When we met Shawn at his car he seemed a normal guy, except for the semi-shiny shirt and 80's-style boombox. I don't know what I was expecting. This guy, I thought, this guy, he could be my friend. Shawn was a stripper we'd hired for a bachelorette party this past Friday. The party, for a friend getting married in September, also included a lot of rum, which was important, it turned out. Now I've never seen a real live stripper. In fact, I was so unfamiliar with the concept that I made my fellow party organizer call the guy and set everything up. I took care of food and drinks. She called up a stranger and asked him to come to this party and take his clothes off and rub his genitals, carefully encased in a man-thong, up against our friend while gyrating to dance music, and I made seven-layer dip. Fair.

As Shawn began his act, I began thinking moonshine may have been a more appropriate beverage than the tasty and refreshing mojitos we'd whipped up. Moonshine and some Valium, maybe. He flicked on that boombox and Shawn immediately transformed from my new potential guy-friend to a monster of sexuality. He got this I'm-gonna-dry-hump-you-giddy-ladies look on his face. He mouthed the words of the hit tunes blaring into the once-quiet living room.

We got into it slowly, finally "wooooing" the guy on because he was brave, not to mention an incredibly gifted acrobat. I mean, sure, the neon green and purple banana hammock that Shawn played with from time to time, making moves like he just might take the thing all the way off but never gracing us with that reality, was not sexy in the typically sexy fashion. But he wore it like it was and when we grimaced and giggled and looked away he just pushed us further. Shawn also had a very nice body and I do not know where he learned his skills, but he is a very gifted man. At one point he cleared the floor, did some kind of somersault-into-headstand and ended up with his crotch just inches away from the bachelorette's face. During another of his grand maneuvers, he placed several cubes of ice on his spectacularly hairless back and moved them back and forth in a dance-like motion.

All I'm saying is that my first stripper experience left me thinking that, honestly, strippers are pretty amazing. When our man was on one of his rounds around the room, giving us all the personal experience, and he was hovering above me grinding his pelvis close to mine, his sweaty body so close and the smell of his cologne overwhelming my senses, I didn't think, "Oh, this is turning me on," or "What in the name of fuck do you think you are doing, mister?" I just relaxed into the hysteria and, really, all I could think was, "I know we just met, but I am so proud of you."