The Nude Kitchen Hand: Memoir of a Male Stripper

By Miroslav Vesely

How does a young, educated European translator seeking warmer climes find himself as a stripper on the icy southern Australian island of Tasmania?

Why would a sun-loving gym junkie leave a holiday paradise like LAs Venice Beach to eke out a living by selling his body instead of using his wits?

Why would a cultured gastronome with a love of culinary excellence end up in the kitchens of seedy dining establishments?

Could it be love, adventure, or naivet? Or could it be a powerful combination of all that?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Dec 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524518806

Miroslav Vesely

Miroslav Vesely was born in1965 in communist Czechoslovakia. In 1967, when he was two years old, his parents managed to escape to West Germany, where Miroslav grew up. After completing grammar school in 1986, Miroslav studied English and Spanish in the Bavarian city of Rosenheim until 1988. What followed was four turbulent years of globetrotting. Miroslav finally settled down in Australia, where he lives until this day.

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2008

THE COUGAR HUNTER

It is pitch-black darkness at five in the morning on the East Coast of Australia. Under the cover of this darkness we have to make it back to the block of run down old flats that we dwell in. My little four legged best friend and I. Our luck had run out three years ago when we had to vacate a flat where the landlords had allowed me to keep her. One day these nice people sold the place to a redneck and we had to go. Just like that. Finding a rental property where one was allowed to keep pets had become as good as impossible in the little town of Evans Bay. Two real estate agencies were in charge of the local flats for rent and private rentals were almost unheard of.

As much as lying is against my nature, I had denied her very existence, managed to find an ugly old flat with paper-thin asbestos walls and have been hiding her ever since.

So there we are again, slowly sneaking back from the beach to our home which doesn’t feel like a home. Once again missing out on a magnificent sunrise. I simply cannot afford to be seen with my dog. The block we live in and the one next door to it are inhabited by grog- and drug-fucked hillbilly white trash who would not hesitate to tell on me at the real estate agency.

Fat Nicky from O.J. Hustler real estate, who goes for her run at six a.m. every morning, desperately trying to lose a few pounds and who is managing my flat is my main concern. A typical small town bimbo with a massive complex and clearly enjoying her little power trip.

And then there is Stan the stalker. The village lunatic who is not only nuts, but also a total stranger to the world. Stan is convinced that I am a KGB spy and has dedicated a large part of his life to keeping an eye on me.

What an awesome cocktail of arseholes I think to myself as I pick up my little Jack Russel terrier and carry her up the stairway to the first floor hole that we share. Cradling her in my arms like a baby, I kick the front door closed behind us and gently put her down on the carpet. We have made it again. I feed her a nice big serve of kangaroo mince, give her a pat and slip back out the door for my early morning exercise routine.

The council of Evans Bay have put a lot of thought into pleasing the town’s fitness freaks by placing nine sit-up boards along the bike track. Some of us like to perform other calisthenics like chin-ups and dips; I think to myself as I do my usual set of 50 sit-ups. As I get off the stomach board, puffing and preparing to do some stretches, I realize that I have a little audience. The crème de la crème of local fitness queens has gathered right next to me. Boot camp seems to be the newest trend. A military style outdoor drill. So this bunch of cougars had just come out of nowhere and now they were standing there in eager anticipation of instructions of their guru. Needless to mention he is tall, young, handsome and muscular. As I am standing there, taking it all in, this feeling creeps over me that someone is watching me. I slowly turn around.

My instinct has not fooled me. Another cougar is approaching to join the others, her mane of tight reddish blond curly hair flowing in the warm summer breeze. As she is nearing, her jade coloured eyes lock with mine. She returns my shy smile with a bright, cheeky grin. Not really knowing what to say, I manage a ‘good morning all’. Like a school choir they reply with one voice: ‘Good morning’. Young Adonis starts barking orders at them and the ladies burst into action. I forget about my training routine and stroll back to my place. With a woman on my mind.

Another beautiful morning in New South Wales. Back at my place I make myself my usual breakfast. A huge smoothie consisting out of bananas, milk, yoghurt and two raw eggs.

I slowly sip it while watching the German news on SBS; my four-legged friend snuggles up to me on the couch. I would love to spend the next few hours just kicking back and patting her, but aloud honk brings me back from dream world. My work buddy just pulled up out the front outside ‘cell block 6’, as the locals jokingly refer to the building I live in. Time to go and earn my daily bread. Bush regeneration is what we do.

Bye, my little friend, I say to my dog Mishka. And off I go.

Good morning, Mirko!

Good morning, Terry! I reply, throw my big Backpack on the tray of his old rustbuckett, and jump on the passenger seat. Our workplace is a mere five kilometres away.

The most beautiful environment I ever worked in. The hinterland of one of one of the least tourism affected beaches on the East Coast of Australia. Lush green rainforest where we wouldn’t meet another person for sometimes weeks. Except for the occasional bird watcher. The place was an ornithologist’s wet dream.

So there we are again, embarking on our usual hike. The area we are currently working on is a good four kilometres away and only accessible via a bush track. We are carrying everything a man needs to survive a whole day in the bush without going nuts: Six litres of water, lots of food, snake bandages and a few pre-rolled joints. Our task is to remove a variety of non-indigenous plants which have spread in the Australian bush and are now a big threat to native plants. The biggest and worst local pest is bitou bush. A plant which had been introduced from Africa for the purpose of dune maintenance. Which it was perfectly suitable for. The stuff grows like mad in sand and hardly needs any water. The trouble now is that it had spread inland and was now literally choking native trees. Our only tool is a pair of loppers, because the reserve where we are currently stationed is being managed by a private trust. A bunch of enviro-nazis who strictly objected the use of chemicals.

Another day in the bush. I love this Job. It is the perfect thing to do for the social hermit that I have become.

We embark on our usual hike with roughly 15 kilos on our backs. It is half past seven in the morning and already near thirty degrees Celsius. After just under an hour we get to the spot where we finished off last time. As usual, we start the day with a strong cup of coffee and a big reefer. We pick up our loppers and start hacking away at the bitou.

It feels like time has stopped on this hot summer day. I can’t stop thinking about this mysterious woman. Thank god I don’t have a job where I have to concentrate. I think back of my years as a cook and the thought of pumping out a la carte meals stoned and horny almost makes me laugh out loud. At least I wouldn’t’ have to tie up my apron. My boner would hold it up nicely.

After phantasizing through the morning, a rumbling stomach tells me that is time for a lunch break. Terry agrees with me as usual.

We do many things that are against the company’s rules. One of them is lighting campfires. There is nothing that compares to a knackwurst on a stick, grilled on an open fire. A cold stubby of Czech Pilsener to flush it down. I just couldn’t help it. I had to bring one along. After slowly munching away and enjoying it, we put an old kettle, which we keep hidden under a few rocks and sticks, on the fire to boil up some water for a cup of coffee.

Sitting back fed and happy with steaming mugs in our hands, leaning against trees, we light up another joint and meditate away, the tranquillity of the bush enhancing the soothing, calming effect of cannabis.

I am sure my buddy has noticed me being quieter and lost in thoughts than usual, but he doesn’t ask questions. That’s what I like about him.

After an hour or so of peace and quiet, we shape up for another sweat session. It is 1 p.m. and 37 degrees.

We fly through the rest of the shift. Time passes fast when one’s mind is busy. My brain has not stopped all day, my imagination heightened by pot. Who is this sex-kitten? In a village of 3000 people I am bound to bump into her again sooner or later.

We are both down to our last litre of water and entirely sweat-soaked when knock-off time finally comes. As usual, we head straight for the beach.

The hotter and dirtier you get, the more refreshing and invigorating is the swim after. We spend about half an hour body-surfing, and then sit on the beach, allowing the sun to dry us. After stuffing our work clothes into our back-packs, we just put our socks and shoes back on and head back to the car wearing nothing but boardies.

It is Friday and my four year old son Jesse is going to spend the weekend with me. I can’t wait to see him. I am in the best of moods until we pull up outside cell- block 6. The combination of hard work, nature’s beauty, ganja and lusty thoughts has made forget for a while that I was a resident of yoburbia.

The local alcoholics unanimous have already gathered in what is supposed to be the common area of all tenants. They are all friends of the booze brothers who are living in the two units downstairs from me. Roy and Dale. Frog face and the leprechaun. Frog faced Roy is 38 years old, looking more like 60 and making Danny Trejo look like Brad Pitt. Greasy haired with bright brown teeth, he reminds me of illustrations of an Aquarius in Czech fairy tale books. There always seems to be a lot of fortnight left at the end of his money and listening to his screaming psychotic fits echoing through my floor is quite a frequent occurrence. An alkie going cold turkey.

Dale the leprechaun is 45 and looks more like 70. I don’t recall ever seeing him without a can of beer in his hand or without a cigarette in his nearly toothless mouth.

Two socially retarded, illiterate, unemployed imbeciles who got kicked out of a caravan park and due to frog face and fat Nicky being old school buddies, they managed to get flats.

Ignoring the lot of them, I run upstairs to bring down my recycling bin. The bins get emptied on Fridays. By Sunday the booze brothers and their associates will have filled them to the edge with beer cans, which they are too dumb and too lazy to crush. They would also light a roaring bonfire in the back yard soon, so I also make sure my windows the north end of my flat are closed.

Taking advantage of the trash being the other side of the house and not paying attention, I sneak Mishka down the stairs and off we go to visit my Ex and play with my son. They live a mere 200 metres away from us, in another block of old flats. My ex, Lisa and I managed to remain good friends and we very often eat dinner together at her place.

Daddy!!! I hear my little son Jesse yells out to me. I look up and there he is, running towards me with a broad smile on his face. I pick him up and give him a kiss on the cheek as he throws his little arms around my neck and gives me a strong squeeze. He is chatty as always and full of news about what he has been up to.

We don’t have any definite plans for this weekend; except for joining the Evans Bay Surf Cub so little man can participate in their activities. They are running a class on the beach on Sunday mornings called ‘Nippers’, where they teach kids about beach safety and basic surf lifesaving skills. We are both looking forward to it and to enjoying each other’s company for the next two days.

As much as living in Yoburbia sucks, the good thing about it is that it is close to the beach, where we spend most of our time together. My little Jesse is already a confident swimmer and I want him to develop some awareness of the dangers of a surf beach. So after a lazy Saturday of building sandcastles and splashing around in the whitewash with his body board, we are heading for the surf life savers club on Sunday morning.

The downside of living in a small town is that you constantly bumped into rednecks you didn’t like. The bright side of it is that if there was a hot milf running around, you were likely to find her somewhere.

I can hardly believe my eyes. As we are approaching the surf club I recognize her from a distance of about 500 metres. I would be able to pick that mane of tight curls down to that perfectly shaped ass in any crowd. The cougar is a nipper’s teacher! I cannot believe my luck on this wonderful bright Sunday morning.

This day has started well and is getting better. It is the cougar’s job on this day to give the new members a guided tour of the surf club. Throughout the whole maybe 15 minute procedure we keep exchanging smiles and looks. At the end of the tour I decide to go and introduce myself.

As I start walking towards her, a little girl runs past me and gives her a hug. The first thing I look at is her hands. No rings. Good

‘Hi, I’m Mirko.’ Is all I manage to get out.’

‘Hi, I’m Roxy and this is my daughter Leah.’

Roxy is in charge of the 4-6 year-olds today and I take advantage of Jesse being under supervision for the next two hours and go for a surf.

Completely exhausted, but happy Jesse and I arrive at the surf club’s kiosk to grab some fish and chips for lunch.

‘He is a handful, isn’t he?’ I hear a husky voice behind me say.

‘He sure is’ I reply. We are about to have some lunch. Why don’t you join us?’

‘Why don’t the two of you come to my place for lunch?’ Roxy suggests.

I can hardly believe it. ‘Sure, why not.’ I say, trying not to sound too keen, while feeling the heat in my loins building up.

‘I only live a ten minute walk up the beach from here.’

As it turns out, Roxy lives in beautiful beach house with awesome sea views is a single mum and a personal trainer and very impressed with my physique.

Jesse and Leah run ahead of us and get straight on that big trampoline that is standing in Roxy’s garden. Throughout the short beach stroll to her house, Roxy had not stopped giving me the look. That look of pure, untamed lust. My plan of bending her over and fucking her brains out from behind while the kids are jumping on the trampoline vanishes into thin air as we step into Roxy’s cosy lounge room.

There is a probably 40 year old, bald headed, beer-gutted guy sitting on an office chair with his eyes transfixed to a computer. He gets up and comes over to us to introduce himself. We shake hands. His name is Jack.

There is a young, skinny teenaged dude sitting on the couch whom Roxy introduces as her son Shane. Obviously indifferent to his immediate surroundings he manages to say ‘hi’. Better than average, I think. Most teens just ignored you these days and said nothing. Roxy rushes to her fridge and has six yummy chicken and salad sandwiches ready in no time. Jack has his delivered right next to his mouse pad and Shane his on the coffee table right in front of him.

While Jack manages a cheerful ‘cheers’, Shane remains stone faced and mutters a ‘Thanks’. The two remind me of Don Quijote and Sancho Panza.

The sandwich turns out to be delicious and we are all munching away, and while Jack is staring at his computer screen, Shane at the TV screen, Jesse and Leah are giggling away and Roxy and I are staring at each other.

After lunch Roxy suggests that we could all go back to the beach. The kids however find Leah’s guinnea pig more exciting.

‘Would you guys mind watching the kids for a while Mirko and I go for a walk?’ Roxy asks Sancho Panza.

‘Yeah, no worries’, he replies with a sheepish grin and before I realize what hit me we were out the door and heading for the sand dunes. I just manage to callout to Jesse ‘Be good, we’ll be back soon.

We reach a very secluded part of the beach. After climbing over a large sand dune we get to a spot that is completely hidden and out of sight of beachgoers. We turn to each other and like two magnets our mouths find there ways to each other. Locked in a tight embrace we forget the world around us over a long kiss, while grabbing each other’s asses. Then Roxy suddenly drops down to her knees, while ripping my board shorts down to my ankles. Roxy stares greedily at my half erect Bohemian white snake then looks up at me adoringly while gently pulling my foreskin back with her full lips. What follows is a long, sensual and loving blow job. I let out an animalistic groan while spurting a massive load of semen into her mouth. Roxy swallows and swallows and swallows.

So, err, Jack is not your husband then, is he? I ask while standing there, naked and with a big, stupid grin on my face.

No, Roxy replies with a giggle, "just an old friend. We both used to work at Channel X; long time ago in Melbourne.

I’m glad is all I manage to get out as I drop down to my knees into the hot sand to return the favour. She bends over and I lap away at both her openings like a madman. Her sweet scent and sea water enhanced salty flavour make my hormones flow again and before I know it, I’ve got another hard on. I gently grab her by her hips and give them a little downward pull. Roxy gets the message and drops down on all four, arching her back while grabbing her own ass cheeks with and pulling them apart. I enter her real slowly, bit by bit until my pubic bone is pushing against her gorgeous, heart shaped ass, then start pounding her like a boar. She moans with desire and after less than ten minutes we both reach a wonderful climax like two volcanoes erupting.

Dripping with sweat, gasping for air and happy