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The Neighbourhood Watch

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After the first night, Alfred had decided that, without a doubt, he needed practice.

Really, it wasn't exactly anything more than common sense, but the prospect of it was still embarrassing. The only thing that gave him confidence was that, at least, it was in the comfort of his own home without the too loud music and cheering and whistling crowd or the hot lights. Adrenalin only helped so much up on stage with the white light blocking faces, because he could still hear, and when he got up close and personal…

Letting out a slow sigh, Alfred stood in his bedroom before the full length mirror by his closet and dresser, staring himself up and down in his cowboy getup, his hands fiddling with the angle of his hat, adjusting it by the brim atop of short golden blond hair. It was easy, all he had to do was smile, move sensually with the music, and take his clothes off. Maybe make eye contact here and there, wink, thrust and dance and bend over so people could tuck cash into his tight underwear. No big deal, right?

Alfred groaned, hiding his face in his hands, feeling the heat radiating from his cheeks. Yes, big deal. It was still embarrassing, as much as he did enjoy it. It was fantastic exercise, people enjoyed his body, which he got praised for, and was paid to have fun.

If only he could get past the stage fright aspect…

Taking in a deep breath, he let it out shakily, slapping his cheeks softly before he turned to his laptop lying nearby, fiddling with the touch controls at the top of his keyboard and pressed the Play button, the music beginning slowly with a low drum beat.

It was typical porn type music, with a rhythm to rile anyone up and a beat to back it up. He'd found if he thrust with each heavy pulse of the base, it helped get him pumped as well, provoking the cheers and wolf whistles from the crowd as he sauntered on stage. That part he had no issue with, coming on stage slowly, step by step, hips jerking sharply forward with every slow beat.

Closing his eyes and tipping his head down, Alfred mimicked his routine before the large mirror, stepping on the spot, every thumpthumpthump drawing forth another grind forward of his hips, his abdominal muscles undulating, tensing and curling beneath his skin and the stripping cowboy image he had going with his costume.

Tune joined the beat, and Alfred lifted his head, flashing a lopsided and cocky smirk to his own reflection, cheeks a dark pink as he did so, bright blue eyes hooded and staring right at himself. He had to practice eye contact, practice looking at customers' faces and making them feel included, like it was a personal show and he was all theirs. They liked that, enjoyed feeling like the world revolved around them, and this sexy cowboy was stripping only for their eyes, and not that of a whole room full of other hungry and cheering ladies and gentleman and everyone in between. So long as they were over twenty one, Alfred had no qualms with who he danced for, if they paid. He wouldn't do this for free, that was for certain. Too many bills had to be paid to offer night services like these without a bit of compensation.

Hands that had started at his pockets slid slowly up over the front of his vest, teasing the fabric out of his pants, the American found it easier to let go, sway his hips slowly, and though they weren't beautiful and round and shapely like the women's, they still had an attractive shape to them as they were rocked, the package in the front of his chaps accentuated by the cut out section that revealed the jeans below.

It didn't take long for Alfred to feel relief at how easy it was before his own mirror, the buttons of the vest sliding out of each hole, his bottom lip taken in a slow and sensual bite between straight rows of white teeth, groaning huskily as though the sound would be able to be heard above the thundering music of the club he performed at.

Parting the fabric, he grasped his hat with one hand, the other sliding to his crotch and grasped firmly, legs spread and crouching as though riding a horse, thrusting his hips nice and slow, angling his head back to expose more of his neck, sharp jaw line and Adam's Apple as it bobbed. The music wasn't terribly loud, at least, compared to what he was used to, but he found himself getting lost as the tempo increased. The vest was tossed aside, continuing his gyration, fingers splaying on his chest and feeling his pectorals, index circling his nipples and letting out a shaky sigh, his inhibitions slowly fading.

It felt nice, this way, and without the hollers of the crowd, it was easier to remember his routine.

Unbutton shirt from bottom by three, undo from top by three, part it enough to tease and then undo the final two. Reveal skin slowly, tense muscles, flex, thrust and tip head back; he had to work his body like he was riding a horse, or like he was the stallion and someone was riding him nice and hard.

Alfred had blushed when his manager had said it, so casually and calmly and laughed at his bright red face that had coloured right to the tips of his ears.

The belt came off next, the buckle heavy, echoing with a loud clunk against the carpeted floor, the leather having hissed as it was pulled from the loops of the chaps. Instantly, the jeans and chaps dipped low on his hips; sharply defined hip bones dragging down and past the fabric as though leading in a V shaped line exactly where the customers would be focusing on, hungry to see. Already, Alfred was breathing a little harder, staring his own body up and down hungrily, taking in the sun kissed tone of his skin, nicely coloured from the heat of the sun and beach trips and with how often he was in his own back yard gardening in only board shorts. It was good to be nicely coloured for the shows.

Popping the button, Alfred slid the zipper down next, every pitched chirp of metal teeth parting sending goose bumps along his skin in delight, parting the fabric in teases, revealing the brightly coloured American flag underwear beneath. Originally, he'd found them quite funny, wondering how on earth seeing his country's flag covering his crotch and rear would be sexy, but the customers enjoyed it, or rather, enjoyed the branding.

American cowboys with the southern husk and purr, lazy grins and sunshine wheat and lazy fucks in barnyards on piles of hay—that was what came to mind, the Wild West, and Alfred would be lying if he claimed he didn't enjoy it even a little.

The boots were toed off, much easier than the first time which ended in him crashing ass over head to the ground and his manager nearly choking on his own tongue and tears from laughter. He never wore socks for the length of the routine, if only because there was simply no way of sexily removing a pair of socks.

Turning to his side, he continued to rock his hips, hands pressing against the bulge of his underwear, slowly bending down and pushing his rear backwards, his spine curving and giving the plump cheeks a rounder apple shape, daring to shake it and chuckle as his pants and chaps began to slowly dip down. It was only in mere seconds after sliding them enough to reveal his underwear colour and pattern that he ripped them off, the firm Velcro that kept them together and looking like properly sewn clothes shredding apart and leaving him in nothing but the underwear and hat, the jeans tossed forward, falling in a pile against the mirror as Alfred straightened, turning back as though to face the audience, thumb hooking in the band of the flag.

By now, Alfred was into the dance, the music pumping through his veins, pulsing, and he was breathing nice and hard, only a bit of sweat glistening, though certainly not as much as in the club where he shone thanks to the heat.

Turning his head to the side to stretch his neck and angle his head back, giving the audience a good view, he turned his eyes up, immediately freezing as he looked through the window, bright blue eyes going wide.

Matthew had always been quiet, to himself. A writer, probably, or an office worker. Alfred never really had asked. His neighbour was never really invasive or intrusive, polite, Canadian if he could comment on the large amount of Canadian hockey paraphernalia stuck about the room in the form of posters, trophies, medals, jerseys and everything in between. Yet now, his next door neighbour was staring right at him through his bedroom window, a steaming mug clasped tightly in his hands, violet eyes wide behind rounded frames, and expression a bright red, dressed in his usual red hoodie, loose about his tall frame.

Minutes ticked by as the song began again, locked on the repeat function, and neither male dared break eye contact; Matthew with his mug of hot coffee, and Alfred with his thumbs still tucked into his underwear and hat atop his head before the mirror. Eventually, it was Alfred that broke eye contact first, his face, ears and neck a shocking red as he bent down, quietly putting a pause to the music on his laptop first before pulling on a loose pair of sweat pants, placing his hat neatly on the table as though nothing had happened. It wasn't until he dared to look over to Matthew's window again that he saw the man with his head down, expression deeply embarrassed as he bent over his desk, a thick marker in his hands, writing.

A brief game of cat and mouse went on, with both men trying to catch the other's eyes, but when eye contact was established, they both turned a deep red.

Giving a sheepish smile, Matthew lifted the paper he'd been writing on, holding it up to the window for Alfred to see, and immediately, the American went red, all but throwing himself into the closet to get dressed.

"Thanks for the show, but maybe coffee first? I'll leave my door unlocked at 8 xoxo"

Despite their awkward official meeting, Alfred found later that he enjoyed giving the Canadian private shows, and the man had other ways of paying him in kind.