replied “Normally a girl gets $500 a night, plus extras, depending on what the guys want and what the girl arranges in advance.” To me, that sounded great. I quickly calculated that I could wipe out our debt in four sessions … or less if I was willing to give ‘extras’. Frank went on “But if you can work this coming Saturday night, I’ll pay you $1,000, plus extras.” I was curious and asked why. Frank explained that the girl he had lined up for the gig had quit at short notice and none of his other girls were available, so he needed a fill-in immediately.
I was amazed. For a couple of hours of work, I could make more than twice what I made in a week as a sales clerk. I told him I was definitely interested. He asked if I could come for an interview after my shift ended. “I’m not really dressed for an interview, and I’m not sure what I would tell my husband,” I said hesitantly.
“So your married … any kids?” he asked. “Yes, a couple,” I answered. He again asked about my looks, explaining that having kids could take a toll on a woman. I assured him that I was slim and trim and could still turn a few heads, but I didn’t explain to him how I knew this. “OK, OK, but it sounds like you haven’t told your husband you’re doing this,” he said. “Not yet,” I answered evasively. “That sounds a bit naughty. You must really need the money,” he said. I let his remark pass without further comment from me.
“Look,” he said, shifting topics, “about your clothes, don’t worry. When I interview girls for stags, I don’t care what they look like with their clothes on. The only thing that matters to me is how they look and perform with their clothes off. Now do you still want to come for an interview after work?” he asked. “Yes,” I answered, without really understanding the full implications of that question.
As soon as I hung up I called my husband. I told him I had to help one of my friends with some shopping and would be late getting home. He whined a little but agreed. Immediately after my shift ended, I went to the store’s cosmetics section and dolled myself up with a few samples: eye shadow, eyeliner, lip stick, perfume and so on. To go with my white blouse I bought a black skirt (which I figured I could return later). I also bought cheap black pumps, new white panties and some matching stockings. I bought a razor too.
On my way out I stopped at a public bathroom to shave my legs. I even trimmed my pussy a little (but not enough for my husband to notice). After putting on my outfit, I decided to go without a bra. Maybe it didn’t matter to Frank how I looked going into the interview, but dressing up like this did a world of good for my own confidence. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized that, in less than an hour, I would very likely be naked in front of someone other than my husband for the first time in five years … and he would likely be black. That thought excited me.