There was a month that had Rusty laid low while he recovered from an appendectomy. He ended up with a cool scar that matched my own, much to the clients’ delights, but for that short time he was knocked out of working order. The practical distribution of labors prompted me to find a temporary partner from the other stripper groups. A very few of the groups had representation by both genders. They performed more specialized acts. Mind you, this was the Deep South in the 80s, so everything was pretty clean compared to what you see on the circuit today. You couldn’t ask for the Alpha-Pinto Stack back then! Know what I mean?
One of the groups was named “The Pats”, made up of Patricia and Patrick. Both went by the name Pat. They got a laugh out of that of course, referring to themselves as P1 and P2. It was easy to tell them apart because P2 had alopecia areata. What is this? The autoimmune disease causes hair loss, and in Pat’s case, it was across their entire body. Pat and I started working the clients. I’d do my thing and Pat would do theirs. About two weeks in we broke Rusty’s #5 rule: don’t fall for a co-worker, or as he was keen to quip, “don’t lay it where you shake it”.
The hours together, pushing ourselves hard to please the shared customer base, bonded Pat and myself in ways that Rusty and I never did. I think it started when I wanted to show my sympathy to Pat’s condition. While I did normally pursue the motto “shave it to show it”, it was quite different shaving head, legs, armpits, and so on. I couldn’t get some areas but Pat was nice enough to do the razor work in those hard-to-reach spots. It seemed like half our time was spent shaving my body, with the efforts equally distributed. These sessions seemed to take longer and longer, with Pat’s portion consuming the most time. I suspected something was up. Sure enough one fateful night Pat took my hand and rubbed it across their skin saying, “see, this is how it should feel”. One thing led to another, and rule #5 became a victim of the workplace.
At this point I’d expect a hand to do up and the question be thrust, “why did you shave your hair off?”. Yeah, sympathy goes a long way, but the college stripper scene was pretty professional as a whole. Good work ethics were learned there, with the Pat thing being the exception. My only excuse is that Pat was majored in media, specializing in advertising and promotions. They convinced me that the clients would tip that much better when we were matching, both hairless. Yeah, there were differences, like the eye color. One of us was taller also and one of us still had our tonsils. OK, the second isn’t readily apparent. I also wore glasses and Pat had contacts. Pat was right though. We were almost twins, but completely different because of the obvious, when we both lacked body hair.
The customers loved the novel nature of the temporary team. I got to show it all, plus some. Pat was up to their usual standards of display. My classwork was suffering even though the money rolled in. Pat took up so much of my time outside of the work hours. I can’t count how many times Pat would say “oh Brown Eyes (their pet name for me), let me check if you need to be shaved”. Between the sleep deprivation, struggling through Radar Theory, and wanting to keep on my clothes at some point outside of school hours, I was glad when Rusty returned home from his medical leave. About the same time the other Pat, who also had brown eyes, returned to the circuit. I then realized that Brown Eyes was not an exclusive pet name. C'est la vie. Blue Eyes (my pet name for Pat) returned to their protege and I to mine. The college stripping world restablished balance.
I learned some valuable lessons during my time as a hairless college stripper. The first was that hair itches like the dickens when it is growing back. Never gain. The second was that Rusty was the fount of wisdom, especially in regards to rule #5. There was that time that he and I broke rule #9, but that was with consenting adults and we only did it twice. At the end of the month I looked back with and thought, beware of the shave when five’s on the line.