It’s been just over 36 hours, just a day and a half, and I still can’t believe that it happened. It’s so wild, so inconceivable. And if I can’t believe it happened, no one else is going to either.
But what I can do, what I need to do for my own sanity, is put it all down on paper, while it’s still fresh in my mind. So here goes…
I guess I should start with a little background. I’m 27 years old and engaged to be married. I’ve been with my fiancee, Nkechi, since our second year in university, for over 5 years now.
I saw her from across the room at a party, with her long, curly hair and her infectious smile, and I was immediately smitten. I’ve basically been in love with her since that moment.
Flash forward 5 years. We live together in Lagos. and have been engaged for a while now. The wedding is in 2 weeks, near her parent’s house in Ikoyi. But the thing that’s been on both of our minds for the last few weeks — and now will be for the rest of time — is her bachelorette party.
Nkechi has a ton of friends; she’s funny and engaging, the kind of person that everyone considers a friend even if they’ve only met her a few times. Deciding which of her countless friends to invite to the wedding was a really difficult process.
But for her bachelorette party, she only wanted her three closest friends, Amara, Iyabo, and Fola (short for Folashade), all of whom she met during her freshman year at UNILAG. The plan was to have a girl’s night out in Las Vegas.
The problem was that her friends — at least Iyabo and Fola — had been pushing her to do something risque, like hire a stripper or worse, which Nkechi didn’t really want to do. This had been an ongoing theme in their friendship over the years.
Both Iyabo and Fola had high “body counts” so speak; they have been with a lot of different guys over the years.
But Nkechi has only been with two: her first boyfriend, whom she had dated for three years, and me. Iyabo and Fola had told Nkechi several times that she was too young to get married, that she hadn’t had enough experience with men and that she would eventually come to regret not having done more before settling down. In their minds, this bachelorette party represented the last opportunity for Nkechi to do something wild.
The pressure had gotten to a point where Nkechi was genuinely bothered by it and had contemplated calling off the party altogether. What she tried to explain to them, countless times over the years, was that her sex life was really good and that monogamy didn’t mean that she was a prude or didn’t enjoy sex. And that was all true.
Nkechi and I have always had a satisfying sex life. We enjoy it, we have it frequently, and we both do our part to try to keep it fun and interesting. But all of this fell on deaf ears with Iyabo and Fola, who were convinced Nkechi would come to regret her limited experience with men.
That’s when Nkechi came up with the idea. At first, it was just a joke, a crazy idea that we laughed about together in bed. But the more she talked about it — and the more Iyabo and Fola pushed her — the more it crystallized into an actual thing, something that she genuinely wanted us to do. As wild as it sounds, here’s what she proposed.
She wanted me, wearing a mask, to pretend to be a hired male stripper. She noted, flatteringly, that I was in really good shape and had a really big cock. I believe her exact words were:
“I bet you’re more impressive to look at than anyone we could hire.” While I wasn’t certain about that, it is true that I still have a competitive physique as well as the good fortune of being pretty well-endowed.
The idea was that if I posed as the stripper, disguised in a mask, she could touch me, flirt with me, and push the envelope a little bit in a way that satisfied Iyabo and Fola but which she would never feel comfortable doing with some random, creepy, probably STD-carrying stripper or escort. I understood her thought process, to a point, but I still couldn’t believe she was serious.
“Would you really be okay with your closest friends staring at my penis, up close?” I asked her incredulously.
“They won’t know it’s your penis,” she responded immediately, “and I’m pretty sure they’ll be impressed.” She smiled mischievously as she said the last part and reached out with her hand, gently placing it between my legs.
We were sitting next to each other on the couch, watching TV. I felt my cock begin to stir as soon as she made contact.
“You will do that for me, wouldn’t you?” she continued, giving me her puppy dog eyes as she stroked my cock through my pyjama trousers.
“So I will have to drive out to the island by myself,” I asked, finding it harder to concentrate, “get myself my own room and wait for the right time to come over to your room in disguise?”
“Yep, pretty much,” she answered, as she reached down and pulled down my pyjama bottoms, exposing my now solid erection.
“And then I would just strip down for you girls, dance around and show you my cock, and then just go back to my room by myself for the rest of the night?”
“Well,” she answered slowly. She was now leaning into me, staring up at me with her beautiful eyes as she stroked my cock with her right hand.
“I was thinking that, maybe, at some point in the night, I might sneak out and visit this hardworking stripper in his room and, you know, reward him for all of his efforts.” And with that, she flashed that mischievous smile again and slowly lowered her head down onto my cock.
By the time she was done, I had an amazing orgasm and knew that it was too late to back out. Unless she had a change of heart, we were going to actually go through with this crazy plan of hers.
*
As the party night approached, my apprehension grew, but Nkechi seemed to grow even more committed to the plan. She had apparently told Fola and Iyabo that she woud be willing to hire a stripper, but only if they let her take care of it. She told them that she would only feel comfortable if she did the vetting.
I think they were just happy they were getting their way, so they didn’t push back. But because of that, Nkechi had absolutely no interest in backing down. For obvious reasons, she hadn’t actually booked anyone or done any research at all, and she clearly did not want to deal with the fallout from Iyabo and Fola if the night arrived and there was no stripper to be found.
So whenever I attempted to voice my doubts or concerns, Nkechi was either dismissive or quick to come up with a solution.
For example, at one point I warned her that if she was expecting me to have a huge erection during the stripshow, she would probably be disappointed. I was so nervous about the whole thing that I didn’t see how I could possibly manage that.
A week later she handed me a one-dose pack of Viagra. She had made a quick two-day trip to visit her parents to take care of some wedding preparations and had apparently raided her dad’s medicine cabinet while she was there. “That should solve any performance anxiety,” she told me, very matter-of-factly.
The other issue I kept bringing up was about the mask. To her credit, she had managed to find one that was relatively lightweight but fit snuggly and did a pretty good job of rendering me unrecognizable.
It was a Funny mask, all white with a big smile, curly moustache and thin goatee. My concern was less about them recognizing me through the mask and more about how to explain why I was wearing a mask at all. I hadn’t spent a lot of time around male strippers, but I was pretty sure that they didn’t normally wear masks. To address this, Nkechi had come up with a pretty elaborate backstory.
She was going to tell her friends that the company she hired me from requires all of its performers to wear masks at all times, that it’s a way of shielding them from being recognized or photographed and thereby allows the company to employ people who might not otherwise be willing to do this kind of work, in particular aspiring actors who need the money but don’t want it to be known that they’re strippers.
It was at least a superficially plausible explanation, assuming her friends didn’t try to dig past the surface or google anything.
Even with the mask on, though, I was worried that her friends might recognize me from my body alone. Luckily I didn’t have any tattoos or obvious identifying marks, but they had all seen me in a football field before. Nkechi was dismissive of this concern too. “You have a generic athletic build, Jide. I don’t mean that as any kind of insult. You’re gorgeous and very fit. But in Lagos? In Lagos Island? There’s no shortage of guys with bodies just like yours. There are entire gyms full of guys with your exact body.”
And so on and so forth. There was no way I was going to talk her out of it.
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