Boy Story: Go North Young Man - 4. Secrets of The Back Room

Secrets of The Back Room

Noticing my nervousness, Shawn led me by the hand to the “back room,” which is only meant for customers receiving private dances. His hand was smooth and warm and he had a firm grip on mine. The entrance to the back was a double-sized doorway with no doors or curtains, just an opening to a fairly good-sized rectangular room. There was a staff member standing in the doorway who allowed us to pass. The four corners of the back room were set up for dance presentations. Each area was exactly the same with a rounded crushed-velvet sofa on which you could probably squeeze three adults. There were other chairs placed here and there, for what…I don’t know. Maybe they had functions back there like bachelor parties for gay men at various times.

Shawn directed me to the far left corner and motioned for me to sit on the sofa. As he dragged a dance pedestal over and positioned it in front of me, I looked around and saw a handful of laminated signs affixed to the walls. The signs read: “Touching of dancers is prohibited. Violators will be immediately ejected and banned from club.” Yes, I had bought a dance once before, but I didn’t even consider touching the dancer. Sure, I wanted to, but it would have been very impolite. I figured that was common sense, so when I saw all the signs, it was curious. What was even more curious was that all of the warning signs were in English, when everything else was in French. Did English-speaking customers not know any better? That could be very true based on some of the guys I encountered in my college years. It was baffling how many guys in college had no common sense. Maybe that’s not so in Canada. Still, as I said, very curious.

That’s when Shawn said, “Oh, that’s where my sweatshirt went.” He picked up a red hoodie that was hanging over the brass bar next to him. Shawn was wearing a gray singlet, which is the one-piece spandex outfit that is usually associated with wrestlers. I guess that could now be expanded to wrestlers and male strippers…or as they prefer to be called, male nude dancers. He put the hoodie on over the singlet and mounted the dance pedestal.

He looked over his left shoulder toward the doorway, and then said, “You know what? I think over there is better,” as he pointed to the near left corner just to my right. “Let’s move over there,” he suggested.

That’s when I thought, “That’s odd. He dances back here all the time. Shouldn’t he know which corner is best by now?” And if his hoodie was here, why was this corner fine when he was dancing for the client before me? Whatever…we moved to the near corner which was set up exactly like the area in which I had been sitting.

He mounted the pedestal but then said, “I don’t like this song for dancing. Let’s wait for the next one.” He dismounted the pedestal, sat in the chair next to the sofa, and started to make small talk. As we conversed, it occurred to me that Shawn was fully bilingual. He could speak French or English interchangeably with no tip off that he was more comfortable with one or the other.

“So what’s your name?” he asked.

I can’t believe we got that far without such a formality. “Oh yeah, my name is Glenn. And I know you’re Shawn.” That was an understatement. The name Shawn was now seared into my brain for all eternity.

“So, Glenn, where are you from?”

“In the U.S. just outside of Boston,” I replied.

“Boston? Is that near Cape Cod?” he asked.

“Oh, you’re into the beaches?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Boston is maybe an hour and a half away by car. The Cape gets a little crowded in the summer, though.”

“Isn’t that when everyone goes there?” he queried.

“Yeah, that’s the problem. But sure, the beaches are quite nice,” I assured him. “So are you originally from Montreal?”

“No, I’m from Ottawa. Do you know, Ottawa?” he asked

“No, can’t say I’ve ever been there,” I confessed.

“Ottawa is the capitol of Canada…you know, like you have Washington, D.C. in the U.S.?”

“Oh, that’s right,” I remembered.

“I’m in Montreal for college…well, eventually,” he added.

“I noticed you speak both French and English. That’s so cool. I wish I knew two languages,” I admitted.

“My father is originally from Ontario and my mother is from Quebec, that’s how I learned to speak both. I didn’t have to do anything special except grow up around it,” he replied.

“Oh, I see. If you don’t mind me asking, Shawn, how old are you? I mean, you look young…not that it’s a bad thing,” I ventured.

“I’m 18. How old are you?” he asked.

“I’m 27,” I replied shaving off a year. Being only nine years older seemed a lot better than ten years older. It’s the whole “decade” thing.

Sometimes people make small talk just to fill up empty space, and it really doesn’t matter what you say because the other person isn’t really paying attention. Even though it was small talk, Shawn seemed engaged. He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, and his mannerisms were really endearing…surprise, this boy stripper actually had a warmhearted personality! I was always on guard that he might simply be skilled at getting me to open my wallet, but he seemed truly sweet and never brought up the topic of money.

Shawn turned his head away for a moment, “OK, I like this song. It’s much better for dancing.” He stood up, walked to the dance pedestal, and stepped up on it. He kicked off the style of slippers that all the dancers seemed to be wearing, and then began undulating that hot, skinny body encased within the gray singlet. My eyes were glued to his landscape as he removed his red hoodie.

Within perhaps 10 seconds, he pulled down the shoulder straps of the singlet so they were hanging from his waist. It wasn’t long before his hands slid down over his hips shedding the bottom half of the singlet. He slipped it over his feet and he was standing in front of me dancing completely nude. Every inch of him was visible and breathtaking. I jammed my hands under my thighs, so I wouldn’t be tempted to do anything that would get me in trouble. After a few beers, who knows what might seem like a good idea to me?

I sat on the red crushed velvet admiring all of him: the face, the chest, the stomach, the thighs, his feet, and his flaccid cock and balls. Interestingly enough, I did not detect a single blemish over his entire landscape. He had perfect skin in one solid skin tone, which is improbable without some time spent in a tanning booth…or a nude beach.

He reached down and grabbed his cock with his right hand and began waving it in front of my face. I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds because he had it especially close to my face, and I didn’t want to accidentally come in contact with him and get thrown out. But my eyes didn’t stay closed for long because I couldn’t imagine that the privates of a perfect 10 would ever be this close to my face again. I was getting a super close-up that few patrons ever experience.

He was so close I could feel a wave of heat from his body against my face. That’s when it happened. His dick touched my lips. I froze. It was his fault! I haven’t moved an inch. He then proceeded to push it against my lips. But no alarms went off. Shawn didn’t seem disturbed by this contact…wait…he initiated it! It was him, and it was on purpose! He waved his weenie around some more, and then came in again. This time I parted my lips and he slid it in my mouth. HE slid it in!

Well, this was an interesting turn of events! I’ve never been a big fan of giving head, but this was like the Superbowl of oral sex. Sucking the pleasure pole of the cutest boy in the world is an offer that doesn’t come up every day, if ever. Therefore, I was “all in” on this opportunity.

He was still mostly flaccid, so I was able to take his entire member in my mouth. I worked him with my tongue, lips, and mouth with varying amounts of suction. I could feel him growing in my mouth. I was getting more and more turned on as he was getting bigger and harder. I wanted to get him off. He suddenly withdrew from my mouth, and I was snapped back to reality. Oh yeah, we’re in a strip club. I can’t get him off here…well, I could but…that’s why he withdrew. I looked at his cock still glistening with my saliva. Wow! His phallus was fully erect, standing straight up, and pointing at the ceiling. It was bigger than I expected. Not the biggest cock I’ve ever seen, but when attached to his petite frame, it was impressive. This was a big cock on a skinny boy. He was certainly a grower. This was an unexpected bonus.

Then came the most interesting moment of the evening. He casually looked down at his state of affairs and executed a double take, as if to indicate that this was the biggest he’d ever seen his Johnson. He was as surprised as I was!

He looked over his shoulder again. I suddenly understood it. Shawn was checking to make sure that the staff member standing in the doorway was not taking notice. The guy in the doorway was in my field of view the entire time, and he had not turned around a single time to look into the back room—not once. I suppose if he did, he might be misconstrued as being a creepy voyeur, not a good idea if you have dancers back there trying to earn a living.

Then I wondered if the laminated signs were posted to absolve the club from any responsibility of “stuff” that may or may not happen back there…things that might be against club policy and city ordinances. Then the club can just say, “Hey, we clearly state that any hanky-panky in the back room is prohibited.” But in practice maybe anything that goes on in the back is up to the dancer’s discretion. Maybe the guy in the doorway isn’t there to police what goes in the back room. But if it is a case of “out of sight out of mind,” why did Shawn keep looking over his shoulder? Maybe they are told by management not to mess about in the back room—again to cover themselves. It seems like the dancers are walking a bit of a thin line between what is “not allowed” and what they can get away with.

I had been sucking Shawn’s hard cock. That most certainly wasn’t allowed, but it also can’t be something that Shawn does with every client either. Hmm, am I somehow special or is this a clever ploy to extract more money?

Shawn then turned around and bent over sticking his cute little butt out at me. His amazing posterior was rising and falling to the music in front of my face. I reached forward and caressed his smooth bum. Oh, so nice, so smooth, so firm. Then I went for it. I leaned forward and ate his ass. Now ass eating was not something I was into at all. But this ass was different. It was so perfect and beautiful. I wanted to commune with that beauty. As I ate his hole, he hardly moved, except a slow back and forth pelvic thrust. He was allowing me access. And thank goodness he was incredibly clean back there. Although I suppose when you are a nude dancer, it comes with the territory. He was cute, he was hard, and he was clean. I was perfectly happy to please his port hole with my tongue.

He pulled his butt forward again until my tongue came out. The song ended and he hopped down from the pedestal.

“Do you want another dance?” he asked.

“Do I, yes! But I’d better not,” I admitted.

“OK, no problem. Did you enjoy it?”

“Shawn, that was the greatest dance ever!” I exclaimed handing him a $10 bill. “Keep the change.”

“Oh, thanks!” He smiled and began getting back into his singlet. Did what just happened between us really happen? It was probably the best sex of my life without reaching orgasm. The reason I stopped him is because I could feel pre-cum dripping into my underwear. I certainly didn’t want to unload in my pants. Having never been in this situation before, it was difficult to read. Did our encounter make an impression on him or was this business as usual with Shawn? As for me, I would remember this for the rest of my life.

We walked out to the main room and stood toward the back watching the current nude dancer. Then Shawn tapped my shoulder and said, “Watch this.” The guy on stage moved to the pole and he flipped over and held himself upside down while doing almost a full split in the air. Everyone in the audience clapped. Shawn and I were standing side by side, so I casually slipped my right arm behind him across his back. He responded by moving closer so he was right up against me. My heart was beating out of my chest. “So this is what it’s like being with the cutest boy in the world,” I thought. This feeling was something I never wanted to end. Shawn had no customers waiting for a dance at that time, so he was perfectly happy sort of cuddling with me for these few minutes.

When the dancer on the stage finished his set, I leaned down and gently said near his ear, “Shawn, I’ve gotta get going to meet my friends.”

“Ah, the story of my life,” he lamented jokingly.

“Are you working tomorrow night?” I asked.

“Until 1:30.”

“OK, I’ll come visit you tomorrow night then.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, of course,” I replied.

He spun around and hugged me goodbye.

I hugged him back. “Have a good rest of the night,” I said to him.

“You too,” he replied and he pulled me down by the lapel and kissed me on the lips. We parted our bodies and I walked out. I decided not to make it any harder by looking back at him or I might never leave. As I walked over to KOX in a haze, I kept thinking, “He kissed me! I can’t believe he kissed me!” By the time I got to KOX, I remembered that this is French Canada and French guys often kiss other French guys, right? That’s kinda normal if you’re French and with friends, right?

When I met up with my crew, I resisted telling them the full details of the private dance I received. If they knew I got to suck Shawn’s naughty bits, they would have lined up behind me. No, this dirty little secret was for me alone.

It wasn’t until the next day that I figured out the role of the man in the doorway to the back room. He was basically a bouncer who was wearing a black STAFF T-shirt, again I found it odd that the word was in English. Maybe the word STAFF is more universally recognized. I deduced that his duties were as follows:

• Ensuring that any customers entering the back room are accompanied by a dancer

• Watching the main room for signs of trouble and intervening if necessary

• Protecting the dancers in the back room if pounced upon by overzealous customers (if alerted by a dancer)

• Observing who walks in the front door to be sure they look like customers

• (And this one I’m not 100% sure about) Ensuring that there’s nothing against the rules going on in the back room

Since the first three points are self-explanatory, I’m going to elaborate on the last two. I once witnessed a young heterosexual couple walk in to Club David one night. The bouncer walked up to them and they had a short discussion. The bouncer escorted the couple to a specific table away from the stage. I don’t think I ever saw a woman in the club before. One or two of the other male stripper clubs have signs on the door stating: “Women Invited.” Club David was not one of those clubs, but they also didn’t want to turn away potential customers. Apparently, this circumstance is handled by inviting the couple to stay so long as they stay inconspicuous at one of the less visible tables. I don’t know if it was relevant, but from his vantage point, the bouncer would also be the first to detect if a police raid was under way. Based on what happened in the courts the last time the police raided bars, this was unlikely to recur. But never say never.

And the last point. Aside from the signs hanging all over, I don’t know if activity in the back room is truly policed. I could see the bouncer in my field of view while Shawn was dancing for me. Not once did the bouncer turn to peer back into the room, yet Shawn did look over his shoulder a few times to gauge the bouncer’s level of attention…or in this case, inattention. I’m guessing if the bouncer managed to see anything untoward going on in the back room, he would probably be obligated to stop it. But if he doesn’t see it, he’s not obligated. Perhaps simply having him there was used as more of a deterrent than anything.