Chapter 1

"Cooper, I already told you. I'm not interested in going to a strip club for my birthday."

"And I told you, you're going. Be ready to go at 10. I'll pick you up…and no bow ties."

"Coop…"

"10 p.m. … no excuses."

Blaine sighs as he throws down the phone on his bed. In spite of his frustration at his older brother's inability to listen to what he actually does or does not want for his birthday, he can't help but be amused at Cooper's insistence on taking him to what is primarily a gay strip club. He really thinks he's doing Blaine a favor. It's sweet in its own way.

Still, Blaine is not comfortable with the idea. He's never been a fan of such overt sexuality, even though he's been known to have a mind just as dirty as the next guy. He's a teenage guy after all, even if he is more gentlemanly than most.

Blaine Anderson has been 18 years old for a little over 19 hours, but he's already certain this year won't be much different from the last. It's already shaping up to be a steady stream of boring high school classes and Warbler practice, followed by lots of arguing with his dad about where he should go to college and whether he's absolutely sure he's gay.

He's sure. He's been sure since he was 12 and spent his third period PE class checking out Mark Sutton's ass while they were playing basketball. He had never once looked at a girl that way. When he came out to his family the following year, his dad was less than pleased, but over the years he's gotten … comfortable with the idea.

At least Cooper completely accepts his sexuality. Blaine's always been close with his older brother. So he'll gladly stomach some semi-naked, overly toned meatheads for a few hours if it means bonding with his brother. If his completely straight brother is willing to set foot in a club like that, Blaine can do it. Doesn't mean he has to like it.

Blaine takes his time showering and styling his hair, hoping he'll run out of time, but he's out of the shower in record time. He probably overdoes it with the gel a bit, but he's nervous and his curls are more unruly than usual tonight. It's like his hair is nervous too.

He takes Cooper's wardrobe advice and skips over anything involving a bowtie, opting instead for his favorite jeans and a simple striped long-sleeved shirt. Deep down he's hoping he'll just blend in and be invisible tonight. He has no desire to stand out. But he's fairly certain Cooper has other ideas. He usually does.

Blaine starts pacing the floor like a madman at about 9:47, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He starts humming to calm himself and then picks up his guitar to play a few chords to calm his nerves.

By 9:52 his nerves have evolved into full-on panic and Blaine is starting to chicken out. His fingers hover over his phone as he plans to text Cooper to tell him he's backing out when he hears a car horn.

"Shit," Blaine says to no one. He looks out the window to see Cooper's car in the driveway. No backing out now. "Shit," he says again to his empty bedroom.

He grabs his jacket, pauses to check his hair in the mirror and heads out to "meet his fate." Blaine always did have a flair for the dramatic. Why should his inner monologue be the exception?

"I'll just stay for a couple dances and then insist that Cooper bring me home," he thinks. When he sees the gigantic grin on his brother's face, he knows that's not going to work.

Kurt Hummel has an addiction, and it's costing him a ton of money. But unlike most of the other "exotic dancers" at Shades, the "only all-male exotic dance revue in western Ohio," his is completely legal. Well, it is if you don't count buying designer knock-offs at a deep discount.

He tells himself dancing in his underwear on stage is really not a big deal if it means he can wear nothing but Alexander McQueen and Marc Jacobs with a smattering of Gucci to NYADA in the fall. Even if he has to buy most of it secondhand on eBay or from thrift stores that are smart enough to sell online.

What matters is he's going to New York. Kurt will graduate high school in a few months and he's looking forward to getting out of Lima more than anything.

He's busy doing his nightly prep for the 10:30 show. His moisturizing and grooming routine begins just after his 8 p.m. shower, so he can warm up with some yoga and his breathing exercises promptly at 8:30, that way he can sneak out of the house no later than 10. On the weekends he can usually convince his dad he's staying at Mercedes' house or Rachel's if she doesn't have plans with Finn. But when he picks up another weekday shift — usually so he can buy another scarf or a really great pair of jeans — he has to wait for his dad and Carole to go to bed before he can sneak out. Tonight is one of those rare Saturdays where he's going to have to climb down the trellis in the backyard so he's not seen.

Kurt hates lying to his dad, but he knows Burt would never approve of his temporary career choice. Truth is, Kurt hadn't really planned on becoming an exotic dancer — a term he prefers over the less refined "stripper" — but Finn had insisted on taking him to Shades for his 18th birthday a few months ago.

Kurt wasn't really into the show all that much. The guys were good looking enough, but Kurt's always been more of the romantic type anyway. So Kurt struck up a conversation with a bouncer named Vince and found out how much the dancers made in one night. His mind was reeling with possibilities for the all the fictional money he would earn. He wasn't really imagining what it would be like. Not at all. Not Kurt Hummel. In fact, he maintains his story that he decided on a whim to try his hand at amateur night.

Well, "decided" is a bit of an exaggeration. It was actually more like a dare. Entirely Rachel's fault. Kurt had told Rachel all about his night at Shades with Finn. Once she was over her giggle fit at Kurt's description of Finn's reaction to a dancer named "Big Billy," she made an offhand comment about Kurt's ability to work a pole. He'd done an elaborate acrobatic dance number when he auditioned for "West Side Story" the month before.

"You arequite flexible, Kurt. I think you should see if they need any new dancers," Rachel teased.

"Right," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "Exactly what everyone wants to see at a strip club: a pale, awkwardly thin gay kid with the voice of a girl and all the sex appeal of a baby penguin!"

Rachel nearly choked on her own laughter as a light bulb went off.

"Actually Kurt, the more I think about it, the more I like this idea. This could do wonders for your confidence for your NYADA audition. You need to work on your stage presence," Rachel said smugly. "And while I'm happy to offer pointers, the only way you can improve is by actually being onthe stage. Besides, every artist needs an 'I once worked in a questionable profession' story. It's something to talk about when you're doing the talk show circuit. I plan on being one of those shot girls in a bar … if it comes to that, of course."

"Rachel, you really are insane, you know that?"

"I'm just being honest, Kurt. You need this. I'm going to check their website. If they're hiring, you have to at least consider it."

The smile on her face was at least a mile wide. Kurt finally realized she was serious.

"You. Are. Insane," Kurt repeated. "I'm calling a mental hospital right now and having them lock you away." He dramatically grabbed his phone.

Before he could react, Rachel snatched Kurt's iPhone from his hands and was Googling Shades. When Rachel looked up from his phone beaming, he knew he was in trouble. He cursed himself for not disowning Rachel Berry as a friend ages ago.

"Kurt," she said, grinning even wider, "this is fate. They have an amateur night next Saturday. You're doing it."

"No, Rachel…no. No. Absolutely not. No. Just…no."

One week later, he was on the stage at Shades for their monthly amateur night. Rachel was sitting in the front row.

He wore a costume he'd once used for a glee club performance. He had been trying to convince New Directions that they needed to expand their horizons a bit and do more theatrical (read: flamboyant) numbers. The stuff Mr. Schuester let them get away with was really nuts most of the time.

The costume involved an elaborate corset-like top and a pair of sequined tear-away pants, and most importantly, a mask. There was no way Kurt was getting up on stage as himself the first time. He might be a bit of an attention whore, but he was not an exhibitionist. He was just going to do this the one time, get a few extra dollars and chalk it up to experience.

The problem was, he was a pretty good dancer, and he kind of liked it. Plus, he made nearly $500 in tips for just one dance. The manager offered him a job that same night.

The first few times he was up on stage he nearly hyperventilated out of fear. He was practically naked in front of dozens of strangers! But eventually he realized performing is performing and it felt no different or more terrifying than having a solo in glee club. Plus, he told himself, he's far too flexible to let that skill go to waste.

"Kurt, you're up next," someone calls from behind him and he takes a last look in the mirror before heading out toward the stage. When the music starts, he can feel the adrenalin pumping and the butterflies disappear. It's show time. He can overlook the fact that he's going to be on display in nothing but his underwear in approximately two minutes and forty-three seconds because it's the stage. It's where he belongs.