I’m hoping to play out this rather vanilla (for me) slice of life. It was triggered by an actual experience I had with a stripper. I was not attracted to him physically, but it got me thinking about how things might have been if I had been. No actual dancing experience is necessary for this.

• You can just respond by jumping straight into the RP (prompt below);

• Or we could rewrite it completely and you come be the stripper at a friend’s bachelorette party.

No minors, and this RP should be Realistic, which means no activities that wouldn’t be allowed in a upperclass-ish strip club (until we leave). But other than that. Give it your best shot and we’ll see where the night leads. May the best stripper win.

I’ll respond organically, so if Xael turns you away, that means I’m not interested in continuing the RP.

Reddit chat works easiest for me.

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It’s a fucking cold winter’s night, and I’m finally, finally done with work. I make my excuses, not wanting to go back to the hotel, and face yet another night talking about work (again) over after-dinner cocktails. The presentation had been a success and I was ready to put everything work-related on hold until Monday. I curl my hand into my colleague’s arm, and tilt my head in our own secret language. She curls up a corner of her lips in acknowledgement, and we quickly leave the dinner and return to our hotel for a shower and change.

An hour later, we are back in the lobby. I’m in pure black; long wavy curls that look like I’ve just rolled out of an orgasm, soft pants that swirl with my movements as I walk, a high-necked semi sheer sleeveless tunic that has almost fully open sides that expose my rib tattoos and lace bralette. I accentuate with metal accessories. My tiny 5’1 frame elevated somewhat by 5 inch open toed stilettos. My colleague, Jen, is in a high waisted miniskirt and long sleeved cropped turtleneck. White and pink, with the latest fashionable platform chunky boots. Dainty rings and earrings, loops of delicate necklaces.

We look like polar opposites, but we work so well together. And we play well too. Tonight, we are heading to a strip club. Where you work.

The door opens into a quiet hall, the muted thumping hinting to the revelry within. I exchange glances with Jen. The hostess asks if we have reservations, we don’t. But we’re willing to pay. There are tiers in this club, standing room, tables, couches, and semi-private booths. We want to be able to see, people watch, enjoy the atmosphere. So we pick a couch. Elevated slightly on a platform, close to the main stage, cordoned off slightly away from the crowds, with our own little space to unwind and relax. The price doesn’t matter, we both succeeded well enough on this project that it wouldn’t even touch the bonuses we’ve netted.

We follow the hostess through the crowd, settling down into the plush cushions and looking out onto the stage in anticipation of the first act. At first glance I appear proper, demure, elegant. My legs crossed at the knee, swinging gently. But my gaze is sharp, there’s something intent and primal lurking that makes a person shift uneasily when it’s focused on them. I look over each stripper that passes, and even some of the other patrons. Analyzing and cataloguing every detail. Occasionally leaning towards Jen to draw her attention to something or other. She does the same. Our commentary often coaxing a genuine grin onto my lips.