First Act: Dusty the Janitor.
It's your bachelorette party and your 'friends' have sent you to a secluded backroom to receive a private session. You're nervous, after all you never wanted a bachelorette party - you were talked into it. You're not sure how you feel about strippers in general. You're so flush as you stand up to leave when the door opens. In rolls the janitors cart and tired Dusty. You scream, he yalps in a seemingly migraine-laden state. You both catch yourselves and he grabs his chest, his cheeks flushing. You're terribly embarrassed - you must be in the wrong room, you apologize. You look Dusty over as he assures you he made the mistake. He is the exemplar of how good looking fugly can be. Fear sets in. Dusty is talking - mumbling - a bit too long. You realize you're in a skimpy dress that Carol made you wear (that bitch). The adrenaline going through your system makes you nervous and aroused. This man could be anyone and he has you cornered in a room built to muffle the slapping of indecent flesh. You make for the door - he sidles up to the frame, head bowed. "Sorry for putting you in this position." he says.
"You didn't put me in any awkward position"
"I'm about to."
Dusty deftly scoots you with his pelvis like a bulldozer, simultaneously closing the door. The pilot light in his eyes ignite as you scuttle back. Your scattered steps are perfectly in time with the techno remix of the Good Will Hunting soundtrack. The rhythm. The rhythm is all you can feel as Dustys powerful frame closes in. Your body goes stiff with shock and the rippling bliss of Dustys weathered abs pin you down.
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| Any resemblance to His Excellency Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is a result of the artists interpretation and purely coincidental. At this time we will not provide a Presidential role-playing service. |
You experience the most frightening arousal. And the safest: all our dancers pass rigorous background checks, take a weekly abuse workshop, and are certified in first aid and couples/self-esteem counseling.
For a private party Dusty wouldn't do. A stranger is sexy to a certain extent, but not when they're trespassing and nonchalantly cleaning your home before taking off all his clothes.
Stripper Delivery: Marcus the Municipal Waste Worker
You open your door to a scruffy man seemingly going through his daily routine. His joyless, functional expression contrasts to the good time stirring in the living room. You become alarmed as Marcus informs you that the neighbors have been complaining of a stink, he's going to each home on the block in inspect the septic tanks. You haven't noticed a smell, you curtly inform him as his story becomes suspect. Marcus retorts with a short, nauseating anecdote about becoming accustomed to smells. You think it's best he come back another time, yet the words catch in your dessicated mouth as Marcus makes powerful, insinuating eye contact.
"The smell isn't coming from a faulty pipe, but a dirty girl. And with my large equipment and specialized training I can only do one thing for you; Pump. Pump, pump pump, pump." With each iteration of 'pump' Marcus' crotch smacks against your personal space. Music ejaculates from his clipboard. Marcus does a sumptuous spin move as the music pulsates and beer flows out of his sewage truck.
For an additional fee and a small number of liability forms we can arrange for actual police officers to interrupt the performance at its climax. The officers will arrest the 'known criminal' and take statements to provide a truly unique and lasting memory as your party guests must describe the dance in vivid, searing detail. Leaving the recipient with a heretofore unknown erotic sensation - having been lured into a sense of security by a total babe of a stranger. A stranger capable of anything; assault, or stealing your heart and/or kidneys.
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