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Rip Skor

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About Rip Skor

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  1. The Best Laid Plans...

    OK, so you all know where this is going.
  2. The Best Laid Plans… What made the Shawn situation so mindboggling was that it was so improbable. I’m not always up for sucking cock and I’m rarely into eating ass, so when I'm completely into it, it’s a special circumstance. Plus, overall, I’m kind of picky about who I have sex with. Some gay guys I know will suck any cock that’s offered to them. It doesn’t always matter whose cock it is, like the good old anonymous men’s room sex made popular by George Michael. They end up sucking and/or getting sucked anonymously and then go on their merry ways. Not really what I’m into. I’m not saying all gay guys are into that scene, but I know that everyone else in my Montreal group had at least a handful of quick hook ups. It doesn’t have to be in a restroom. It could be in the woods, in a car, behind a building, in an apartment, wherever. I’m just using the commonality of restrooms as an example. I’ve heard, “He wasn’t attractive, but he had a nice cock, so I sucked him off” enough times. I would be thinking “Eeew.” I need to be really, really attracted to a dude to consider sucking his cock. For instance, I worked with this guy Jon for 5 years who I thought was incredibly hot. Trust me, he was. We became good friends because we often worked together on projects…and I would be fascinated with anything he had to say…and constantly searching for bulges appearing from within his clothing. If he ever suddenly said, “Man, I could really use a blow job right now,” I would have dropped to my knees and opened my mouth. But alas, Jon was hopelessly straight… hopeless for me anyway. I was destined to admire him from afar. He had no idea that I would have done anything he wanted. The constant problem for many of us—gay or straight—is that the people we are most attracted to are often not similarly attracted. When it does come out in our favor, it seems like simply dumb luck that we jump on…and often culminates in a divorce years later. But I digress. For me, little crushes are not uncommon…it’s a short-lived little fantasy. To think that it could result in something is implausible. However, when you have a fantasy with a fuel source, anything can happen. I ran the scenario through my head over and over. The Evidence: I know Shawn performed 22 dances (according to him) for the guy before me in the far left corner of the back room because that’s where Shawn had left his red hoodie. Before he began my dance, he wanted to move to the near left corner, which had a little more privacy. · Why did he want more privacy? Because he anticipated doing things with me that he didn’t want to get caught doing. It was premeditated. · He was looking over his shoulder at the bouncer which proves that he was knowingly flaunting the rules. · When his cock touched my lips, that was all him. I hadn’t moved. · Then he let me suck him and he did a double take once he saw how big and hard I had unexpectedly made him. He was surprised at the result. · He kissed me on the lips twice, the last time with tongue. · Speaking of my tongue, he allowed me to eat and tongue his asshole with wild abandon during both private dances. · He chose me over everyone else at the club as the recipient of his public appreciation dance on the last night. · When he first saw me, he moved from talking across the table to coming over to my side and squatting down next to me. · He remembered my name when I returned. When you see it bulleted out, it’s quite a compelling list. There may be more that I haven’t even thought of. What was my take on this? The incredibly beautiful Shawn, the male nude dancer, liked me more than a little bit. There was no way to deny that I was smitten. I wanted him, but how could I push it to the next level? What was the next level? The impediment to going further had become the very reason I had first seen him—the club. We could only go so far in Club David. If we were going to do more, we had to take it out of the club. Therefore, I needed a plan. But how could I be sure Shawn wanted to do more? There was no way to know without taking a leap of faith. That leap could only come in the form of a return trip. Looking back on it now, it would be much easier today. We would simply exchange email addresses and things would progress from there. Back then, I gave Shawn my phone number but I didn’t have his, making any planning tenuous at best. But again, there was only one way I knew of to push whatever it was between us forward…or to find out there was no forward. I requested and was approved for a week vacation from work in late June. I planned to drive to Montreal alone and reserve a room in a high-rise hotel within walking distance to Club David. Sometimes the B&Bs are a bit restrictive about bringing in guests. The big hotels are impersonal enough to give you the freedom to come and go as you please…and with whom you please. Perfect, if my plan was to succeed. I made the drive straight through in four and a half hours. I planned to be in Montreal for three days minimum or five days maximum. I arrived at around dinnertime and decided to order room service because, after all, I was on vacation and I was going to treat myself. It was time to live it up a little. After dinner, I took a long walk around the city to work off some of those calories, plus it was still light out. I made it to Club David at around 11:30 that night. I spotted Shawn across the room with his back to me talking to one of the other dancers. I had no trouble recognizing him from behind or from the front or from the side. I stealthily moved over closer to my target. I stood behind him and a little to the side. He had stopped his conversation and turned a bit to face the stage. I leaned in closer to his ear and said referring to the dancer on stage, “That’s not what I would call dancing.” He casually looked over at me and it took a second to register. I suddenly found myself in a bear hug or as close to a bear hug as his skinny body could muster. “Glenn! Oh my God! Oh my God!” And he kind of bounced up and down while he hugged me. I thought, “I think I’ve caused him to jump for joy. This is a good sign.” Then he kissed me full on the lips, another good sign. “Can I buy a dance from you, and we can talk in the back room?” I asked. “You don’t have to pay me just to talk,” he replied. “I want to pay you, so we can talk in private,” I ventured. “Well, OK, it’s your money.” I followed him to our usual corner in the back room and I sat down. “Do you want me to take my clothes off while we talk?” he questioned. “Oh—well, I guess that would be OK,” I justified. He began removing his clothes, so I began talking. “Shawn, I am in town for four or five days by myself and I have a room at Hotel Des Gouverneurs right down the street.” I stopped to admire his cock and balls which were hanging in mid-air as he removed the red singlet he was wearing. I temporarily lost my train of thought. “Um, hmm. Would you be interested…” His cock touched my lips and I began sucking him again. Goddam, he had a beautiful penis. After half a minute or so, he withdrew. “Shawn, how can I talk to you with my mouth full?” I chided him. “And whose fault is that?” he asked back. “At this point, I don’t know,” I replied totally flustered. “OK, OK, now we’ll talk,” he conceded. “Like I said, I’m in town for like five days, I’m by myself, and I’m staying at Hotel Des Gouverneurs down the street. Do you want to go home with me tonight?” I could have beat around the bush, but I didn’t have the energy. “Go home with you? Oh. I can’t. I mean, the club prohibits dancers from going home with customers. Since the club has no control of any deal that may be struck between dancer and customer, it is not allowed. Like if there was an agreement of money to be exchanged, the club could be held responsible for promoting prostitution because the meeting happened in the club.” I felt my heart sink and the air rush out of my lungs as my plan went down in flames.
  3. Gotta Love Popcorn

    One advantage of writing in the world of nonfiction is the depth of real emotion that can be transmitted in the text.
  4. Sunday, Sunday

    It really is awful when geography comes between two people who seem to have the hots for one another and not the proximity to let it play out.
  5. Sunday, Sunday

    Sunday, Sunday The next day was Sunday and would be our last full day and night in Montreal as we planned to head home Monday after hotel checkout. One of the things that most of our group liked to do when in Montreal was to see some local music at one of the live music venues around the city. One of our favorites was called Les Foufounes Électriques (which loosely translates to Electric Buttocks) or just Électriques for short. From the outside the club looks a little like a fun house from an amusement park…although in need of some refurbishment. On Sunday night, a Montreal band that we had seen before and really liked was playing at Électriques, so that was on the agenda. I was hoping we would have some time to return to Club David after seeing the band. Shawn was now constantly on my mind because we kind of had sex the night before, didn’t we? I couldn’t imagine he gave all his customers the same attention. But he was a stripper, so are the rules different? I was still trying to process the goings on of the previous night, but I decided to just live in the moment and worry about processing it later. There were four people from our group who went to Électriques that night. After the music venue, we took the subway a few stops and ended up entering Club David at around 12:40 am. We found a table for four straight back from center stage against the back wall. We sat down and were immediately descended upon by a waiter eager to take our drink order. Once we ordered up a round of beers, Bob joked to me, “Hey, there’s your boyfriend.” I turned to look and Shawn was standing back near the bar eating a bag of potato chips. I laughed to myself at the sight. Here was this innocent-looking blond boy without a care in the world eating a snack surrounded by a roomful of guys with a single desire…and Shawn was the guest of honor. I said to my friends, “I’ll be right back.” As I approached Shawn, his face lit up. He looked at his hands all covered with oil from the chips and nervously said, “Wait here, I’ll be right back!” He disappeared out back to wash his hands. He reappeared a minute later wiping his hands with a paper towel. He threw the towel in a nearby trash barrel and jogged up to me and gave me a big hug. I hugged him back of course. “I didn’t want to get you all greasy,” he said explaining his quick exit. “I know, thank you,” I replied. It was difficult to hold a conversation with the music blasting for the current dancer. I did manage to get through that this was my last night in Montreal and I wanted to buy a dance. “Sure, but I have to do something first,” he informed me. I shook my head in the affirmative to indicate I understood. I pointed to where I was sitting and returned to my seat. “What? Are you not getting a dance?” Bob asked. “Yeah, but I think he might be going on stage soon,” I guessed. “Aren’t you going to buy a dance?” “Maybe.” “Don’t you think he’s cute?” I asked. “Oh, sure. But he looks too young and cream cheese for me. I’m old enough to be his father. It wouldn’t feel right. Plus, I’m more into ethnic types, like that Asian guy over there. I might hit him up.” The dancer on stage finished his dance and we all clapped. Then came a barrage of French words. He was explaining something and all the dancers got on stage and lined up. Then some more dialogue in French and a song came over the sound system. The dancers left the stage and went into the back room. Then they all came out carrying dance pedestals. Shawn parked his pedestal in front of me. He saw I was confused and leaned over to say, “Don’t worry, this isn’t your dance. It’s just something new we do at 1:00.” Apparently, each dancer picks a member of the audience and does a free dance in front of that person while all the rest of the audience looks on. The dance I received was hot and Shawn got completely nude, but it was totally above board. I don’t know, but I got a sudden urge to cover him up and whisk him away to safety. Of course, I didn’t want to be expelled forever and have Shawn think I was some kind of psycho, so I just sat in my seat admiring Shawn and looked around at everyone else admiring Shawn. I noticed my whole table with their eyes glued to Shawn’s cock and balls. It would seem to me that, universally, Shawn had the most sets of eyes on him, so if there was a point to this exercise, Shawn won. The dance ended, the emcee started speaking in French, and everyone clapped. The dancers were introduced individually and each one took a bow in appreciation. Shawn received the loudest ovation. I was pleased to know that I had him next. He put his clothes back on: sweat pants with snaps down the side, a solid blue tank top, and spandex briefs with an interesting pattern and interesting bulges from within. “Ready?” he asked looking at me. “For you…I’m always ready,” I announced. He was now holding the dance pedestal from the public dance he just performed. We passed by the same guy in the doorway and went to our usual corner. I had decided earlier that I would ask for two dances up front and permission to blow him. However, I thought better of it. If he lost his job because I pressured him for a bj at work, I would feel horrible. The good thing is that this time I knew the score going into it. Shawn positioned the pedestal in front of me and stepped up on it. He began dancing and periodically removing clothing. Eventually, he brought his flaccid boy bit and touched it to my lips. I knew my cue and immediately took it in and began working on it. Again, I felt it growing in my mouth. The more he grew, the more I had to work with. This time I dared to use my hand as well. Shawn pushed it away saying, “No, you’ll get me off. It will make a mess.” “Oh, right,” I thought. “It will be impossible to be inconspicuous if we are doing things and it gets messy.” I slid my mouth down to his scrotum and began working over his large grape-sized ovals. I caught Shawn moaning a couple of times. I moved my mouth back onto the shaft. He withdrew almost immediately. He had a look on his face like he was about to let go. I pulled back to get a good look at his stiff cut cock again as it stood at full attention before me. What a perfect specimen! He spun around once again offering up his small, round, luscious ass. I ran my hands over his smooth mounds and spread his checks to get a look at his little pink pucker. There it was all closed for business, but I planned to change that. I teased the rim of his hole with my tongue, which tickled him at first as he wriggled. I applied more pressure and spit all over the outside which allowed me to slide my tongue inside. I started to work my tongue in and out of that little hole. Of course, a dancer bent over with a client’s face buried in his ass was an obvious indicator of illicit behavior, so we couldn’t stay that way for long. Then the song ended and so did my dance. At this point, I couldn’t buy another dance. I had one free one that was fully legal and a second one that sent shivers up my spine. The dances were a nice introduction, but now indoctrinated, I needed to go to the next level. But is there one? I handed him a $10 bill and told him to keep the change. “Shawn, I want to give you this,” I handed him a folded piece of paper. “This is my name and phone number in case you want to come to Boston and go to the beaches. I even know where there is a nude beach.” He took the piece of paper and slid it in his pocket. “Oh thanks. I might want to do that this summer,” he enthused. “Anytime, my friend,” I replied. “Except winter, right?” “Yeah, I don’t think you’d be happy going to the beach in the winter,” I informed him. We left the back room and returned to the main area. My friends noticed my return and started to get ready to leave. “I guess we’re leaving. I hope to see you again sometime soon, Shawn,” I stated turning toward him. He gave me a hug and stood on his tip-toes to kiss me full on the mouth. He didn’t seem to mind that I slipped him the tongue as he pressed his against mine. Our lips parted, I gave him another hug and then strode off to catch up to my group. As we walked back to the B&B, I savored that kiss by repeatedly licking my lips. He was simply the cutest boy I’d ever messed around with. This left me wanting more…but as the Rolling Stones sing, You Can’t Always Get What You Want. We left for home the next day at around 11:00 after breakfast. Since I wasn’t driving, I had a few hours to finally process the events of the weekend…well, the events specific to Shawn.
  6. Secrets of The Back Room Noticing my nervousness, Shawn led me by the hand to the “back room,” which is only meant for customers receiving private dances. His hand was smooth and warm and he had a firm grip on mine. The entrance to the back was a double-sized doorway with no doors or curtains, just an opening to a fairly good-sized rectangular room. There was a staff member standing in the doorway who allowed us to pass. The four corners of the back room were set up for dance presentations. Each area was exactly the same with a rounded crushed-velvet sofa on which you could probably squeeze three adults. There were other chairs placed here and there, for what…I don’t know. Maybe they had functions back there like bachelor parties for gay men at various times. Shawn directed me to the far left corner and motioned for me to sit on the sofa. As he dragged a dance pedestal over and positioned it in front of me, I looked around and saw a handful of laminated signs affixed to the walls. The signs read: “Touching of dancers is prohibited. Violators will be immediately ejected and banned from club.” Yes, I had bought a dance once before, but I didn’t even consider touching the dancer. Sure, I wanted to, but it would have been very impolite. I figured that was common sense, so when I saw all the signs, it was curious. What was even more curious was that all of the warning signs were in English, when everything else was in French. Did English-speaking customers not know any better? That could be very true based on some of the guys I encountered in my college years. It was baffling how many guys in college had no common sense. Maybe that’s not so in Canada. Still, as I said, very curious. That’s when Shawn said, “Oh, that’s where my sweatshirt went.” He picked up a red hoodie that was hanging over the brass bar next to him. Shawn was wearing a gray singlet, which is the one-piece spandex outfit that is usually associated with wrestlers. I guess that could now be expanded to wrestlers and male strippers…or as they prefer to be called, male nude dancers. He put the hoodie on over the singlet and mounted the dance pedestal. He looked over his left shoulder toward the doorway, and then said, “You know what? I think over there is better,” as he pointed to the near left corner just to my right. “Let’s move over there,” he suggested. That’s when I thought, “That’s odd. He dances back here all the time. Shouldn’t he know which corner is best by now?” And if his hoodie was here, why was this corner fine when he was dancing for the client before me? Whatever…we moved to the near corner which was set up exactly like the area in which I had been sitting. He mounted the pedestal but then said, “I don’t like this song for dancing. Let’s wait for the next one.” He dismounted the pedestal, sat in the chair next to the sofa, and started to make small talk. As we conversed, it occurred to me that Shawn was fully bilingual. He could speak French or English interchangeably with no tip off that he was more comfortable with one or the other. “So what’s your name?” he asked. I can’t believe we got that far without such a formality. “Oh yeah, my name is Glenn. And I know you’re Shawn.” That was an understatement. The name Shawn was now seared into my brain for all eternity. “So, Glenn, where are you from?” “In the U.S. just outside of Boston,” I replied. “Boston? Is that near Cape Cod?” he asked. “Oh, you’re into the beaches?” “Yes.” “Well, Boston is maybe an hour and a half away by car. The Cape gets a little crowded in the summer, though.” “Isn’t that when everyone goes there?” he queried. “Yeah, that’s the problem. But sure, the beaches are quite nice,” I assured him. “So are you originally from Montreal?” “No, I’m from Ottawa. Do you know, Ottawa?” he asked “No, can’t say I’ve ever been there,” I confessed. “Ottawa is the capitol of Canada…you know, like you have Washington, D.C. in the U.S.?” “Oh, that’s right,” I remembered. “I’m in Montreal for college…well, eventually,” he added. “I noticed you speak both French and English. That’s so cool. I wish I knew two languages,” I admitted. “My father is originally from Ontario and my mother is from Quebec, that’s how I learned to speak both. I didn’t have to do anything special except grow up around it,” he replied. “Oh, I see. If you don’t mind me asking, Shawn, how old are you? I mean, you look young…not that it’s a bad thing,” I ventured. “I’m 18. How old are you?” he asked. “I’m 27,” I replied shaving off a year. Being only nine years older seemed a lot better than ten years older. It’s the whole “decade” thing. Sometimes people make small talk just to fill up empty space, and it really doesn’t matter what you say because the other person isn’t really paying attention. Even though it was small talk, Shawn seemed engaged. He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, and his mannerisms were really endearing…surprise, this boy stripper actually had a warmhearted personality! I was always on guard that he might simply be skilled at getting me to open my wallet, but he seemed truly sweet and never brought up the topic of money. Shawn turned his head away for a moment, “OK, I like this song. It’s much better for dancing.” He stood up, walked to the dance pedestal, and stepped up on it. He kicked off the style of slippers that all the dancers seemed to be wearing, and then began undulating that hot, skinny body encased within the gray singlet. My eyes were glued to his landscape as he removed his red hoodie. Within perhaps 10 seconds, he pulled down the shoulder straps of the singlet so they were hanging from his waist. It wasn’t long before his hands slid down over his hips shedding the bottom half of the singlet. He slipped it over his feet and he was standing in front of me dancing completely nude. Every inch of him was visible and breathtaking. I jammed my hands under my thighs, so I wouldn’t be tempted to do anything that would get me in trouble. After a few beers, who knows what might seem like a good idea to me? I sat on the red crushed velvet admiring all of him: the face, the chest, the stomach, the thighs, his feet, and his flaccid cock and balls. Interestingly enough, I did not detect a single blemish over his entire landscape. He had perfect skin in one solid skin tone, which is improbable without some time spent in a tanning booth…or a nude beach. He reached down and grabbed his cock with his right hand and began waving it in front of my face. I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds because he had it especially close to my face, and I didn’t want to accidentally come in contact with him and get thrown out. But my eyes didn’t stay closed for long because I couldn’t imagine that the privates of a perfect 10 would ever be this close to my face again. I was getting a super close-up that few patrons ever experience. He was so close I could feel a wave of heat from his body against my face. That’s when it happened. His dick touched my lips. I froze. It was his fault! I haven’t moved an inch. He then proceeded to push it against my lips. But no alarms went off. Shawn didn’t seem disturbed by this contact…wait…he initiated it! It was him, and it was on purpose! He waved his weenie around some more, and then came in again. This time I parted my lips and he slid it in my mouth. HE slid it in! Well, this was an interesting turn of events! I’ve never been a big fan of giving head, but this was like the Superbowl of oral sex. Sucking the pleasure pole of the cutest boy in the world is an offer that doesn’t come up every day, if ever. Therefore, I was “all in” on this opportunity. He was still mostly flaccid, so I was able to take his entire member in my mouth. I worked him with my tongue, lips, and mouth with varying amounts of suction. I could feel him growing in my mouth. I was getting more and more turned on as he was getting bigger and harder. I wanted to get him off. He suddenly withdrew from my mouth, and I was snapped back to reality. Oh yeah, we’re in a strip club. I can’t get him off here…well, I could but…that’s why he withdrew. I looked at his cock still glistening with my saliva. Wow! His phallus was fully erect, standing straight up, and pointing at the ceiling. It was bigger than I expected. Not the biggest cock I’ve ever seen, but when attached to his petite frame, it was impressive. This was a big cock on a skinny boy. He was certainly a grower. This was an unexpected bonus. Then came the most interesting moment of the evening. He casually looked down at his state of affairs and executed a double take, as if to indicate that this was the biggest he’d ever seen his Johnson. He was as surprised as I was! He looked over his shoulder again. I suddenly understood it. Shawn was checking to make sure that the staff member standing in the doorway was not taking notice. The guy in the doorway was in my field of view the entire time, and he had not turned around a single time to look into the back room—not once. I suppose if he did, he might be misconstrued as being a creepy voyeur, not a good idea if you have dancers back there trying to earn a living. Then I wondered if the laminated signs were posted to absolve the club from any responsibility of “stuff” that may or may not happen back there…things that might be against club policy and city ordinances. Then the club can just say, “Hey, we clearly state that any hanky-panky in the back room is prohibited.” But in practice maybe anything that goes on in the back is up to the dancer’s discretion. Maybe the guy in the doorway isn’t there to police what goes in the back room. But if it is a case of “out of sight out of mind,” why did Shawn keep looking over his shoulder? Maybe they are told by management not to mess about in the back room—again to cover themselves. It seems like the dancers are walking a bit of a thin line between what is “not allowed” and what they can get away with. I had been sucking Shawn’s hard cock. That most certainly wasn’t allowed, but it also can’t be something that Shawn does with every client either. Hmm, am I somehow special or is this a clever ploy to extract more money? Shawn then turned around and bent over sticking his cute little butt out at me. His amazing posterior was rising and falling to the music in front of my face. I reached forward and caressed his smooth bum. Oh, so nice, so smooth, so firm. Then I went for it. I leaned forward and ate his ass. Now ass eating was not something I was into at all. But this ass was different. It was so perfect and beautiful. I wanted to commune with that beauty. As I ate his hole, he hardly moved, except a slow back and forth pelvic thrust. He was allowing me access. And thank goodness he was incredibly clean back there. Although I suppose when you are a nude dancer, it comes with the territory. He was cute, he was hard, and he was clean. I was perfectly happy to please his port hole with my tongue. He pulled his butt forward again until my tongue came out. The song ended and he hopped down from the pedestal. “Do you want another dance?” he asked. “Do I, yes! But I’d better not,” I admitted. “OK, no problem. Did you enjoy it?” “Shawn, that was the greatest dance ever!” I exclaimed handing him a $10 bill. “Keep the change.” “Oh, thanks!” He smiled and began getting back into his singlet. Did what just happened between us really happen? It was probably the best sex of my life without reaching orgasm. The reason I stopped him is because I could feel pre-cum dripping into my underwear. I certainly didn’t want to unload in my pants. Having never been in this situation before, it was difficult to read. Did our encounter make an impression on him or was this business as usual with Shawn? As for me, I would remember this for the rest of my life. We walked out to the main room and stood toward the back watching the current nude dancer. Then Shawn tapped my shoulder and said, “Watch this.” The guy on stage moved to the pole and he flipped over and held himself upside down while doing almost a full split in the air. Everyone in the audience clapped. Shawn and I were standing side by side, so I casually slipped my right arm behind him across his back. He responded by moving closer so he was right up against me. My heart was beating out of my chest. “So this is what it’s like being with the cutest boy in the world,” I thought. This feeling was something I never wanted to end. Shawn had no customers waiting for a dance at that time, so he was perfectly happy sort of cuddling with me for these few minutes. When the dancer on the stage finished his set, I leaned down and gently said near his ear, “Shawn, I’ve gotta get going to meet my friends.” “Ah, the story of my life,” he lamented jokingly. “Are you working tomorrow night?” I asked. “Until 1:30.” “OK, I’ll come visit you tomorrow night then.” “Promise?” “Yes, of course,” I replied. He spun around and hugged me goodbye. I hugged him back. “Have a good rest of the night,” I said to him. “You too,” he replied and he pulled me down by the lapel and kissed me on the lips. We parted our bodies and I walked out. I decided not to make it any harder by looking back at him or I might never leave. As I walked over to KOX in a haze, I kept thinking, “He kissed me! I can’t believe he kissed me!” By the time I got to KOX, I remembered that this is French Canada and French guys often kiss other French guys, right? That’s kinda normal if you’re French and with friends, right? When I met up with my crew, I resisted telling them the full details of the private dance I received. If they knew I got to suck Shawn’s naughty bits, they would have lined up behind me. No, this dirty little secret was for me alone. It wasn’t until the next day that I figured out the role of the man in the doorway to the back room. He was basically a bouncer who was wearing a black STAFF T-shirt, again I found it odd that the word was in English. Maybe the word STAFF is more universally recognized. I deduced that his duties were as follows: Ensuring that any customers entering the back room are accompanied by a dancer Watching the main room for signs of trouble and intervening if necessary Protecting the dancers in the back room if pounced upon by overzealous customers (if alerted by a dancer) Observing who walks in the front door to be sure they look like customers (And this one I’m not 100% sure about) Ensuring that there’s nothing against the rules going on in the back room Since the first three points are self-explanatory, I’m going to elaborate on the last two. I once witnessed a young heterosexual couple walk in to Club David one night. The bouncer walked up to them and they had a short discussion. The bouncer escorted the couple to a specific table away from the stage. I don’t think I ever saw a woman in the club before. One or two of the other male stripper clubs have signs on the door stating: “Women Invited.” Club David was not one of those clubs, but they also didn’t want to turn away potential customers. Apparently, this circumstance is handled by inviting the couple to stay so long as they stay inconspicuous at one of the less visible tables. I don’t know if it was relevant, but from his vantage point, the bouncer would also be the first to detect if a police raid was under way. Based on what happened in the courts the last time the police raided bars, this was unlikely to recur. But never say never. And the last point. Aside from the signs hanging all over, I don’t know if activity in the back room is truly policed. I could see the bouncer in my field of view while Shawn was dancing for me. Not once did the bouncer turn to peer back into the room, yet Shawn did look over his shoulder a few times to gauge the bouncer’s level of attention…or in this case, inattention. I’m guessing if the bouncer managed to see anything untoward going on in the back room, he would probably be obligated to stop it. But if he doesn’t see it, he’s not obligated. Perhaps simply having him there was used as more of a deterrent than anything.
  7. Saturday Night!

    What does go on in those private dance rooms at every stripper bar? Does it vary by club? Does it vary by country? Does it vary by dancer? Does it vary by client?
  8. Saturday Night!

    Saturday Night! The next day was Saturday and would be our first full day and night in Montreal. We did some touristy things during the day like walking through Old Montreal, taking a jet boat ride on the river, and ending at the botanical garden. Every so often I would daydream about that boy we had seen the night before. He was the whole package. I praised him out loud the first couple of times to my friends, but then kept it to myself so it wouldn’t appear like an obsession. However, I found my friends in agreement…that boy was a 10. I found myself anticipating the night. I’ll cut to the chase. We decided to go to Club David at about the same time, so we’d get some underwear dances and the all-important nude sets. We saw Shawn looking every bit as hot as the previous night, but even better inside a pair of black boxer briefs. He seemed to have the full attention of everyone in the club, especially mine. “God damn, they don’t make boys like that where I come from,” I joked to the guys in my group. “Well, why don’t you hit him up for a private dance?” my friend Andy suggested. “Nah, I couldn’t do that,” I admitted. “Why not? That’s what they’re here for!” Bob declared. “I’m…I’m too…embarrassed,” I admitted. “Embarrassed? About what?” Andy asked. “Maybe embarrassed isn’t the right word,” I explained. “I’m self-conscious.” “Nah, you’re unconscious! Just go up to him and tell him you want to buy a dance,” Bob said. “Uh, I don’t know. I just don’t want to…” “Oh for Christ’s sake,” Tommy said coming to life. “Do you want me to ask him for you?” “Really? Would you?” I asked. “Fine. Otherwise we’ll be listening to you procrastinating all night for no reason,” Tommy grumbled. “So where did the little shit go?” We all scanned the club for signs of Shawn. Not even a whiff. “Wait until his nude set and you’ll have him in your crosshairs,” Andy pointed out. So we waited until it was time for Shawn’s nude dance. He appeared and walked through the audience to the stage door while the guy before him was about halfway through his dance. Then the French announcer went into his spiel in French again…eventually ending with the word “Shawn.” Once again, Shawn’s beauty was unparalleled. Though I was preoccupied following the image of his cock and balls and his cute bubble butt, every inch was a pleasure to feast on with the eyes. I found myself needing to catch my breath. He was literally breathtaking. Just before the dance was over, Tommy got up and walked over near the stage door. The next dancer went up on stage and started his performance. Where was Shawn? Finally, the door opened and Shawn walked out. Tommy called out to him and they started chatting. Tommy pointed over at our table and they both stopped talking and looked over. I put my hands over my face in mock embarrassment. They both began approaching. Shawn stopped on the other side of the table from me. He was wearing a gray one-piece spandex singlet. “You want to buy a dance?” he asked as his eyes sparkled. “Yes!” I managed to squeak out as my throat tightened. He moved over to my side of the table and crouched down next to me. “I have someone waiting out back for a dance. As soon as I’m finished with him, I’ll come out to get you, OK? Just don’t change tables so I can find you,” Shawn directed. “Sure, OK,” I replied. Shawn put his hand on my shoulder as he got up out of his crouch. Then he gently patted my shoulder and went off to thrill yet another happy patron of the arts waiting in the mystical “back room.” I touched my shoulder where his hand had been and made a face of mock ecstasy cracking up my friends at the table. We sat and watched dancer after dancer come and go. After about 45 minutes, half of our table decided to move on to the other stripper bar nearby to see what they had to offer. Two of my friends, Tommy and David (yes, inside Club David!), stayed behind to keep me company. As the minutes continued to tick away, David leaned over and said, “Do you think he forgot about you?” I just looked at him and shrugged my shoulders. As the waiting lengthened to over an hour, I had my doubts. I said, “So what do you think? Another ten minutes and we leave?” They shook their heads in agreement. About three minutes later from behind me I hear, “Oh my gosh, you’re actually still here!" It was Shawn and he HADN'T forgotten about me. "I AM SO SORRY! The customer before you kept buying more and more dances…22 in all!” “Oh wow, really?” “It was unbelievable… a record number for me,” Shawn added. “We’re gonna go,” Tommy broke in. “We’ll meet you over there when you’re done, OK?” “At KOX?” “Yeah.” “OK.” Q
  9. The Lay of the Land

    Gee, I didn't realize there are so many club fees for strippers. From what you say, it seems to me the dancers are being taken advantage of by the club. Thanks for the info. When this story takes place (1997), there was just one set fee for private dances in the male strip bars in Montreal. The fee was $6 Canadian per dance and each private dance lasted for one song. The $6 rate was the same in all the gay stripper clubs. I was told that due to Canadian laws there were restrictions against contact during private dances, so lap dances were not allowed and clients were never allowed to touch the dancers. The only things the go-go boys could do in a private dance were dancing and stripping. It may be different elsewhere or in clubs with female strippers. I have heard there were some recent changes to the laws governing strip clubs in Canada allowing some contact. Today there may be different levels of private dances depending on how much a client wishes to spend, but I don't know for sure.
  10. The Lay of the Land

    The Lay of the Land I don’t want to seem like one of those guys who preys on underage boys, because that’s not it. The friends I’d go with to Montreal were into nude dancers who were cute, skinny, and innocent looking…and that normally points to guys who were on the younger end of the spectrum. However, every one of the boys working in the twink bars had to be a legal adult of at least 18 years of age. So everything was kept above boards and legal. Sure, there was the occasional boy who looked suspiciously young, but you have to chalk that up to good genes. It was not out of the realm of possibilities for a high school boy who had reached the age of 18 to be dancing at a gay strip club after school. Though It was more prevalent among high school grads who were having trouble finding gainful employment or boys trying to finance their college education. And the term “dance” is very loose. Stage time while music was being played was referred to as a dance, whether they could pirouette or do a split was not important. Some boys could move and dance around, but others kind of walked the stage and would stop to frequently pose. I guess there is one difference between a stripper and a nude dancer. Strippers don’t dance. For the purposes of this story, though, I’m going to use those terms interchangeably. As I said before, if you were 18, gay, had a good body and good looks, and you weren’t averse to showing it off, you had the opportunity to make some good money during hard times. There were a host of boys I remember from the clubs who rated eights or nines: Sebastian, Denis, and Randy. One never knew if they were using their real names or had stage names to protect their privacy. Maybe it was a little of each. Sebastian and Randy, I’m guessing, were stage names, and Denis was probably using his real name. Although the ages of all the dancers were checked and rechecked prior to employment, there was once a raid by police at one of the gay twink clubs and one dancer was found to be only 17. But he had used falsified identification to gain employment, so the club was found not to be negligent in court. Then the police department was castigated in the press and in court for overstepping their bounds in the gay community and crossing the line into harassment. The man responsible for organizing the raid was quickly reassigned to another jurisdiction. The court ruling basically said if you’re going to raid strip bars, you have to raid both gay and straight strip bars equally. I should explain about the private dances because that’s where, I was to learn, the dancers earn the bulk of their paycheck. The strip shows (or dances) on stage are used by the club to help entice customers to enter and keep ordering drinks. The private dances are sort of a little private enterprise by the dancers to supplement the meager base pay, if there was a base pay at all. Dancers who kept busy selling dances would do well, and those who were not selling many were in the wrong line of business. When we started visiting Montreal, private dances were $6 Canadian per song. (That was later increased to $10 in the early 2000s.) The dances would last for one full song. The songs were whatever was playing on stage in the main room. Although I saw it as a bargain, I was never a big customer of the private dances. I figured I was getting enough for free out it the main room. Plus, I was always self-conscious about approaching the dancers. After all, what is the proper etiquette for arranging a nude dance? I generally avoided an uncomfortable situation. But all of that was about to change. It was May of 1997, a new year, time for another trip north. I made a few calls and when all was said and done, we had six people interested in joining. Six people meant two cars. We were always trying to get the cheapest deals when we stayed over, so we stuck with the B&Bs, which were everywhere in Montreal. They varied from decent to a bit sketchy…but typically most were clean and inexpensive. We would always stay a short walk from the gay village where we would end up spending most of our time. We decided to go during the Memorial Day long weekend (last weekend in May) and we’d take that Friday off too, so we’d be in Montreal Friday through Monday. We did the drive, crossed the border, and arrived around dinner time. We had a late dinner and then planned our night. I think the time allotted for Club David was foremost in everyone’s mind even though we didn’t say it. After Club David, we’d head over to the dance club named KOX to finish off the night. Closing time was 3 a.m., but I’d only made it to closing time once before. I knew my nights usually ended earlier than 3. After checking out a couple of other bars first, we arrived at Club David at around 11:30 pm on the Friday night. We had all six of us in attendance and were fortunate enough to find an open table with six chairs midway between the stage and bar. We seemed to have arrived during the second set for the dancers as we walked in during a thin, smooth, good-looking Asian boy parading around the stage in a pair of bikini briefs. He was probably Thai or Vietnamese and his hairless body made him look younger than his actual years. As he wrapped up his dance, the announcer came on the PA speaking only French, and we were pretty sure he said that dancer’s name was Daniel as we clapped. My guess is there aren’t many Thai guys named Daniel at birth, but whatever, it was easy to remember. Then the announcer spoke in French again to give an intro for the next dancer: Shawn. Shawn? An Irish name in French-speaking Canada? However, I was not prepared for what my eyes were about to witness. Clearly the hottest boy I’d ever seen on any stage in Montreal…or anywhere in general. I knew I was seeing my first 10. He was skinny and average height, maybe 5’ 8” (almost 173 cm), cute, medium length dirty blond hair with lighter blond highlighted streaks, big brown eyes that sparkled, and smooth skin from what I could see. I could hear the other guys in my group whispering their approval. He came out fully clothed with an open hoodie and no shirt, but after teasing with his pants for most of the song, he removed them and danced around for maybe 30 seconds in his boxers. He looked so young and innocent and cute that I almost felt bad for him. To me, he looked too hot to be on stage in a strip club. He probably could have gotten a job modeling or acting because he had the looks in spades. He was the complete package. He was a 10. All too soon the song, and therefore the dance, was over. I was still stunned as the announcer came on in French, and again the only word I recognized was “Shawn.” I was certainly not moving until we got to see his nude dance. We had to sit through five other dancers first for about 40 minutes, but the good thing is that the nude sets had started and the other boys weren’t shabby…however, they were not Shawn. Most dancers would come out and strip while they were doing their nude number. Shawn bucked the trend and appeared completely nude for his right from the start. There were gasps all around. I could literally feel my stomach jump up into my throat. He was simply perfect. Maybe that’s why he came out nude from the start. You can’t improve on perfect. And he looked perfectly comfortable without a stitch on in front of a large audience. The first thing I noticed is that he was circumcised. That was very odd for a Canadian, but very common for those of us from the U.S. All of the dancers we saw at the club that night were uncut, except for two…one being Shawn. Also, his pubic hair was well trimmed but visible, giving us a nice little putting green on his abdomen right above his manhood. It matched the dirty blond color on his head. I had grown used to seeing black pubic hair on almost all of the strippers. Seeing dirty blond pubic hair was kind of a turn on. This was definitive evidence that Shawn was a true blond. The second thing I noticed was his uniform skin tone. Most often when boys are stripping, you see the white band around their midsection from always wearing pants, underwear, swim trunks, etc. I’ve heard this called the cottontail look by people in warmer climates when they see people from colder climates out of their clothes. Shawn must be a proponent of tanning salons to get one uniform color. It was also kind of hot because, at first, I had this fantasy in my head that Shawn was tanned all over because he spent most of his life out of clothes. And why not? If I looked like him, I’d wear fewer clothes most of the time too. What was amazing was his skin. He wasn’t noticeably tanned. Like with clothes on, no one would think anything was different. Once the clothes were off, his tight little butt was not blindingly pale like some of the other dancers. His butt coloring matched the rest of his body. Upon further examination, I could see no blemishes, moles, birthmarks, beauty marks, freckles. It’s like we were seeing everything that was meant to be seen, nothing more and nothing less. He was flawless. The song ended, the applause started with a few whistles, the boy smiled and gave a quick wave, and he disappeared through the stage door. I was smitten. Though I wanted to see his nude set again, that would be a long wait that none of us was prepared to endure. We regretfully left Club David and made our way over to the gay dance club named KOX. KOX had changed since the last time we had visited. The inner dance zone adorned with the lights and dance floor was transformed to look as if we were dancing just inside (or outside) the walls of a castle, complete with castle walls, banners, and periodic go-go boys wearing loincloths in cages. Though we were in a dance club with really good 80s music and scenery the like I had never seen before in a dance club, my mind was still back at Club David. The feeling of excitement from seeing the beauty that was Shawn would not be going away any time soon. q
  11. It’s Called (Not) Club David

    It's mostly nonfiction. That's why it seems so real. It's easier for me to write about events that really happened.
  12. It’s Called (Not) Club David Did you ever have one of those events in your life that you never thought possible? When for no apparent reason, all of the rules of the universe suddenly tip in your favor. Something significant happened to me during a road trip in the 1990s that defies logic, but let me back up first. At the outset I will state that I was a good-looking guy in my late 20s, so that certainly played to my advantage. While I might not have been everybody’s cup of tea, being tall, dark, and somewhat handsome kind of fits. I guess I was the “type” that more than a few people find attractive. I had dated numerous girls all through my teenage years, but by the time I graduated college, I realized that I was more comfortable being intimate with guys. Many straight guys have a fantasy that kind of goes like this: One day I’m going to walk into a strip club full of hot women, one of the hottest dancers will see me, immediately fall head over heels for me, I will offer to free her from having to be a stripper, she will be indebted to me for life, and we will live happily ever after. Something like that, right? I mean, what straight young man wouldn’t want to be a knight in shining armor to a beautiful young woman? Of course, that never really happens anywhere, except in a movie like Pretty Woman or something. But it is still a fantasy for many straight guys because the women in the better strip clubs are gorgeous, and what straight guy is immune to a gorgeous woman? Most of those women are really good at two things: feeding into that fantasy and lightening a guy’s wallet legally before the end of the night. OK, maybe that’s a little more diabolical sounding than reality, but the way that strippers make most of their income is the flow of cash from the client’s wallet to their G-string. But what about those clubs where young men strip for a largely gay male clientele? Do the same rules apply? I figured that it was interchangeable. You have dancers stripping on stage to music and you can hit them up for a “more private dance” in the back room for a fee. Or course, you are not permitted to touch them, but they are permitted to tease you…thus the term “strip tease.” Then, if you want the tease to continue, you pay for it. In my post-college 20s, I met a guy around the same age who became my best friend and then came out to me when he felt I’d be cool about it. After wrestling with it for a while, I eventually came out to him as well—only him—to start. Through him I met his other gay acquaintances and we developed a small group of “friends with similar interests.” These guys were not your stereotypical effeminate gay types…for the most part. One guy was questionable, but he was good looking, so he stayed a member of our intrepid band by default. Being the youngest two in our group, he and I battled for eye candy supremacy. I guess it was inevitable that we would eventually hook up a couple of times. He wasn’t very good in bed, but he did like to suck cock and, well, any port in a storm. One day our core group was at a backyard barbeque, and the subject of travel came up. Within a few minutes, we had the whole bunch of us wanting to do a group trip. But to where? Europe at the time was expensive and who wants to fly for 6 hours and worry about exchanging money and potential language barriers? Then one of the guys mentioned that he heard the U.S. dollar was worth 30% more in Canada. Hey, let’s go to Canada. This wasn’t a bad idea because we could simply drive north for under five hours to Montreal. Once we traveled to check it out, we found the more, let’s say, permissive attitude in Quebec Province (French-speaking Canada) appealed to us. Plus, going to Montreal was like going to France without the flight, and our money was worth more. How could we go wrong? Between the restaurants, dance clubs, rock clubs, outdoor events, strip bars, and bath houses, there was at least a little something to please every gay man. We were quickly hooked and Montreal became a twice-a-year pilgrimage, but it had to be scheduled between May and October. The colder months in Montreal can be brutal. The story I’m about to relay to you took place before the internet became omnipresent. In those days, the only place a gay guy could get his fill of porn was video tapes, magazines, movie houses/peep shows, or all male strip bars. First, let me say, there’s a huge difference between a male stripper bar for gay men and a male stripper bar for women. The whole Chippendale experience is not what you get in most gay stripper bars because it is not what most gay men are looking for. At the time we began visiting Montreal, there were about a half-dozen gay nude dancer bars, most of them close in proximity to the “gay village.” These clubs all used the same formula by featuring nude male dancers, serving drinks, and offering private dances for a fee. The types of dancers featured would fall into one of three subcategories: guys with muscles, average guy next door types, and "go-go boys" or twinks (younger 18- to 25-year-old guys). Our group unanimously was in favor of twinks. The entertainment at any twink club featured similar characteristics. The dancers would do three sets: first with clothes on, second in underwear or somewhat revealing clothing, and finally you get the full monty. Now most of the customers would probably prefer three fully nude sets, but there’s an obvious business reason why this doesn’t happen. As long as clubs keep customers waiting for the nude sets, they have the opportunity to sell them more drinks. I need to pause here to insert a disclaimer. The events described in this story didn’t actually take place at Club David. By 1995, the entire block in which Club David was located was sold and rehabbed before this story actually took place. However, to protect the identity of an establishment that may or may not still be in business and the people involved in the story, I’m going to use Club David as the name of the gay male dancer club. From this point forward, Club David will be used in place of Club X. Still with me? Then here we go... Club David was one of the first strip bars we visited and quickly became our “go to” favorite. Think of Michelangelo’s David statue as their logo and you get the picture. In our opinion, Club David had the best “talent” of all. The club was medium sized (a capacity of probably between 150 and 200 patrons), but almost always had a good crowd, so its popularity was not a secret among the gay clientele who appreciated youngish dancers. Management was smartly discriminating about the type of boys they hired as dancers. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the highest, nearly every stripper they hired would rate between a seven to a nine, which is pretty darn good. This was the key to its popularity. Plus, Quebec (the province in which Montreal is located) was in an economically stagnant period (mid to late 1990s). A good-looking, skinny, 18-year-old French Canadian boy, could fight for a job in retail and walk home with $50 per day or, if your morals allowed, you could earn $200 on a good night from strip club work. Which choice is going to pay your rent or fund your college education quicker? My guess is that most of the boys who danced in the gay strip clubs were either gay or bisexual, but there had to be a few who were gay for pay. Maybe 80/20 gay vs. straight, it’s hard to say. In Montreal, there was only one Chippendale-style club when it came to male dancers for women. Since there were a greater number of gay strip clubs, nude dancers had more opportunity on the gay circuit if they had the goods. If you didn’t mind dancing nude to a roomful of gay men and doing private dances for customers who were willing to pay for it, you could probably do well for yourself during a weak economy…of course, the internet would eventually change that a few years later. But again, these events took place during the golden years of the "gay nude male dancers" in the 1990s. Q
  13. This is my second story. It is mostly nonfiction with a little fiction mixed in. It is based on an real-life experience of a close friend that I thought would make for a good short story. He provided the skeleton and I filled in the dialogue with his approval. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed hearing it recounted to me.
  14. Epilogue

    Parker and I were sitting in front of the TV one Saturday afternoon over two years ago. We watched yet another weak gay-themed movie. I said, "You know, I bet I could write a better story than most of these so called writers." You know what he said? "Then go ahead." I just didn't know it was going to be about us when I started. But my college English professor once said, "Write about what you know." So it's his fault! Someone once asked if Parker knows about the story. Yes, I gave him the directions when I was just starting. He said, "I've already lived it, why would I want to read about it? But I did find myself skipping ahead to the sex parts, and I realized I was pretty good in bed." And he giggled and walked off. Love that boy.
  15. The Country Leaps to The Left

    Who spoils the dog more? He will go to me for ultimate attention, then when I stop, he'll go find Parker for more ultimate attention. Then he'll return to replay the cycle. He knows who rules the house. He's too cute to ignore...actually they both are. They both continue to sleep in the same bed with me, so I must be doing something right. I don't know maybe it's just me, but I think gay couples (at least the ones I've known) will hold off longer before marriage. I think society sort of promotes the idea of marriage to heterosexual couples more, so it's harder to ignore the pressure and the anticipation. This makes many jump before they're really ready. And we end up with like 50% divorce rates, even some happening after 25 years of marriage. I was recently helping a friend coach his Little League baseball team (12 and 13 year olds). By the end of the season, we learned that out of the 13 kids on the team, 9 kids were products from divorced couples. My friend said, "We may be in third place, but we lead the league in divorces."

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