American Stripper: A True Story of an Exotic Male Dancer

By Dion McTavish

American Stripper tells the story of Dion's personal and professional growth as a stripper and as a young man navigating a new world of debauched parties, drunk sorority girls, swingers, jealous boyfriends, and male revues. Come along as he acquires a highly prized cop uniform, has his first threesome, and falls in love--all while pursuing his original dream, to become an English teacher abroad. Vivid, thoughtful, and hilarious, American Stripper is a candid account of the transformation of an ordinary boy into a hunky, world traveling young man who knows how to balance business with pleasure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dion McTavish
• Release date: Jun 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311843524

Dion McTavish

Dion began stripping as a college student in 2003. He is currently the only male stripper blogger on the Internet. He received his BA from the University of Florida in 2004 and graduated with no student loan debts. His first book, Behind the G-String: Dion's Guide to Becoming a Male Stripper, became an Amazon Best Seller at the time of release. Dion has appeared in Cosmopolitan and has been interviewed by AOL / Huffington Post. He lives in the south, near the Florida and Alabama border. Professionally, he’s had many jobs: teaching English in Japan, accounting, working in public safety, as a personal trainer, and as a logistics administrator. Unbeknownst to his coworkers and most of his friends, he continues to strip at private bachelorette parties.

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Prologue

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The hotel lobby was empty. I breathed a sigh of relief and walked to the men’s restroom. Once inside, I dropped my black duffel bag onto the floor and opened it, pulling out a pair of shiny black pleather pants, a western-style shirt that snapped down the front, a black cowboy hat, and a red thong. I put the thong on first. The shimmering thin fabric did little to hide the contours of my package. The girls wouldn’t need to use their imagination tonight.

The prospect of twenty girls eagerly awaiting me on the fourth floor didn’t bother me, but the hotel guests and staff in the lobby did. They would gawk at the sight of me, a cowboy wearing shiny pants that wrapped around my legs like a second skin. The last thing I needed was extra attention, which was why I’d worn street clothes up until the last minute.

My phone rang.

It was Tracy, the customer. She was in the lobby waiting for me. I gazed into the mirror to ensure my hat was on straight and my shirt was appropriately snapped. Once everything was in order, I stepped out the restroom, hoping that no other guests were in the lobby.

Two girls – one blonde and the other brunette – stood near the reception desk. They approached hesitantly.

The blonde girl took the lead, her stiletto heels clicking and echoing across the tiled floor. Her blonde hair tumbled down to her shoulder in waves. She bore a strong resemblance to Blake Lively. A-are you, um, the… she asked looking embarrassed, then lowered her voice to a whisper and said, Are you the stripper?

I nodded. Are you Tracy?

No, I’m Cynthia, she replied, then gestured to the brunette behind her. This is Tracy.

Nice to meet y’all, I said, extending a handshake.

Cynthia ignored my hand and embraced me. Tracy followed her friend’s example. Hugs work just as well, I thought. Over-friendly customers were a good sign.

We stepped onto the elevator together and Tracy handed me the cash once the doors closed. Two hundred fifty dollars. I flipped through a few bills quickly. Seldom do customers try to short-change me on payment, but I always make it a habit to look.

Cynthia eyed my duffel bag full of my street clothes and offered to carry it for me.

No thank you, I said. I appreciate it, though.

You sure? I don’t mind, she said, casting a warm smile.

I was flattered that a beautiful woman like Cynthia was going out of her way to please me. It was a nice job perk, like rock star treatment on a smaller scale, and it never got old.

The elevator stopped on the third floor.

Everyone’s excited, Tracy said. They can’t wait!

Tracy and I went over the last minute details as to how I would enter the suite and strip. Behind me, Cynthia commented, You have a really sexy ass. Are those pants leather?

Pleather, I said, turning around and smiling at her. Not real leather. Leather is too hot for this part of the country.

From the hallway, we could hear girls talking, laughing, and shrieking. A deaf man could have located the room by the vibrations of commotion emanating from the door. Cynthia once again offered to take care of my bag for me. I handed it to her and muttered an apology for inconveniencing her.

It’s no problem at all, she said, taking the bag with one hand and patting my arm with her other hand.

Okay, so I’ll just wait out here for one minute and then knock on the door? I asked.

You don’t even have to wait a minute, Cynthia said. Everyone’s ready.

Tracy and Cynthia entered the suite and closed the door behind them. I waited outside a few moments. Judging from the cacophony of murmuring voices on the other side, I figured there were at least a dozen women inside. I was psyched, eager. The moment before entering was always the most thrilling, like the lull on the roller coaster just before the initial plunge.

I opened the door and entered the den of screaming girls.

To my left was the kitchen, full of a vast assortment of food, some cupcakes, and a penis cake on the kitchen counter, which separated the kitchen from the living room, where the girls clustered together. There were at least twenty girls crammed in the small space, far more standing than sitting, and all eyes were on me.

The music played feebly from an iPhone radio deck, far too weak to carry over the girls’ chattering. I scanned the group and found my mission’s objective.

The bachelorette, a slender girl with chestnut hair, looked shocked to see me, but her mouth spread into a wide grin as she walked towards me. I flashed a smile and grabbed her hand, pulling her against me to dance. She obliged with full enthusiasm. Next, I sat her down on a chair and placed my cowboy hat on her head.

While she was seated, a few of her friends rushed forward with wads of cash, stuffing them into her bra. I got down on my knees and spread her legs apart so I could move closer.

Whew! she squealed in surprise, as I simulated the missionary position, pushing back and forth against her like a piston.

I extracted a few dollar bills from her bra with my teeth, licking the area around her breasts. The other girls hollered in pleasure. After I retrieved all of the dollars from her cleavage, I stood up and unbuttoned my shirt while dancing to the music. More cheers. I wondered how loud they would scream at the next part.

Standing in front of the bachelorette, I slowly unzipped my pants. Next, I took the bachelorette’s hands and placed them on my pants indicating that she pull them down. She happily obliged, taking my pants off over my cowboy boots and leaving me clad in only the boots and my red thong. Everyone in the room cheered. One girl scrambled forth to spank my ass.

The bachelorette placed her hands on my chest and squeezed. Another hand shot forth and grabbed my package. Several girls surrounded me, dancing against me and filling my waistline with dollar bills. I was like a live human toy, existing solely for these girls’ entertainment, and I loved every second of it.

A loud pounding on the walls interrupted everyone’s revelry, suggesting that the occupants of the neighboring suite disapproved of our fun. The girls urged each other to quiet down, and the noise levels reduced to stifled murmurs.

Then the phone on the kitchen counter rang.

Everyone shushed each other. Cynthia answered the phone. Yes…uh-huh. Sorry about that! We’ll keep it down.

I resumed my performance amid the hushed atmosphere.

The bachelorette suggested that I lavish some special attention upon her friend, Tracy, who acquiesced with a fit of embarrassed laughter. I picked her up and gently lay her onto the floor. Next, I assumed a push-up position above her with my crotch over her face. Giggles bubbled forth from Tracy as I descended on her. Her face turned away at the last moment, causing the cushion of my manhood to land on the side of her cheek instead of her mouth. She responded with a fit of laughter that reverberated against me.

Leaving myself nestled against her face in a one-handed push-up position, I pointed at her and looked around the room. Her laughing like this feels like a vibrator! I announced. I’m getting turned on, here.

The subdued crowd could no longer contain their mirth and erupted once again into loud laughter and cheers. Cameras flashes flickered across the room like a series of strobe lights. So much for keeping it tame.

I moved on from Tracy to another eager girl. There was no shortage of volunteers. I had yet to start my games involving body shots, cake icing, and blindfolds. If every girl wanted a turn with me, I would need more than the typical hour for this party. The volume began to rise as I gave my new partner a male stripper version of a lap dance, which consisted of me laying her in the missionary position and rubbing the bulge of my thong between her legs. Since this new girl was wearing a dress, my crotch rubbed against her underwear.

Ohh! the girl gasped.

Pay close attention to her, I said to the crowd. This is her sex face!

The audience roared in glee. The girl beneath me grinned, her face turning a shade redder.

I resumed the lap dance. The girls in the background began chanting, Dion! Dion! Dion!

I felt extremely alive at this moment, relishing the natural high from the praise. At this rate, this was going to be a really wild party.

The hotel management had different plans though. The phone rang again.

Everyone shushed each other. Cynthia answered. Her glum expression told us that the fun was over. The management threatened that if the party did not stop, everyone would be evicted without refunds. That threat was dire enough to elicit obedience from the drunkest girl there.

I guess it’s time to stop, Tracy said to me. Damn, we were starting to have fun.

I feel bad, I said. I barely got started, and y’all didn’t get your money’s worth.

Oh, we got our money’s worth, Tracy said with a smile.

The girls gathered the dollar bills scattered about the floor and shoved them into my cowboy hat, which the bachelorette was holding upside down like a charity tray at church. After collecting the money, she handed the hat to me and said that I could get dressed in the bathroom.

Cynthia, who had remained in the background for the duration of my performance, emerged with my duffel bag. I was flattered at her thoughtfulness and went into the bathroom to change. I felt like a superhero who had just finished his job and was donning regular clothes to blend into society once again.

After changing, I stepped out of the bathroom and into a mob of girls. They surrounded me to hug and thank me for my performance. I thanked them with utmost sincerity.

Cynthia lingered in the background as if waiting on me to finish saying my goodbyes to the party. She carried a bottle of water and a bag filled with cupcakes and sandwiches, and walked with me out of the hotel suite and into the hallway. The door shut behind her. We were alone.

Here, she said, smiling and handing me the water and the bag of snacks. I figured you could have something to eat for your trip home.

She looked so beautiful, her delicate features graceful, so much like Blake Lively. I accepted the items and thanked her, touched by her considerate gesture. You didn’t have to.

Oh, it’s no problem at all. Cynthia hugged me, then returned to the door of the suite to rejoin her friends. She touched the door handle and hesitated. Then she turned towards me. It was nice meeting you.

Take care, I said. Sorry you didn’t get a turn tonight.

It’s okay, she said. Maybe next time.

Seeing her about to go back into the room, I turned to walk towards the elevator.

By the way, she called out, stopping me. You’re really fine and have a sexy ass! Mmmm. Sorry, I just had to tell you that.

I find that very flattering coming from you, I said, unable to think of anything better to say.

Ooooh, just one more hug, she said.

Cynthia walked up and hugged me, kissing me on the cheek in the process. It wasn’t a light peck, but a firm press. I kissed her cheek in return, inhaling the sweet and intoxicating fragrance of her hair. We withdrew from our embrace and stared each other in the eyes for a moment. They were blue and filled with lust.

She leaned forward and planted a light peck on my lips. Desire ignited within me and I grasped her arm and pulled her towards me, my tongue meeting hers.

As we extricated ourselves, she flushed red. Mmm, I need to have you as my stripper for whenever I have a bachelorette party … Or can I just have you for my own private show? I don’t need to wait for a bachelorette party.

I’d love that, I said. How ’bout we hang out some time?

Do you live far from here? she asked.

I’m not too far away.

I’ll get your number from Tracy then.

I look forward to it. Call me.

I will, she said.

I left that party with about three-hundred and fifty dollars, a bottle of water, some food, and a kiss from a beautiful girl with a possible date in the near future. Tonight was going well so far, and I still had another party to do. I love my life and my job.

My life wasn’t always like this, though.

There was once a time when I couldn’t even talk to an attractive girl without feeling nervous. Taking my clothes off in front of a crowd was out of the question. Hell, I used to swim with a t-shirt on because I was embarrassed about my body! Throughout high school and some of college, I was the shy kid who sat in the back of the class and said nothing.

I never expected to become a stripper, much less the center of attention for anything. Had someone told me that I would become a stripper, I would have thought they were making fun of me.

However, Fate has a way of taking charge of one’s life.

Part I

December, 2002: Three months before I became a stripper.

Chapter 1 – Humble Beginnings

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My childhood and adolescent years were pleasant enough.

I grew up in a rural town in northwest Florida, fairly close to the Alabama state line, where peanuts, watermelon, and cotton were the main crops. Many people felt pride in their Confederate heritage; even the town’s emblem contained the Confederate battle flag and the Bonnie Blue flag.

Though there wasn’t much to do, I loved my town. It had that charm of southern hospitality where people greeted strangers with smiles and politeness. There were plenty of forests and rivers to explore and fish from, and the Gulf of Mexico with its sugar-white sandy beaches was only an hour’s drive.

My parents moved there when I was very young. They met during the Vietnam War. My father was a Southerner and came from a family of coal miners who’d served in the military. My mom was Vietnamese, and her father at one point was the sheriff of a province and owned much wealth and land in the region. My parents had two kids: me and my older, autistic brother.

When I was almost four years old, my father died in a work-related accident leaving my mother to raise me and my brother alone. It was a struggle for her since she had little help, but she ensured that we were clothed, well-fed, and made decent grades. She sent us to a Methodist church, even though she was Buddhist, and enrolled us at a strict private Christian school. As a result, we had a healthy dose of religion in our lives.

My mother spoiled us, compensating for her lack of childhood luxuries. We had the latest video game systems, baseball cards, or whatever else we wanted. However, she did not spare the belt, rod, or tree branch when we misbehaved. One time, when I was seven, I irritated her so much that she chased me out of the house with a butcher knife raised above her head. I hid in the woods for a few hours, and crept quietly back into the house later that evening. She constantly reminded me that if I were in Vietnam, she could beat me to death without legal repercussions. Good thing we’re not in Vietnam, I would tell her.

Fearing my mother’s wrath, I got good grades and stayed out of trouble. Like any teenager, I committed a few random acts of mischief, but I never went to jail. I experimented with marijuana and got drunk on occasion, but never made a habit of either. Eventually, I abstained from drugs and alcohol and sought personal pleasures from books and video games.

When I entered high school, things got tough. People said I looked like a kid because I was so short; I was very skinny, too, weighing around 110 lbs. my freshman year. I wished I could be fat, and tried to eat a lot to gain weight.

Being short, scrawny, and nerdy, fitting in with the popular kids was out of the question, so I grew my hair out and wore Iron Maiden or Megadeth T-shirts. My group of friends were considered the weird kids at school. I had no dating life. I never had a girlfriend in high school that lasted beyond two or three weeks. These girls always dumped me and ended up dating someone else shortly thereafter. I chalked up my lack of success due to my small stature, but my awkwardness and lack of confidence didn’t help, either.

Homecoming and Prom dances were big events for many other students, but constant disappointments for me. I never had dates, so I tagged along with friends who did, hoping there was a single girl at the dance who was lonely like me. No such luck. During my senior year, a Polish exchange student finally asked me to prom. I accepted. Once we got there, she ditched me to hang out with her friends. It turned out that she used me as a date, so she wouldn’t seem pathetic showing up to prom alone. Several of my peers ragged on me about this, and I laughed off the matter as though it were nothing … However, on the inside, I was embarrassed and hurt.

My whole high school experience was lackluster to say the least.

The shortcomings of my social life meant success in academia, though. I earned a scholarship to the University of Florida. My mother was proud, and that made me happy. So I left home to pursue a new life at college, optimistic that the college experience would open up new dating opportunities and invitations to parties.

I soon discovered that college wasn’t so much different than high school. Except this time, I was away from the comforts of home.

Chapter 2 – The University of Florida

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February 2003.

Gainesville was an entirely different place from my hometown, filled with people from all kinds of cultural backgrounds. The city revolved around the University of Florida, spreading outwards from it in a grid. Apartment complexes replaced the forests and farmlands at the rate of a few acres a year.

Upon entering the city, the first thing one noticed is the abundance of the Florida Gators’ team colors: orange and blue. Car decals, store signs, billboards, graffiti, buildings, lamp posts, and residents bore orange and blue colors to show support for their team. I sometimes mused that if the city had a devastating earthquake, the rubble would be orange and blue chunks.

I lived south of the university, off a road called Old Archer in an apartment complex called Hidden Village. It was hidden, all right, surrounded by forests. It had a small pond next to the entrance with a resident alligator in it.

I was twenty-one-year-old junior and thought I had everything figured out. My goal was to graduate with a literature degree and become an English teacher in Japan. I took Japanese classes to further my preparation. I envisioned an extravagant and fun-filled life in Japan.

Socially, college was the same as high school for me. Little had changed except that I now had the freedom to purchase alcohol and get into nightclubs, neither of which I took advantage of.

I spent my twenty-first birthday going to classes and working late. The only person who called me to wish me a happy birthday was my mom. Other college students either had wild stories from their twenty-first birthdays, or could not even remember anything at all. I remember finishing up all of my homework.

My job was fitness supervisor at the university gym, a fancy name for my minimum wage position. In reality, the job consisted of checking student IDs, cleaning windows and mirrors,

Reviews for American Stripper

[Merunas Grincalaitis · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

amazing story I felt like I was re-living his experiences