I'm a Professional Male Stripper

I soaked up the excess water and dried the cabinet out with a fresh towel before climbing inside the cabinet to look at the upper fittings behind the sink bowl. Lying on my back, the thin fabric of my shorts draped over my cock, showing a lot of detail. I looked out to see her gazing down at my groin from a foot above. Perhaps she was thinking I was too absorbed in my work to notice her.

I checked both fittings by hand; they seemed to be tight. When I used the flashlight to examine the connections visually, the hot connector looked crooked, as if cross-threaded. Using a wrench to loosen the collar nut, less than a half-turn caused the fitting to fall free, proving it never was seated. Luckily, the threads showed no damage. I reconnected it properly and snugged it tight with the wrench. After tightening both ends of the cold supply line with the wrench as well, I tested my repairs to find no more leaks. Danielle was ecstatic but I had discovered another problem.

"Both hot and cold hookups were leaking, the hot was the worst. But the water should have been scalding hot by the time I shut it off. I think your water heater is shut off, too. Let's go look at it while I'm here."

As I followed her to the utility room, I noticed the sublime contours of her pear-shaped ass flexing inside her skin-tight yoga pants. In the gap between her pants and camisole, I saw the top of her black thong underwear, which explained why I didn't see panty lines earlier. The more I saw of her, the more I wanted to fuck her.

In the utility room, I saw the water heater's temperature dial turned to off, but moving it to a normal setting did not create any sounds indicating the heating element came on. I opened the electrical panel on the wall nearby and found the breaker for the heater manually turned off. Within seconds of resetting it, I heard the faint boiling noise.

"You're in business now, Danielle. You'll have hot water in about four hours. If you want to shower sooner, you can come over and use mine."

"Nice try, Brett, but I know it will take less than an hour. Still, that was sweet of you to notice and take care of that. It will be nice having a helpful man living next door."

"Can't blame a guy for trying, can you? So, there is no helpful man living in this house?"

She smiled before answering, knowing I was trying to confirm her available status. "I was in the process of divorcing my skirt-chasing husband when he got himself and some bimbo splattered by a semi three years ago."

"It doesn't sound like condolences are in order. If there's anything you need a man for, just let me know."

"You keep coming on to a woman, don't you? Well, you look quite a bit younger than me. So honestly, would you be so eager if you knew I was forty-four with a twenty-two year old daughter?"

"Honestly? Yes! I've heard it said that women are like fine wine, they get better with age. I'm thirty-three by the way, and I've had experience with younger and older ladies. No disrespect to your daughter, but I'd be more interested in you than two women her age. Having said that, let me apologize for coming on to you so strongly right off the bat. I tend to be flirty and direct with attractive women."

"You are smooth, Brett, and you say the right things. I'm not put off by your advances."

"Good. I'm sure you have a lot of unpacking and other things to do. If you need more help, feel free to ask me. Otherwise, I'll leave you alone. When you are situated, I'd like to formally welcome you to the neighborhood over a bottle of wine."

"I'll take you up on that."

After exchanging a few pleasantries, I left her house. Back in my office, I opted to do my daily exercises. Aside from the office furniture on one side, I have a stationary bike, elliptical, and treadmill plus a large padded gym mat in the same room. I exercised for an hour on the equipment then did my dead-weight regimen. Tossing my sweaty shorts in the laundry room afterward, I headed for a swim.

A seven-foot privacy fence encloses my backyard pool and a large tree blocks the view from Danielle's dormer windows. I felt safe using my outdoor shower to rinse off and swim my laps in the nude. She'd have to go to extraordinary measures to see me, but being an exhibitionist, I sort of wished she would.

After I took a long, soapy shower to clean up, I stood in my office's patio door with a towel around my waist. With the sun sinking behind my house, I wasn't spotlighted as I was in the morning, but someone intent on looking for me with binoculars would see me there. I couldn't tell if she was, but I put on a teasing show just in case. I turned around, taking off the towel to expose my butt as I walked out of sight.

For a while, I watched more male stripper videos on my computer, studying their dancing and cock play. In large party settings, the strippers moved around the room, rubbing their bodies and cocks on various women. I particularly liked when a stripper put whipped cream near his cock and offered it to a woman. When a woman was brought on a stage, a towel hid what she and the stripper did from the audience but not from the camera. Most women eagerly sucked the cock.

Danielle's car had a small exhaust leak, making a distinctive sound that I noticed when she pulled it into her garage earlier. About dusk, I heard her car leave and return twenty minutes later while I was I still engrossed watching porn. An hour after that, I was emulating stripper dancing in my silk bathrobe when I heard my doorbell chimes. I hadn't had anyone ring my doorbell in months, yet here was the second one that day. I headed down to see who might be calling this time.

The house was dark so I turned on entryway lights inside and out before opening the door to see Danielle standing there. We each silently scanned the other for a moment before speaking. She wore a sleeveless blouse in a floral print and a very short pleated skirt that flared free of her toned legs. Her blonde hair hung in waves to her shoulders. Tucked under one arm was her pocketbook; her two hands held a bottle of wine wrapped in a cloth napkin.

"Hi, Danielle! What can I do for you now?"

"I'm here to take up your offer to drink some wine together, except I thought I would provide the wine as a way to say thank you for helping me out today," she said as she held the bottle out to me.

Taking the chilled wine, I responded, "Come on in then. I'll go put some clothes on."

As she stepped inside, she pleaded, "Oh, please don't do that on my account. You should feel free to dance the way you like in your own home."

Was it a slip of her tongue? Did she mean to say 'dress the way you like' but was thinking of something else? Or was she purposely revealing that she watched me minutes earlier? Either way, I didn't let on that I caught her mention of dancing, but I did want to play off her asking me a second time to wear the robe.

As we stood just inside the door, her light perfume pleased my nose. I asked her, "Why do you want me to stay in my bathrobe?"

Her hand reached out to take a lapel between her thumb and fingers, the back of her fingers caressing my skin as her hand slid down my chest to my stomach. In a soft voice, she cooed, "I love silk. It is such a sexy fabric and this bright design on black looks hot on you. What kind of robe is this?"

"It's called a kimono robe. I bought it in Tokyo. Unfortunately, it's a bit small on me and the slippery fabric is hard to keep closed. Aren't you afraid something might pop out?"

Her eyes glanced down and she smiled, shaking her head no. "I'm not afraid."

The way she said it implied she wanted something to pop out. Her seductive presence was about to make that happen. I could see little bumps in her blouse indicating she was affected too. We may have had the same agenda to fuck each other's brains out, but I didn't want to blow my chance by letting my little head start making decisions for me.

I led her to my kitchen where I have an island with breakfast bars on two sides around one corner. I figured we could sit at the corner so I could keep my legs out of sight. I set the wine down at the corner and pulled a chair stool out for her, indicating where she should sit. When I unwrapped the napkin from around the bottle, I noticed the brand.

"Joel Gott! You picked Riesling, too. You have discerning tastes, Danielle. I have Joel Gott in my cooler, but I'm partial to their Pinot Gris."

"Not knowing your tastes, I thought the Riesling would be safer."

I brought my wine chiller with some ice, a corkscrew, and a pair of large bowl glasses to the bar before I sat down. Once we had our first glass poured, we toasted to our health and budding friendship.

Uncertainty stilted our conversation in the beginning. Warmth from the wine soon relaxed us both, but her more so than me. I don't think she ever approached a man with sexual intent before. She needed aggression to overcome old inhibitions, but I could tell she wasn't used to the role.

Danielle shared her past reluctantly at first, starting with solemn evaluations of her failed marriage. She belonged to one man for better or for worse. Despite starting the legal process to cut him loose, she was devastated when he died. Recovery for her was difficult. Emotional pain and distrust of relationships kept her in a shell until she decided to make a fresh start by moving away from everything that produced memories of him.

I accepted the challenge to be her first lover in years. My chances of success would be greater if I pulled her from the shadows of a dreary past into the sunshine of a new beginning. I kept her focused on her new life by channeling our discussion toward what our neighborhood and the Miami area had to offer.

Then when I asked about her daughter, she spent thirty minutes describing her daughter Amy's childhood and academic accomplishments. I learned of her engagement and pending college graduation. The topic proved cathartic, changing Danielle's mood to one of happiness flooding with pride.

I kept the wine flowing too. When I poured, my glass didn't start as empty or end as full as hers. Not surprisingly, the blush rose in her cheeks, she laughed easier, and touches on my arm lingered longer. Whether the wine made her feel too warm or more daring, she casually opened another button of her blouse each time I refilled our glasses. By our fourth glass, I had a clear view of her breast when her arm reached forward. Whether intentional or accidental, I saw the exposure as a reason to turn up my game.

"How do you keep yourself so fit and trim? Do you work out?"

"I don't use exercise equipment like you do. I like to run. I'm a nutritionist by profession so I've always ate healthy." Once again, intentional or not, her words confirmed she was watching me in my office.

"No wonder you have such great looking legs."

She swiveled in her stool to face toward me. Uncrossing her legs, she lifted one straight out that I might have a better look. "Do you really think so?" What her raised leg gave me was an excellent view up to her white panties.

I took her ankle in one hand, cupping my other hand under her calf. Lifting her leg slightly outward, I slid my hand under her knee until my thumb on her tender inner thigh reached halfway up her thigh. I squeezed lightly, causing her to inhale audibly. "Runners have the best muscle tone," I advised.

Moving her leg had opened her crotch. I couldn't help seeing it; I couldn't help looking closely. Her thin thong stretched over her labial mounds, sagging into her slit. The narrow tail of her thong disappeared between her cheeks. I could see hints of pubic hair under the front patch. After a few seconds, I looked up to find her looking back with a bemused smile as I released her leg.

Her voice was breathy with excitement. "Do you know other runners and feel their muscle tone too?"

"Sumalee runs marathons. I helped her work out some stiffness."

"Who's Sumalee?"

"My massage therapist."

"Wait a minute. She's the therapist? And you worked on her?"

"Yeah."

"You're putting me on. April Fools again, right?"

"No. The situation would take too long to explain. You'll have to take my word on it."

"We'll see. Maybe you can tell me what's with all the exercising and swimming you do. Are you just a fitness fanatic?" She continued to reveal her secret peeping, an unsafe behavior for an incurable voyeur.

I wanted to know how she saw me in the pool so I could exploit it some other time but I couldn't ask -- not yet anyway. Admitting that I stay fit to make showing off my cock something special to look at didn't seem like a way to impress my neighbor. Suddenly, my porn viewing and the calendar date gave me an idea. "I'm a dancer."

"Yeah? Like ballet or in shows? Do you perform on a stage?"

"Yes, on a stage, and in the audience, too. Sometimes small rooms for private shows."

"What kind of dancer does that?"

"I'm a profession male stripper."

Danielle almost fell off her stool trying not to spill the wine she was sipping. "Stripper? You take your clothes off as a performer?" When I nodded, she added sarcastically, "Brett! I am not going to fall for that one. Stop trying to fool me."

In truth, I was only trying to fool her about being a professional. I was a stripper at heart and I intended to perform for her. I tried to look insulted by her disbelief when I challenged her, "Think about the kind of dancing you saw me doing." I was calling her out for looking into my house, but using it to make my claim believable.

Her momentary silence suggested she was replaying my risqué dancing in her mind. "I don't know what kind of dance you were doing. Nothing like I've ever seen. I'm not naïve, but I have never needed to know precisely what a male stripper does. How are you paid?"

Since she didn't know much, I could tell her anything reasonable. I used my knowledge of girls dancing at a gentlemen's club combined with videos I've watched to make my 'professional' status seem real.

"Thursday night is ladies night at the Silver Slipper. For that, male dancers get a flat rate for dancing to two songs on a platform once an hour. Ladies stuff money in our G-strings for a peek and a grope. In-between stage sessions, we work the crowd, selling naked lap dances for twenty bucks."

"Ladies pay you for shaking your ding-a-ling and sitting on them? Is there sex?"

"Because it's a public club, sex acts aren't allowed. Patrons can look and get away with touching, some take selfies holding a cock, but that's about it. Oh yeah, some ladies give us their panties to hang on our cocks."

"It doesn't sound like you do much in the way of dancing. The tips can't be that much either."

"Dancing is hard exercise. I get a workout and I usually bring home five bills for the night."

"Five hundred? That's a hell of a lot of lap dances!"

"I'm popular and get extra tips, probably because I'm the biggest white guy."

Finished with her fourth glass of wine, she was showing the effects with glassy eyes and a crooked grin. Wine gave her bravado, too; her eyes went right to my crotch. "Biggest, huh? Show me."

I'm an exhibitionist who loves to show-off my cock and I just had a woman ask to see it. Every other time that happened, I whipped it out. This time, I had a game going with my new neighbor to prove to myself that I could be a stripper. I wanted to make Danielle willing to pay me to perform.

"Are you asking me to demonstrate my act? I don't work for free."

"I'm not going to pay to see something I already have." She raised another bold admission.

I re-raised. "Seeing me from thirty feet is not the same as watching a performance right in front of your face."

"Are you trying to make money off me?"

"I'm a professional. I'm merely protecting my assets and respecting all the women who have paid to watch me."

"Well, I can't afford it right now."

My answer was nonchalant. "Okay."

"Well, okay then, damn it." She sounded disappointed. Tilting her glass to take a consolation sip, she discovered her glass was empty. She gestured for a refill.

When I reached for the bottle to pour, she leaned over to look around the corner at my crotch. I carelessly let my robe slip open, revealing my dick's shiny head. I didn't adjust my robe until she looked up and took her glass from me. Her cheeks were flushed, her expression full of lust. She took a long sip.

"Okay, how much? Twenty for a lap dance?"

"I command thirty, forty to be completely naked, but that's at the club, limited to one four-minute song. At party rates, there is no time limit and I do what I'm contracted to do."

"I'll have to sign a contract now? What exactly do you do that requires a contract? What kind of parties hire male strippers?"

"You won't need a contract. That's for clients that book us through our agency. It spells out that we are paid for providing adult entertainment that includes simulated sex acts. Anything that consenting adults decide to do is not part of the performance. Parties can be for club groups having a wild night, employees celebrating promotions or retirements, and then there are adult birthdays and bachelorette parties. The parties can be three or four ladies to over twenty."

"Simulated sex?"

"We can pretend to engage in fellatio or intercourse behind a towel without actual contact if the woman prefers. The truth is, in front of a bunch of drunken ladies cheering for the real thing, they almost always suck and sometimes fuck for real."

"So you get paid to have sex with women?"

"No, I get paid to dance and simulate sex. If they want to have real sex with me, it's up to me to consent. I'm not contractually obligated."

"Have you ever turned anyone down?"

"Others have, but I haven't even when asked by fat or unattractive women. I figure I'm a hired performer, so I give them the thrill they want."

"Well, what do ladies pay for a thrill from you, Brett?"

Everything I said seemed to astound her yet she acted as though she believed every word. I was making it up as I went but I used common sense to keep it real. I was pitching my 'profession' for hire; she was looking to make a deal.

"Every party gig is contracted for a set fee; the agency keeps twenty percent; dancers get eighty percent plus tips. The fee depends on what performance act the party organizer wants and how many people might participate. There is usually one person who organizes and one guest of honor. If there are a lot of potential participants, more than one dancer performs.

"Fees start at one hundred for unlimited lap dances in leather thongs. Ladies can handle us, but no sex acts are allowed. Two hundred gets full nudity and handjobs are allowed. It costs four hundred for oral sex, six for intercourse. Oral is our most common assignment."

"Geez, you're expensive, but I have to see this big cock you keep talking about and watch you perform. Do you take credit cards or personal checks?"

"The booking agency does but dancers only accept cash tips."

I certainly had her hooked; she was looking in her pocketbook to see how much cash she had. Just in social situations before, I've witnessed women lose all inhibitions to alcohol and aggressively go after what excites them. Club videos showed ladies trying to outdo each other.

I was into my game, willing to play my role as far as I could. I would accept her money but give it back when I revealed the truth. Seeing her digging for cash caused a rush of excitement, making my cock hang heavy. Now that my cock was in the game as well, ready to do entertaining things for her, it was time to thrill Danielle no matter how much she paid.

She slapped money on the bar. "Sixty-three bucks. It's all I got. I'm hoping to get a neighborly discount."