TakeItOff

by Taylor Cole

  Smooth Move

  Once when we were performing a show at a casino in Nevada, I did a dance for an elderly lady. One of my usual moves is to twirl my shirt into a long straight roll and then throw it over the head of the lady to wrap it around her neck and pull her closer. It works great ninety-nine percent of the time. This was that other one percent. The shirt caught on her wig and when I pulled on the shirt, the wig fell off! I felt so bad. She was embarrassed to say the least. I did finish the lap dance though.

  Smoother Move

  A common move I use on the side stage is to grab a girl’s hands and let her rub my pecs. This time was different though. For some reason, the girl would only give me one hand. So I made a gesture to get the other hand a couple more times until she revealed there was no other hand! Doh! I felt like an idiot.

  Smoothest Move

  It was a slow Thursday night. This dancer was up next and had spent the last twenty minutes getting all GQ’d up. His act required him to walk out from the back with a candle and candle holder in each hand. He walked out with the candles chest high by his side. He proceeded to turn around, and when he did, he instinctively stretched out his arms. The momentum shot one candle across the room about twenty feet and hit a girl in the face! It did some damage but the management smoothed it over by comping everything and having the dancer do free dances all night. The club luckily dodged a lawsuit.

  Blindfolded and Gagged

  Wherever people drink too much, people are bound to throw up. Most of us have stories about being vomited on by a girl who partied a little too hearty. But on one occasion, it was the audience who got it. A popular act the girls love is the S&M act. A girl—usually the guest of honor—is blindfolded and put onstage with her hands and feet bound. She is in the back part of the stage facing the audience. The song starts and the dancer makes his way out. He circles the girl twice very suggestively and stops behind her. He bends her over a bit and starts to rub all over her in a very suggestive manner. He stands up and grabs her hair and physically pushes her back and forth by thrusting his pelvic region. One night, on the fourth or fifth thrust, the bachelorette threw up, projecting onto the front of the stage and covering a bunch of women sitting close up.

  Rock and Roll

  Props can be a pain. When traveling, sometimes you have to carry extensive stage props. Once a dancer and I did a roadshow and had to fly to get there. For this particular show, we needed a wheelchair and a set of bongo drums, and our luggage was already full. We came up with the idea that I would pretend to be a blind bongo player and he had to push me in a wheelchair because I couldn’t navigate myself through the airport.

  It worked perfectly. We got through security with no trouble at all. A six-foot-four jacked-up stud pushing a wheelchair containing a muscle-bound blind bongo player in a tight shirt attracted a lot of female attention. So we decided to have some fun with it. While he pushed me through the terminal, girls would approach us, wanting to talk. When they did, he purposely gave a little shove to the chair before stopping to talk, sending me careening toward a wall or a trash can while I acted like I had no idea I was about to crash.

  The expressions on the faces of people watching us were priceless. Some were shocked, others died laughing. But the girls we were talking to never even noticed. After we boarded, the antics we pulled paid off even better than we thought. The flight attendants felt sorry for me, had a crush on him and moved us to first class.

  Party Package

  One Friday night past midnight, a cross-dresser (a very convincing one at that) came into the club to celebrate her birthday with her friends. She got a party package that included a stage dance. This is where we placed a girl on center stage in a chair and the dancer incorporated her into his act. Well, even though the tranny was pretty convincing, everyone in the club knew, except one dancer who was downstairs in the parking lot getting high. He came up ten minutes before he was due onstage and started to get ready. The manager was pissed that the dancer was high and knew he had limited vision in one eye because of a scratch on his cornea, so he told the waiter to put the tranny on his stage.

  The dancer came out onstage high, not knowing what was happening. He did his signature move, called the rocket, where he would put his head in a girl’s lap and basically do a head stand with his feet straight up! From the main stage, the music was so loud that the dancer never heard the laughter. He was so stoned he never figured it out.

  Birthday Suit

  Saturday nights were the only night of the week birthdays were celebrated. This was usually the busiest night and the party night for everyone. If a waiter or the stage coordinator had a birthday, it was traditional to let them dance a set and take tips. Our stage coordinator was celebrating his birthday at the club one year.

  The girls knew to hook up the birthday boy, so they all gathered around the stage. He got down to his boxers and was taking the tips as fast as he could. His wife was out in the audience watching. Suddenly, without warning, a dancer came up behind him and, thinking it would be funny, pulled the poor guy’s boxers down to his ankles. The guy had his hands in the air when the boxers went down. Just totally shocked, he stood there a few seconds before pulling them up! Right in front of hundreds of women and his wife! He was redder than I’ve ever seen a man get.

  Hair Gel Substitute

  The waiters at the club also liked to get into the mix with the girls. One night, a waiter decided to get a blowjob from one of the regulars. He took her downstairs and they got into her car. She was giving him oral pleasure and he was about to climax. She had already told him not to come in her mouth, so he looked frantically around her car to find a cloth or something. He had no luck and was about to explode. He knew that she was wearing a wig and so he pulled it off and jizzed in it. The girl knew this and put it back on her head anyway before going back into the club to hang out.

  Can You Hear Me Now?

  There was this one dancer who liked to flick your cock. Literally, with his fingers, he’d thump on an unsuspecting victim. We used to call him gay, but it didn’t deter him one bit. He was a talented dancer and had a good body when he focused, but he did have one big flaw—a giant, furry toupee! He had a good sense of humor about it. Once, a girl I was sitting with had a friend come back to the table after tipping him on the side stage and say, “Hey, that guy’s got a hairpiece!”

  The other girl responded, “He has herpes?”

  “No,” said the first girl. “A hairpiece!”

  Queen of the Parade

  One time, we got a call for a one-day movie shoot in which they needed eight guys dressed as gladiators to carry a queen’s chariot. The pay was six hundred and seventy-five dollars each for the day, and refreshments and costumes were provided.

  When we arrived, the streets were packed with people who we figured were extras. We were led inside and given our costumes—extra-small, neon spandex banana hammocks. We explained that there must be a mistake and that we were the gladiators who were there to carry the queen in the movie they were shooting. The costume person told us it was a parade, not a movie, but that we were supposed to carry the queen and wear these costumes.

  We were a little annoyed, but we were already there and it still seemed like easy money. We walked outside in our ridiculously tight man panties, and the crowd started to scream enthusiastically. That’s when we realized that the crowd was almost all men, and they were waving rainbow flags. It was a gay pride parade and “The Queen” was a six-foot-two, two-hundred-sixty-five-pound drag queen who looked like he should be an offensive lineman in the NFL. No wonder they needed eight guys.

  The queen got onto her chariot and we picked up her heavy butt. We all realized at that point that we were about to really earn our six hundred and seventy-five dollars. We started down the parade route, and already we were straining to keep this drag queen up. We turned the first corner onto the main parade route. That’s when we realized that this parade was over a two-mile hike!

  W
e were cheered on by thousands of gay guys, and heard them say things like, “Hey, I like the one in the yellow” or “Hey, you in the orange, what’s your sign?” We had to laugh, and that was the only thing that got us through. Well, that and the money.

  About halfway down the parade route, we saw a national news camera videotaping the parade. I was third back on the left. My friend was first on the left. I couldn’t help but seize the opportunity when we passed the news crew. I let go of the chariot, ran up behind my friend, and yanked his non-manly spandex shorts down. He was pissed! The crowd, however, went nuts for his nuts! I was running around the chariot waving to the crowd, and they went even crazier! Luckily for me, my friend couldn’t let go of the chariot because I had already done so, and two guys on one side was not enough to keep the chariot aloft. I went back to my station and grabbed the chariot. We continued on the route and finished up. We got our money, but my friend was not happy. He didn’t talk to me for more than three weeks.

  Roadshow from Hell

  Toward the end of my career, I started to see many signs it was time for me to quit. After twenty years of dancing, I started to experience incidents that had never happened before. For example, we did a roadshow where there was no sound system. Having done a show before at this bar, I assumed that they would have the same setup. After realizing this problem, they called their mobile karaoke company. About an hour after the original show time, we finally had a sound system, but no mic. It was the first show where I had to yell each guy’s intro.

  One of my last roadshows at a casino had so many mishaps that it was a clear sign to me to quit! It started when one of the guys came up with the brilliant idea of baking special brownies. Not with regular pot, but the hydro kind. He had never baked special brownies before, and he got his instructions on YouTube and proceeded to bake a standard batch. Or so he thought. He ended up baking a batch that was four times more potent than usual.

  Three of us had to take a plane to Dallas where I would meet up with the rest of the crew. Then we would be off to Kansas City, and from there would drive two hours to the casino. So I decided to eat a few brownies on the morning of our trip. Not smart. I just seemed to lose track of time and take forever to leave the house. We ended up getting to the check-in ten minutes late and missed our flight. I had used my credit card and prepaid for everything, which meant if we didn’t get to the show, I was out over three thousand dollars! Luckily, we caught another flight four hours later, and landed in Kansas City two and a half hours before show time. We still had to gather a lot of luggage because of props and costumes and get the rental car.

  By the time we loaded up and left the airport, we had exactly enough time to get to the club. At this point, I was thinking, “Sweet! We are gonna make it!”

  Immediately after leaving the airport, the guys all dove into the brownies. Little did I know, one of the guys had never done drugs. Not even weed. Halfway through the drive, this guy asked to get out of the car to stretch his legs. We were pretty cramped, so I understood. I begrudgingly agreed. Five minutes later, we were back on the road. Another ten minutes passed, and now this guy seems to be parched. No big deal, except we had no water. So I tell him to calm down because we only had thirty minutes to go.

  Miraculously, we got there only five minutes late. The show was sold out. We were hurrying like there was no tomorrow. Except for this one guy. He just walked off! After five minutes passed, the casino manager approached me. “We have a problem!” she said. Now, I had a show that was fifteen minutes late and more than five hundred screaming women waiting, and I had to stop what I was doing to follow her down a long hallway. I saw the dancer sitting on a chair surrounded by the casino manager, paramedics, police officers and a few other casino workers. “He says you guys are trying to kill him,” stated the officer.

  “Oh shit!” I was thinking. “This motherfucker is trying to get me arrested!”

  I played it off as if I had no idea. I told them that we met in Kansas City and I had no idea what he was talking about. The manager told me to get the show going, and I left.

  By the end of the show, the dancer was taken to the hospital via ambulance, and we packed up ready to get the hell out of dodge! I was worried the cops would find the rest of the brownies in the SUV. Luckily, we made it to the hotel.

  The next day, we went to the hospital to pick up the dancer for our five-hour ride. When we got there, we discovered him lying in bed, completely spaced out, with no IVs hooked up to him. He was still stoned! The doctor was convinced that we were trying to kidnap him and threw us out of the hospital. The guy’s dad ended up flying up to get him and take him home. It wasn’t just his inexperience though. Those brownies were so strong I stayed stoned for three days.

  Outlaw Dave

  No use in trying to convince those who have made up their mind about male dancers. One day I was listening to the radio when a DJ called Outlaw Dave started talking about male dancers and how disgusting they were. I got furious, so I called in to the radio station and they put me on the air. This was rush hour when people were going home from work. Houston had a big market as well, and this was the number one rock station.

  The DJ and I were going back and forth, and we talked for a good ten to fifteen minutes. I tried to explain to him that male dancers are not all the bad things he was saying on the air. After I got off the phone, I tuned into the station and listened. The station took the conversation and edited it to make me look bad. The way they edited it was hilarious—to everyone except me and the other guys at the club.

  For the next week, this was the hot topic every day on the show. Outlaw Dave even sent his sidekick to the club I worked to try to get a live on-air interview with the other dancers and waiters. The noise eventually died down, as does everything, and over the years, I forgave but I never forgot.

  I later found out that Outlaw Dave had previously stripped at the same club I worked at. He had put on a charity event at the club a few years previously and had stripped onstage that night! I especially loved the part where I was told he wore the smallest, most constraining thong. Ladies, you ever wonder why we wear the elephant trunk bottoms to dance in? So our nuts don’t look like peanuts! We need room for our cock and balls to breathe, and tiny trunks look very stupid.

  Armed with this new info about Outlaw Dave, I listened to his station a few more times, hoping for the chance to call up and expose him when the topic arose. It never did come up, so I figured it was over and went back to my life as a stripper.

  Fast-forward to the present. The incident is now eight or nine years in the past. A movie called Magic Mike comes out and it makes the art of male stripping relevant and cool. Our book is finished and awaiting editing, we have done multiple radio, television and newspaper interviews across the United States and Canada, and business is booming at my sports bar, The End Zone. I figure I now have enough proof that male strippers can be more than just dumb hunks, that they can be smart, morally upstanding and successful entrepreneurs. I proceed to find out where he is working now. It isn’t easy. He has gone from a number one rock station to a late-night local AM station.

  I send him an email and get a response back in a short time, asking me to call in at a certain time for the interview. My heart starts beating faster. I think, “After all these years, I finally get retribution!” so I decide to make the call.

  I realize now that I had played that scenario over and over in my mind as to what I would say to him, that somewhere along the line my anger and my interest in vindication have died. The day arrives for me to call him. I have been working at my bar all day and have already done three or four interviews early that morning, and I completely forget about the call to Outlaw Dave.

  As I leave work and drive off in my truck, I look at the clock and realize that I am minutes late calling in. I think, “Oh well, who cares. I’m over it!” As soon as I think that, I find myself calling in. I immediately get a voice on the other side asking me to hold. I can hear Outlaw Dave
talking on the air and now can hear him start to introduce me. My heart is beating rapidly as I hear him tell his audience about our prior history together way back in the day, and then he welcomes me. I gather my thoughts, take a deep breath and start our live interview. With all of this information about him and all the success I have been fortunate to have, I am completely ready for this interview!

  He starts out with a very nice, down-to-earth tone, one of apology and regret. Before I can expose the dirt I have on him, he tells it all himself! I am disappointed but still surprised and disarmed at how sincere he is and how smooth and non-confrontational the interview is. He applauds the success of my bar. He praises my upcoming book. He is a changed man, or so I think. I enjoy the interview and we start to trade thank-yous and goodbyes. Just before he takes me off the air, he asks, “What’s the name of your bar again?”

  I tell him, “The End Zone.”

  That’s when he lands his last zinger. He asks if the name is a reference to my rear end and before I can say “No, we are a huge football bar,” he hangs up!

  What a Way to Go

  A few years ago, the local Houston news channel showcased a one-hundred-year-old lady who was coming to our club to celebrate. The local television news show did a ten-minute segment from the time she was at home ready to party, to the limo ride, and then to the club. I was chosen to do my cop routine with her onstage. The little old lady had more spunk than most women one third of her age. She really seemed to enjoy the moment and celebration. We were very careful to make sure she was not hurt and that she had a great time. News channels all over the nation picked up the story and ran with it. I had friends that saw me on their news channels, from Virginia to Cleveland. The Jay Leno show caught wind of the story and invited her to the show. Unfortunately, she passed away soon after her one hundredth birthday, but we were glad to add some fun to her last year.