Superman stripper

A friend of my brother works as a topless waiter. He is well over 6 foot, has natural beautiful olive skin and is built like Adonis. I’m a polar opposite. So it is surprising that I ended up as the impromptu stripper at a hen’s party.

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It was invited to a colleagues Halloween party. Going by reports from previous years attendees, I had high expectations. Having never dressed up for this American ritual before, I decided to go all out. I only had one costume in mind, my urging desire to dress as superman had spurred from childhood. For half the price of buying the costume online, the day before the party I hired a pre-worn, funky smelling ensemble from a suburban costume shop.

The instant I arrived home with Clark Kent’s alter ego in tow, I whipped off my clothes and threw it on. It was still just as awesome as when I tried it on in the store. I did discover one minor problem, no fly. So I unstitched a seam in the crouch, which was concealed by the separate external red undies. Perfect I can piss without having to take most of the suit off. This is essential considering my drinking habits.

The party evening arrived. After googling the superman hair curl and spending half an hour and a shit-ton of hair gel I perfected the curl. I slapped on the costume, fake muscle chest and all. My costume was complete. With my man bag in toe (no pockets in the costume) I walked out of my building to hail a cab. After a few enthusiastic honks from passing motorists, a sympathetic cabbie gave me a lift.

I arrived at the venue the obligatory hour after the invite start time. The place was still almost empty, apart from the over-catering from the host. Because of the party’s increasing popularity the host had hired the basement of a bar. However, due to a falling out with a few other colleagues the party was a flop. I could count all present on both hands.

On the plus side, there were two available ladies present. One was a former colleague and the other her friend. Stupidly, I went for the friend. We danced, I got her digits, and we went on a couple of uneventful dates. Anyway, not long after she left the venue the manager kicked us all into the public part of the bar.

Mingling in the public bar were a few other superheroes and a ninja turtle in Lycra. For some reason when men see another man dressed in Lycra, in a social booze-enriched situation there is a compelling urge to grab man ass. Once I had that out of my system, and other dudes had it out of theirs, I lost interest and went home.

Arriving back home, I got changed out of my costume and went for a cigarette on my balcony. Across the street from my building are several serviced apartments. Out the front and directly across the road were a group of young ladies brandishing a blowup doll and waving it at passing motorists. They were clearly on a hen’s night.

Ceasing the moment, I yelled out to them. I told them that I had a surprise in stalled, and they should wait a minute for it. I butted out my cancer stick, dashed into my bedroom and changed back into the costume. My hair was still firmly in the superman curl as I ran down my stairs, across the nature strip and halted at the gutter. I stood there with my hands on hips, chest out with a thousand yard stair into the abyss.

My entrance clearly worked, the girls yelled at me, demanded that I cross onto their side of the road. When I got there they asked me if I wanted to strip. Not one to decline a chance to nude up, I accepted the offer. They led me into their apartment, turned up the stereo and offered me a stiff drink.

I dimmed the lights, slammed down the drink and started dancing. They demanded that I de-robed, so I took the top half of the muscle suit off. Then one of them screamed that she wanted to see my dick. They all screamed in support, so I lowered the costume and revealed my manhood.

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