The Bachelorette Party

It's been just over 36 hours, just a day and a half, and I still can't believe that it happened. It's so wild, so inconceivable. And if I can't believe it happened, no one else is going to either. But what I can do, what I need to do for my own sanity, is put it all down on paper, while it's still fresh in my mind. So here goes...

I guess I should start with a little background. I'm 26 years old and engaged to be married. I've been with my fiancee, Rachel, since our junior year of college, over six years now. We were both scholarship athletes at UCLA. I was on the swim team; she was a soccer player. I saw her from across the room at a party, with her long curly brown hair and her infectious smile, and I was immediately smitten. I've basically been in love with her since that moment.

Flash forward six years. We live together in L.A. and have been engaged for a while now. The wedding is in three weeks, near her parents house in the Napa Valley. But the thing that's been on both of our minds for the last few weeks -- and now will be for the rest of time -- is her bachelorette party.

Rachel has a ton of friends; she's funny and engaging, the kind of person that everyone considers a friend even if they've only met her a few times. Deciding which of her countless friends to invite to the wedding was a really difficult process. But for her bachelorette party, she only wanted her three closest friends, Maya, Nicole, and Syd (short for Sydney), all of whom she'd met her freshman year at UCLA. The plan was to have a girls night out in Las Vegas.

The problem was that her friends -- at least Nicole and Syd -- had been pushing her to do something risque, like hire a stripper or worse, which Rachel didn't really want to do. This had been an ongoing theme in their friendship over the years. Both Nicole and Syd had high "body counts" so speak; they'd been with a lot of different guys over the years. But Rachel has only been with two: her first boyfriend, who she'd dated for three years, and me. Nicole and Syd had told Rachel a number of times that she was too young to get married, that she hadn't had enough experience with men and that she'd eventually come to regret not having done more before settling down. In their minds, this bachelorette party represented a last opportunity for Rachel to do something wild.

The pressure had gotten to a point where Rachel was genuinely bothered by it and had contemplated calling off the party altogether. What she'd tried to explain to them, countless times over the years, was that her sex life was really good, that monogamy didn't mean that she was a prude or didn't enjoy sex. And that was all true. Rachel and I have always had a really satisfying sex life. We enjoy it, we have it frequently, and we both do our part to try to keep it fun and interesting. But all of this fell on deaf ears with Nicole and Syd, who were convinced Rachel would come to regret her limited experience with men.

That's when Rachel came up with the idea. At first it was just a joke, a crazy idea that we laughed about together in bed. But the more she talked about it -- and the more Nicole and Syd pushed her -- the more it crystallized into an actual thing, something that she genuinely wanted us to do. As wild as it sounds, here's what she proposed.

She wanted me, wearing a mask, to pretend to be a hired male stripper. She noted, flatteringly, that I was in really good shape and had a really big cock. I believe her exact words were: "I bet you're more impressive to look at than anyone we could hire." While I wasn't certain about that, it is true that I still have a competitive swimmer's physique as well as the good fortune of being pretty well-endowed.

The idea was that if I posed as the stripper, disguised in a mask, she could touch me, flirt with me, push the envelope a little bit in a way that satisfied Nicole and Syd but which she would never feel comfortable doing with some random, creepy, probably STD-carrying stripper or escort. I understood her thought process, to a point, but I still couldn't believe she was serious. "You'd really be okay with your closest friends staring at my penis, up close?" I asked her incredulously.

"They won't know it's your penis," she responded immediately, "and I'm pretty sure they'll be impressed." She smiled mischievously as she said the last part and reached out with her hand, gently placing it between my legs. We were sitting next to each other on the couch, watching TV. I felt my cock begin to stir as soon as she made contact. "You'd do that for me, wouldn't you?" she continued, giving me her puppy dog eyes as she stroked my cock through my pajama pants.

"So I'd have to drive out to Vegas by myself," I asked, finding it harder to concentrate, "get myself my own room and wait for the right time to come over to your room in disguise?"

"Yep, pretty much" she answered, as she reached down and pulled down my pajama bottoms, exposing my now solid erection.

"And then I would just strip down for you girls, dance around and show you my cock, and then just go back to my room by myself for the rest of the night?"

"Well," she answered slowly. She was now leaning into me, staring up at me with her beautiful green eyes as she stroked my cock with her right hand. "I was thinking that, maybe, at some point in the night, I might sneak out and visit this hardworking stripper in his room and, you know, reward him for all of his efforts." And with that she flashed that mischievous smile again and slowly lowered her head down onto my cock.

By the time she was done, I'd had an amazing orgasm and knew that it was too late to back out. Unless she had a change of heart, we were going to actually go through with this crazy plan of hers.

DOUBTS AND CONCERNS

As the party night approached, my apprehension grew, but Rachel seemed to grow even more committed to the plan. She had apparently told Syd and Nicole that she'd be willing to hire a stripper, but only if they let her take care of it. She told them that she'd only feel comfortable if she did the vetting. I think they were just happy they were getting their way, so they didn't push back. But because of that, Rachel had absolutely no interest in backing down. For obvious reasons, she hadn't actually booked anyone or done any research at all, and she clearly did not want to deal with the fallout from Nicole and Syd if the night arrived and there was no stripper to be found.

So whenever I attempted to voice my doubts or concerns, Rachel was either dismissive or quick to come up with a solution. For example, at one point I warned her that if she was expecting me to have a huge erection during the stripshow, she'd probably be disappointed. I was so nervous about the whole thing that I didn't see how I could possibly manage that. A week later she handed me a one-dose pack of Viagra. She had made a quick two-day trip to visit her parents to take care of some wedding preparations and had apparently raided her dad's medicine cabinet while she was there. "That should solve any performance anxiety," she told me, very matter-of-factly.

The other issue I kept bringing up was about the mask. To her credit, she had managed to find one that was relatively lightweight but fit snuggly and did a pretty good job of rendering me unrecognizable. It was a Guy Fawkes mask, like the one from the movie 'V for Vendetta', all white with a big smile, curly mustache and thin goatee. My concern was less about them recognizing me through the mask and more about how to explain why I was wearing a mask at all. I hadn't spent a lot of time around male strippers, but I was pretty sure that they didn't normally wear masks. To address this, Rachel had come up with a pretty elaborate backstory.

She was going to tell her friends that the company she hired me from requires all of its performers to wear masks at all times, that it's a way of shielding them from being recognized or photographed and thereby allows the company to employ people who might not otherwise be willing to do this kind of work, in particular aspiring actors and other show performers who need the money but don't want it to be known that they're strippers. It was at least a superficially plausible explanation, assuming her friends didn't try to dig past the surface or google anything.

Even with the mask on, though, I was worried that her friends might recognize me from my body alone. Luckily I didn't have any tattoos or obvious identifying marks, but they'd all seen me in a swimsuit before, either at the beach or at a swim meet. Rachel was dismissive of this concern too. "You have a generic athletic build, Jason. I don't mean that as any kind of insult. You're gorgeous and very fit. But in Southern California? In Las Vegas? There's no shortage of guys with bodies just like yours. There are entire gyms full of guys with your exact body."

And so on and so forth. There was no way I was going to talk her out of it.

THE DAY OF

When the day arrived, though, I think the reality of what we were about to do finally started to register with her. She drove separately with her friends to Vegas, obviously, and I started getting nervous text after nervous text. I was driving myself, so I couldn't immediately respond.

"CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE DOING THIS!!! [three eggplant emojis]"

And a few seconds later:

"ur not going to talk right?! they might recognize ur voice. so don't talk! [face with no mouth emoji]"

And then:

"you remembered to pack the pills right! [three more eggplant emojis] and the speaker?"

She was referring to the bluetooth speaker she'd bought and that we'd tested together. It was a square, black box that doubled as a mini karaoke machine. Most importantly, though, it included spinning, flashing, multi-colored lights on the top that synced up with the music you were playing and looked pretty cool when you turned down the lights.

Another text:

"maybe you should take an edible before you dance. might help calm you down. I packed some for me and the girls. figure it will make them less observant and maybe remember less too. ha!"

As to the last point, I didn't need a reminder. I had packed some edibles and definitely planned on taking at least one.

The girls had reserved a large suite at the Cosmopolitan. They planned to go out to dinner and hang out a bit on the strip before heading back to the hotel. I was supposed to be ready to go by 10:00 pm. I'd booked a separate, much smaller room in the same hotel.

SHOWTIME

By 9:00 pm, I was a nervous wreck. I had convinced myself that everything that could go wrong, would go wrong, that I'd put on a terrible performance, that the girls wouldn't enjoy it at all, and that all the embarrassment would culminate in me accidentally knocking the mask off and revealing myself. In an effort to stifle my mounting panic, I downed two shots of vodka and swallowed two edibles, some berry flavored gummies. I also swallowed the Viagra pill that Rachel had given me, the first time I'd ever done that.

Then it was down to the hotel gym. I figured that doing a little lifting would distract me and help me look as cut as possible when the time came to disrobe. Midway through a set of bicep curls, I got a text from Rachel: "heading back to hotel soon. be ready"

She quickly followed with: "so drunk already! ++edibles! omg"

It was almost the moment of truth. I finished my set and headed upstairs to change. Rachel had helped me pick the outfit. It was essentially a black rental tuxedo, but she'd managed to find some black pants that had velcro seams and could be ripped off like basketball warmup pants. Underneath I had a bright red pair of thong style silk underwear. As I was used to doing for swimming purposes, I'd shaved my entire chest.

By the time I was fully dressed, it was nearing 10 o'clock. Thankfully, the gummies had really started to hit. I had a great body high going, and I was much more relaxed. My thoughts were no longer racing, and I felt very present, very in the moment. I stared out my window at the lights of the Vegas strip and was captivated by the view.

Then I got the text. It was just one word, in all caps: "SHOWTIME!"

I took one more shot of vodka, took a deep breath, and looked at myself one final time in the mirror. I grabbed the mask and the speaker and headed for the door.

A few minutes later I approached their room. Before I got to the door, I stopped to put on the mask and made sure it was secure. Then I double-checked that the playlist on my phone was ready. Just before I knocked on the door, a wave of anxiety coursed through me. I did my best to stifle it. Then I knocked three times. I immediately heard excited voices on the other side.

When the door opened, the person standing in front of me was Sydney. She seemed a little startled at first -- no doubt due to the creepy mask I was wearing -- but she quickly broke into a big smile. And she looked gorgeous. To help you visualize, Syd is about 5'8'', with long straight blonde hair that she usually wears pulled back in a simple ponytail. She used to be on the UCLA softball team, an outfielder. She's your stereotypical Southern California girl, straight out of central casting, effortlessly beautiful in a very traditional, all American girl kind of way. On that night, though, she was all done up like she was going to the prom or a fancy cocktail party; her hair was loose and flowing and she was wearing a tight-fitting, strapless black dress that really accentuated her curves.

She beckoned me into the room. Once I was through the initial hallway, the room opened up. It was a spacious suite with huge windows overlooking the strip and a separate bedroom off to the right. In the main room, it looked like the girls had moved around the furniture to clear out some space. In the center of the room was a large white rug that looked like some kind of faux fur rug. It looked very soft, with long strands like a shag carpet. Arrayed around it were both a couch and a loveseat, perpendicular to each other, as well as a single upholstered chair on the other side of the couch, opposite the loveseat. It was clear that the rug was going to be my stage.

My eyes first went to Rachel, who was already sitting on the couch, holding a drink. She was wearing a short white skirt and red blouse that showed a lot of cleavage. Rachel is about 5'6'' with a very slender, athletic build. Her breasts aren't huge, but when she wears tight clothes and the right kind of bra, it's hard not to look right at her chest. In keeping with bachelorette party tradition, on her head she wore a white headband with a short veil that draped down her long curly brown hair. She was smiling and didn't look particularly nervous, which surprised me a little.

Sitting to her right, in the upholstered chair, was Nicole. Nicole is short, barely 5 feet tall, with jet black hair and an olive complexion, but she's easily the most shapely of the girls. She's Italian, a New Yorker, but she looks like she could be a long lost Kardashian sister. She was wearing a tight-fighting, sequined blue dress; it was backless, with the front of the dress tying around her neck. It didn't show any cleavage, but it didn't need to; there was no question who had the biggest breasts in the room.

As I moved into the center of the room and placed the speaker on the ground, I finally spotted Maya. She was in the little kitchenette area fixing herself a drink. Maya is the most reserved of the bunch but has always been my favorite of Rachel's friends. She's a petite girl, a mix of Japanese (her mother) and Vietnamese (her father). She typically wears glasses and dresses pretty conservatively but is nevertheless very pretty, in a bookish sort of way. But that night she looked very different. Her glasses were gone, and she was wearing a very short, black skirt that showed off her athletic tennis player legs, and a backless, black tank top-style blouse that split midway up and tied around her neck, revealing quite a bit of cleavage. Simply put, she looked stunning.

Whether it was the edibles or nerves or some combination of the two, I felt like I was not fully processing all of the sensory input that was coming at me, particularly the sounds. I had been so engrossed in taking in the scene, in particular how beautiful all four of the girls looked, that I wasn't really listening to anything any of them were saying. Finally, I realized that Nicole was trying to talk to me. It was probably the third time she'd asked, but I eventually heard her say, "so how does this work? Are there any ground rules?"

Thankfully Rachel remembered to step in. "The company told me there's no touching allowed," she said. After a pause, she added "and they also said that the performers don't talk; it's part of the mystery. It's like the Blue Man Group or something." I pointed at her and gave an exaggerated nod in agreement. Based on the way Rachel was talking, very slowly and deliberately, I could tell that she was pretty drunk, or high, or probably both. But I was glad she was at least with it enough to establish the ground rules. It was something we'd discussed beforehand, but I was worried she'd forget.

"But what if I really want to touch him?" Syd asked in a fake, pouty voice. She had managed to sneak up behind me, and it startled me a bit when she spoke.

"We can find you someone else to touch later, you slut," Nicole responded, causing all of the girls to laugh hysterically. I'd seen enough by this point to know that none of the girls were remotely sober. This was going to be interesting.

From the inner pocket of my tuxedo jacket, I pulled out my phone and found the playlist Rachel had helped me put together. Not knowing what else to do, I turned on the speaker -- including the swirling colored lights -- and made sure my phone was paired. Then I hit play.

I didn't even know the names of most of the songs on the playlist. Rachel had picked all of them. We'd watched the Magic Mike movies in preparation, so I knew a lot of the songs were used in those movies. I'd listened to the entire playlist dozens of times in the preceding weeks in preparation (mostly alone in our apartment after Rachel had gone to bed), so I knew all the songs by heart, even if I had no idea what some of them were called or who the artist was.

The first song was a slowish R&B tune. It was from Magic Mike, and as soon as it came on, all four of the girls recognized it immediately and started whistling and hooting. Nicole got up and turned off the light in the main room, which I was thankful for. The only light still on was the one in the kitchenette area, so while it wasn't dark in the room, it was considerably dimmer, which really enhanced the dancing lights from the speaker and made the whole vibe in the room much closer to what you'd find in a club.

As the girls all took their seats, I began to dance in earnest, moving slowly to the pace of the song. I was already starting to get hot, so before long, I took off my first piece of clothing, my tuxedo jacket. I'm not sure there's a particularly sexy way to take off a jacket, so I didn't bother trying to draw the process out. Once it was off, I draped it over my shoulder for a few beats and then tossed it out of the way. The girls all cheered when I threw it, which I found encouraging.

Once the jacket was off, I started to slowly unbutton my shirt, starting from the top. At Rachel's suggestion, I had tied the bowtie around my bare neck, underneath the shirt collar, so that it would stay on when I took off my shirt. Slowly, I moved around the room, approaching each girl as I undid the next button and revealed a little more of my bare chest. They continued to whistle and cheer and seemed to be really into it. Truth be told, I was starting to get really into it too. By that point, the edibles had kicked in with force. I was flat out stoned, the really good kind of stoned where your whole body feels high and any familiar music is mesmerizing.