Running From Grace

At the moment, I am far away from the state I call “home”. I like this very much. Sure I miss my cat and my apartment, but nothing beats a random vacation for no reason at all. Oh and work… I miss work too. The night before I left, I watched a girl named “Artemis” audition at our club. She was tall, a little thicker, and was lacking any rhythm whatsoever. It was kind of hard to watch. My manager, who is supposed to give the final yay or nay, was hardly even watching her as she danced, more engrossed in the baseball game on the big screen than the half naked girl underneath the neon lights. As she maneuvered around the stage, a dancer I was sitting with, who goes by the name Gina, stated aloud what we all were thinking. That girl can not dance. Gina then began to nitpick at every little thing, like how Artemis was moving too fast or doing really odd floor work. It began to annoy me how mean she was being. The courage and confidence required to get up on that stage and put yourself out there is tremendous. How could a dancer possibly be so judgmental towards another dancer when they face the same demons? I didn’t participate in the conversation and I kept my opinion to myself. Not everyone is meant for the stage. To my surprise, Artemis returned to the floor after she audition and sat among us. Apparently her dancing was good enough. Then, one of the bouncers approached me and asked me to do something I have not done in a long time. He wanted to know if I could train her. Back in the old days when I worked in a popular clothing store, I was always the one asked to get the new people accustomed to the sales floor. I demonstrated how to up-sell. I showed them how to put outfits together. I taught them different lines to use to get people to open up credit cards. And the weird thing was, I had an absolute blast doing it. It was the most satisfying feeling to see my “students” succeed and go on to become great sales people. So you can imagine I was more than happy to sacrifice some money (there were already customers seated) and show this girl how to kick ass. We took a tour of the lap dance area, talked about different ways to get guys to buy dances, and practiced on one of the poles for a little bit. She eventually told me it was her first time in a club EVER and the information I gave her was incredibly helpful. All I could think of was that I wish I had someone to teach me when I first started out. But then again, I took to stripping the way normal people take to sports or music. I was a natural. Artemis ended up doing well that night. No VIP time but lots of dances. As for Gina, she has this move where she lays on the floor, props up her ass with her hands, and flails her legs from side to side. It looks completely ridiculous. As usual, I kept my opinion to myself but that evening, I watched a customer almost fall out of his chair laughing when she did it. Artemis had never been on a pole before. What’s your excuse, Gina?

Chances are, when you go to the strip club, you will see a dancer that has had one two many drinks. She may be overly friendly. She may bitch you out. There is also the possibility of her knocking you over with beer breath when she lets out the inevitable “Hi… what’s your name?”. This dancer will NEVER be me. Not because I think it is unprofessional, unsexy, and completely obnoxious (I 100% do), but because I have no idea how alcohol will affect me in the strip club setting. Will I be the girl smiling too much? Will I be pinching customer’s nipples and laughing uncontrollably at really bad jokes? How about a nice face plant on stage… I wouldn’t put that one past me. And then, there is the possibility of me actually killing someone. Once in a great while, a customer gets me so angry that it takes every ounce of my sober energy not to wrap my fingers around his neck and make him see God. Of course this is just a sick little fantasy. I am only a man-hating, homicidal maniac on Tuesdays. Other days of the week, like Friday and Saturday, are times when I go out with friends and usually get a little tipsy. There is lots of laughter. Sometimes a new friend or two. Maybe a stage to dance on that doesn’t involve the removal of clothing. Just good times and good people… until you push my buttons. I may be tiny without the ability to intimidate even a lady bug but when someone says the wrong thing to me at the wrong time, I just snap. Like last night for example…

Jealousy can make people truly evil. I write about the insane antics of jealous dancers all the time and it only makes them look weak in the end. I have no sympathy for such a tragic character flaw. I do have sympathy, however, for my friend that is visiting me from out of town. Let’s call her Erica. Erica and I met in college and I was immediately drawn to her outgoing, fun personality. We made our otherwise boring classes go by fast with lots of inside jokes and funny stories. I truly fell in love with everything about her. One thing that was apparent from the very beginning was that Erica was extremely self conscious about her weight. She always made awkward comments about how fat she was and that no man would ever love her. Of course I disagreed and honestly meant it, but no person could ever convince her that she was beautiful. I tried and I tried but I always ended up failing. Last night, we got dressed up in really hot outfits and headed to the neighborhood club for a little night out on the town. After a couple of strong mixed drinks, the room began to spin and there was nothing the two of us didn’t find hilarious. We danced and we sang and we even found a stage to dance on all in a matter of 45 minutes. It was shaping up to be a perfect night out with a good friend… until a really hot guy hit on me. We were taking a breather from all the fun when he approached me from out of no where and began talking to me. There was an instant connection and no sooner than I could blink, he pulled me out on the dance floor and the two of us began breaking it down Dirty Dancing style. I was in absolute heaven. He smelled good, he was in great physical shape, and he knew how to move… a deadly combination if you are looking to get my attention. I only stayed with him for a minute or so because I didn’t want to leave Erica by herself and when I returned to the table, I was dying to know if she caught a glimpse of he and I grinding with each other. After being given what was quite possibly the dirtiest look on earth, she turned her head away from me and continued watching the dance floor. OK then. A few minutes later, the hot guy returned and after acknowledging me with a hug, he introduced himself to her and the two of them began chatting. He left again and she told me that she told him she would leave the two of us alone so we could go have sex somewhere. WHAT! Flashback time. Crazy bitch Susan and her delusional idea of me fucking her boyfriend. Crazy bitch Riley and the threats she posted on my locker. Crazy bitch Nina (PERIOD) My sweet friend Erica had fallen into the crazy bitch category and I completely and totally lost it. I stormed out of the bar and when she followed me, I turned around and I let her have it. Yes people, I was the girl screaming at another girl outside of a bar. Real typical. Basically if the situation was different and the guy hit on her, I would be expected to take pictures of them dancing, ask every detail about him, and sit around while they made out for an hour. When the guy talks to me, I get nothing but dirty looks and snide comments. I said all of this but made it as mean as possible, making sure to throw in some “how dare you’s” and some “I can’t believe you’s”. My angry, drunk ass then stormed down the street, tripping over side walk cracks, swinging my purse dramatically, trying to answer a text. I was a fucking hurricane. Erica lingered behind and when I got to my apartment complex, I held the door for her but continued my walk of rage all the way to the 6th floor. It was here where the storms calmed and I passed out in exactly what I was wearing in a position that suggested I actually did screw the hot guy. The next morning was awkward and all that was mentioned about the previous night was an “I’m sorry” from her. I never accepted it but I didn’t act pissy the entire next day either. There was really no point.

So here I sit, writing this absurdly long blog post about a rather absurd evening, and all I can hear is the soft breathing of my friend. Erica. She is sleeping on my bed and every time some idiot blasts his horn or slams on his brakes, she awakens with the intensity of an on-call firefighter. Country girls… ha! I glance over every time she shuffles and I can’t help but feel overwhelming guilt for the reaction I had last night. She didn’t deserve that rage. Susan did. So did Riley and Nina. But I held it all in and took it out on a loved one who unintentionally tapped into her own inner demons at the very same time I did. God damn booze. But if we weren’t drunk, would we have just fantasized about strangling each other? Was it even necessary to show our true emotions? Or is this… how crazy bitches are born?

1) I was going up the stairs to the dressing room when a girl I have worked with atleast 50 times introduced herself to me and asked my name. Lesson learned: If a dancer has no clue who you are even after you have talked to her a dozen times, don’t take it personal.

2) It was early on a Monday night and three customers were comfortably seated near the stage. A single man and a couple. Most dancers would assess this situation and go sit with the single man because essentially there is a better chance of getting money out of him. This is exactly what Mona, one of the club’s top hustlers, did. The club’s other top hustler (me), arrived late to the situation because I was screwing around with my iphone in the locker room. I felt stupid for not being on the floor when he came in but I soon got called to stage so I just went ahead and did my thing. As I danced, I noticed the couple was watching me very intently and by the time my second song was over, they had covered me in one dollar bills. I bet I could get a dance out of them, I thought. When I approached their table they told me over and over again how much they loved my show and they were really interesting in getting some private time with me. Low and behold, the three of us ended up in the VIP room doing a very steamy half hour dance. Mona sat with the single guy for hours and ended up getting NOTHING out of him. Lesson learned: Do not underestimate how horny couples can be.

3) A normal Tuesday night. I was relaxing along the back bar when two well dressed men came into the club and took a seat in the far right corner. I approached one of them and we started talking about the normal bullshit. Where are you from? What do you do? Blah blah blah. Come to find out, I was sitting with a very wealthy lawyer who happened to be happily engaged and not a big fan of strip clubs. Apparently his friend dragged him there. I was about to head elsewhere when he told me to stay with him and just drink a glass of wine. He then added that he understands how dancers work and that he would pay me for my time. A half hour later, I had an extra $300 in my garter. Lesson learned: Some men actually do get it.

4) So I am trying to get a new apartment and I am not sure if I got the job I interviewed for. Actually, it’s more like I’m not sure if I even want the job I interviewed for but I tried to get it anyways because I felt I had to. The lady who showed me this apartment has been e-mailing me and asking me if I heard anything. I guess that in order to sign the lease, I need to have a letter from an employer saying I am actually employed. I told her I had heard nothing. I then decided to be honest and tell her that if I didn’t get this particular job, I wouldn’t be out of luck because I have experience with dancing and I would probably do that until I got a “real job”. No response… going on about two days now. Lesson learned: Until you prove otherwise, you are a judgmental asshole.

College, for me, was the best time of my life. I had genuine friends I could trust and there was always something fun going on. Like hide and seek. The north side of the campus was surrounded by a heavily wooded area and a group of us would get dressed all in black and disappear within the depths of the trees. Of course the alcohol factor made it hard to be truly stealthy, but for some reason, I was good at being quiet. I slipped in and out of the shadows, my presence completely undetected until I made a run for “home” and got chased down by one of my tall, agile male friends. Never in my life would I have thought my hide and seek skills would come in handy someday. And then there was last night. I was at work and come to think of it, I was wearing black. A black, strapless evening gown with some silver sparkles here and there. Not exactly an outfit for hiding, but somehow it did the trick. The club was completely dead in the first few hours of opening and I found myself sitting along the back bar watching one of the big screens and completely zoning out. This is my usual activity when there are no customers because I can’t stand the dressing room and I don’t really need to go out and smoke. Unfortunately, there is only so much ESPN I can take. I began to feel incredibly antsy so I decided to go to my locker and see if I had any new text messages. Up the stairs and into the dressing room I went, and just as I was about to open my phone, I heard one of the girls say my name. I stopped doing what I was doing and listened. The mindless chatter of everyone else seemed to drown out her voice but there was no doubt I was the topic of conversation at that moment in time. I then heard, clear as day, “Oh shit! You don’t think she is in here, do you?” My curiosity was instantly peaked. What were they saying about me? I headed back down to the main floor, thinking of the girl who’s voice brought my name to life. Her name was Stacy. Stacy could be described as loud, obnoxious, and very immature, yet I never really had a problem with her. She had just started dancing in December of 2009 and I watched her transform from a rather fast paced, choppy dancer to something much more graceful and in control. I told her this when she asked me whether or not her stage show had improved. The two of us talked about customers and different things we did outside the club and any time I knew there was a customer with money, I always pointed her in his direction. Knowing all of this, I wanted to assume she said something nice about me but after all the negative experiences I have had with girls in the past, I remained skeptical. They just had to be talking shit. I approached one of the girls who had been in the dressing room at the same time my name was said and she filled me in on what happened. Stacy and the group of dancers she was sitting with heard over the house mom’s walkie talkie that two customers had come in and Stacy announced to everyone not to bother going down there because Phoenix would be all over them and no one would have a chance at making money. In all actuality, I have heard much worse said about me so I wasn’t too upset by the actual statement. But why was it coming from a girl who just started working in a strip club and someone who I have gone out of my way to help? This completely blew my mind. At the other clubs I have danced at, I have tried the same “team player” tactic, letting other dancers know where the money is and asking them if they want to team up on a couple of customers. If they come to me for help with pole tricks or stage shows, I drop whatever I am doing to demonstrate what works for me and give them tips on how to be successful. Apparently this is not a good idea. Strip clubs are full of simple, shallow people who are unable to discuss nothing but other people and I am realizing just how out of place I really am. Because of this, I often wish I didn’t like exotic dance so much. I have made great money and I have been able to do things I wouldn’t normally be able to do with a regular job, but it has seriously left a gaping wound on my soul. I feel I have been exposed to the true scum of the earth and the ugliness I have seen is forever etched in my memory. People are truly sad. They are so consumed with their own pathetic lives that they see someone doing well and they instinctively make every attempt to ruin them. Even though I honestly feel this way, I am not going to alter my lifestyle in ANY way to please ANY one. I am good at getting dances. I have a great stage show. I love the way I look. And I refuse to talk badly about people because quite frankly, I have better things to do. Like finally landing a publisher for my book….

Gemini was one of the top dancers at the club. She had a tight body, long, voluminous hair, and a set of enhanced breasts that practically broke the necks of every man in a fifty foot radius of her. Not only was she easy on the eyes, but she also put on one hell of a stage show. This girl could climb faster than a God damn Navy Seal and as soon as she reached the top of the pole, she floated down to the ground with such grace and precision that you couldn’t help but wonder if she was really human. I have chatted with Gemini here and there and she was nothing but sweet to me, always smiling and cracking jokes. An all round fantastic dancer. One night, I was relaxing with a customer after an extended amount of time in the VIP room when it was her turn on stage. He and I watched as she moved, so fluid and exotic. Sensual and hypnotizing. She was truly a sight to behold but it wouldn‘t be too long before gravity had its revenge. About half way through her second song, Gemini stumbled on her seven inch heels and lost her footing. She crashed to her knees, quickly recovering with some floor work, eventually turning to the crowd and giving a rather guilty smile. She had lived through every dancer’s worst nightmare and handled it in the most perfect way possible. Turn the tumble into some kind of floor move and acknowledge the blooper with a good attitude. I mentioned this to the customer I was sitting with and he had no idea what I was talking about. Apparently she had hidden the mistake so well he hadn’t even noticed.

As an exotic dancer, you put yourself out there more than most people. Not only are you naked in front of a room full of strangers, but you are constantly exposed to scrutiny, judgment, and the chance of making an ass out of yourself on stage. I always preach about keeping your mind above all the lesser, mis-informed, self righteous dick heads out there, but what do you do when something completely humiliating happens? Something that doesn’t involve mental strength? The following situations may or may not have happened to me in my dancing career and not only are they meant to be learned from, but you should also understand that dancers are human. No matter how beautiful we are, no matter how well we dance, no matter how many times you swear you see wings coming out of our shoulders blades, we are not perfect. Real close, but not perfect.

What to do if…

you botch a pole trick.

Answer: Similar to a stumble, turn it into something completely different and send a look into the crowd that says, “I fucked up but I am still hot.” This should only be done under extreme circumstances, like if you completely fell off or hit your head on the floor. If you get “stuck” and end up awkwardly releasing from a trick, just keep moving like it didn’t happen. Guys do not notice stuff like that.

you get your period on stage.

Answer: Yeah yeah real gross, right? The truth is, girls dance during that annoying week all the time. All you have to do is take a tampon, cut the string, and you are good to go. Unfortunately, there is always the chance of bleeding through, which can be completely mortifying. If you are dancing while on your period, always wear a dark colored thong and clothing to match. In the event that you feel it happening and are not able to leave the stage, keep your legs closed and just do simple movements. Don’t do any extreme dollar tricks.

you get stuck trying to take off a piece of clothing.

Answer: Laugh it off. If you notice anyone is looking directly at you, send them a smile and an exasperated look, as if taking off clothes is the hardest thing in the world. If someone is near the stage, ask them to help you (if club rules permit). Any guy in their right mind would love to untangle the knot in your bikini top so he can see you topless. Eventually you will be able to get through it but it might take a little longer than expected. People will wait.

some loser attempts to ruin your life by sticking his/her nose where it doesn’t belong.

Answer: Keep writing.

Everyone wants to be the cool kid on the block. At a young age, people begin to discern what is “in” and what is “out” and by the time you reach adulthood, you are so jaded by popular culture that you practically become a robot. Like this music. Drink that drink. Wear that color. And we follow blindly, completely comfortable in a world where we are told what lifestyle is ideal and how to interact with the people around us. I remember in high school, I was always infatuated with the beautiful, popular girls. I found myself observing their antics, wondering what made them special and what made me rather ordinary. I concluded it was the sports. It seemed these goddesses were always on some kind of team and I was the girl that played in the band and wrote books. Basically I was never destined to be cool. At age 15, this is devastating. At 26, I find myself wondering why I ever gave a shit about those pretty girls. According to facebook, most of them are married and popping out kids, living ordinary lives with their ordinary husbands. They are following the path that is intended for the typical person in their mid twenties and this is considered “cool”. I beg to differ. The need to be with the in crowd is not only widespread throughout society, but it happens at a much smaller level as well. Like in strip clubs. In order to be the cool dancer, you have to possess certain traits that make you fun to be around yet non-threatening. Finding this tender balance between the two can be difficult, but not impossible. I’ve seen it done many times.

The cool dancer…

drinks. She usually starts the night off with shots of Goldschlager and can be seen wandering around with beer bottles and mixed drinks for the remainder of her shift. She never becomes a sloppy drunk, but does have a tendency to either get really friendly or really angry when she’s had a few too many.

smokes. The smoking area is where most of the socialization happens between dancers, aside from the dressing room. The cool dancer is out there once an hour bitching about customers and life in general with whoever will listen.

does pole tricks. She most likely has been dancing for years so pole work is a skill she has sufficiently honed. From one legged holds to mind blowing spins, she has the ability to turn every head when she begins to climb.

has some kind of typical stripper issue. Single mom. Abusive boyfriend. Drug addiction. Promiscuity. But never all at the same time.

makes good money. But not great money. The cool dancer relates to all the girls because she does do dances, but she also tends to socialize and sit with a customer longer than needed. Because of this, she is not a direct threat to anyone’s money.

has bitched out atleast one other dancer. She almost always butts head with another girl for some reason and this usually leads to a verbal (sometimes physical) fight. This is usually done in front of other dancers so that the cool dancer can establish her role as the bad ass. As soon as this intimidation is set in, respect is earned and no one dares to piss her off again.

So I was uncool in high school and I have managed to keep it going into my exotic dancing career. I don’t drink at work. Cigarettes gross me out. I don’t do complex pole tricks. I have no typical stripper issues. I make great money. And I would never get in anyone’s face unless certain extreme circumstances were met. Also, I play video games, I actually like Britney Spears, and crossword puzzles rock my world. Although none of these things are considered cool, my opinion of what is cool is being true to yourself. So what if I can’t do an upside down split on the pole? So what if I can kick everyone’s ass in Mario Kart? I am happy to be me and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I have gotten a few comments/e-mails about my lap dance post from back in October. I decided to combine the sales pitch and the actual art of the dance into one super post so anyone who is curious can get the full story in one place. Enjoy!

1. I scan the room for potential money. The man I usually go for is sitting alone and looks between the ages of 30 and 60. He is usually dressed casually, sometimes dressy, and he has been at the club for more than ten minutes.

2. I walk over to him and as soon as he notices I am approaching him, I smile, lean in towards him drawing attention to my cleavage, and ask if I can sit with him. They almost always say yes. I sit on his lap and throw my arm around his neck.

3.  The conversation. As I talk with him, I have eye contact more often than not. One of my strongest features is my eyes so I make sure he gets a good look at them. I gently rub his shoulder or neck. I toss my hair once or twice so he gets a hint of my perfume scent. At the end of my spiel, I ask him for the dance and he usually says yes. Below are the conversation topics I use with every single customer.

Hi. Can I sit with you?
Sure.

What’s your name?
Bob. What’s yours?
Jenna.

Nice to meet you, Bob. What brings you in tonight?
1. Boredom… Well you sure came to the right place if you want excitement!
2. I want to see pretty girls… You came to the right place!
3. I want to drink… I guess the pretty girls are just a bonus then!
4. I’m here with a friend… Well your friend has good taste in clubs.

The conversation might start flowing from this question, but just in case it doesn’t…

Have you ever been here before?
1. Yes… Welcome back! You can’t get enough of us, can you?
2. No… Oh nice! What do you think so far?

Where are you from?
He will usually answer from a place near the club and will almost always ask you the same question. Lie if you want but remember, if he is a repeat customer, you have to keep up with the lie and not change your story. I suggest starting out with a fake place of residence that you know atleast a little bit about and using it with every single man.

What do you do for a living?
His answer will give you an idea if he will buy a dance or not. Unemployed is usually a red flag but sometimes they will buy dances so don’t give up on him. The ones who I have had most trouble with is the men that are actually in the strip club business. They know the game and they like to play it back because they think it makes them smart. Too bad I am smarter. Teachers, construction workers, lawyers, and mechanics are my favs.

By now, the conversation has taken off in some way. By asking the questions above, you can atleast find one thing you have in common with him and go off on a tangent. If he is a teacher, tell him about a past teacher you had. If he is from somewhere far away, tell him about a recent trip you made. This entire conversation CAN NOT last longer than five minutes. Don’t forget… time is money! If you play your cards right and talk about the right things, he will enjoy your company and want to spend more time with you. The lap dance pitch I always use goes like this…

How long are you staying tonight? (Make sure you ask him this with your mouth near his ear. The hot breath next to this area will send a shiver down his spine)
I will be here until close… Well how would you like to start your night off with a dance from me?
I am leaving after this beer… Before you leave, would you like a dance with me?
I’m not sure… Would you be interested in having a private dance with me tonight?

I use the time aspect to ease into the kill. This way, it doesn’t sound blunt, like you are a machine with your main function being to get his money. Technically this is true minus the machine part. Be outgoing, upbeat, and make him your main focus. Do not, under any circumstance, complain about how broke you are or how much your life sucks. Leave the bitching to his wife. I’m sure she is amazing at it.

No, I don’t want a dance… OK no problem, if you change your mind let me know.
Well… I’m not sure… Trust me, you will have alot of fun. I am worth every penny.
Sure… OK, great! Come with me!

So he is now in my claws. I rise from his lap and extend my hand towards him. He takes it and we walk hand in hand to the lap dance room, which is usually a dimly lit area cut off from the rest of the club that is equipped with couches and mirrors. I ask him to have a seat and if we have to wait for the next song, I usually sit on his lap and rub his shoulders. If the next song is starting, I proceed with the dance. Try not to start more than 30 seconds into the song. He is a paying customer and he wants is a full song length with your fabulous self. I always start facing him and slowly grind on his crotch while pulling his face into my chest. I absolutely hate it when guys take this opportunity to shake their head like a hyena ripping apart a gazelle carcas in between my boobs. It is not amusing. Another thing I do while I am facing him is rub my fingers through his hair and stare deeply into his eyes. I can not stress how important eye contact is. It truly makes the experience intimate and personal, a sensation that alot of guys miss in their personal lives. But don’t hold a death stare with him. When you are doing something sexy, like running your fingers across your bare chest… that is when you give him a glance. And a brief, closed-lip smile. Make him feel like the rest of the club doesn’t exist and you are doing this because you genuinely want to. (Believe it or not there are actually some customers that I truly enjoy dancing for. It doesn’t happen too often though.) Eventually I turn around and gently rest my back against his front and move my hips rhythmically to the music. Because my face is right next to his, I close my eyes and moan softly, once again creating a more personal environment for him. One thing I am guilty of doing in this position is scanning the room for my next dance. At the club I work at now, the lap dance area is in the corner of the room encased with fake trees, which can be seen through if you really wanted to. I sometimes zone out checking out the floor and forget what I am doing. It is really bad and I am trying to break this habit. I’m a hustler, what can I say. So after I finish with the part of the dance facing away from him, I get down on my knees in front of him and gently rub my chest on his crotch. This may not be allowed in some clubs, but at mine it’s all good. As I do this, I grab his shirt and gently pull myself up towards his neck and let out a warm breath, then sink back down letting my chest rub against him and maintaining my sexy stare. At this point, the song is usually over and no matter what, I always ask, “Would you like round 2?” or “Want to make it 2?” About half the time, the guy will take another one. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen girls just get right up from a guy’s lap and not even ask. This makes her look like she is in a hurry and isn’t interested in him at all. Very bad for business!

So there you have it. Jenna’s lap dance. Notice that not anywhere in his post did I mention giving a guy a hand job, sucking his dick, fucking him, etc. That’s because I AM NOT DIRTY. I am good at this, and often times when you are good at something, people try to bring you down. For all the bitches that have left mean notes on my locker and spread rumors about me being easy, fuck you. Your life is a waste of flesh and air and you will never kick ass like I do.

There once was a stripper named Violet. She was one of the best hustlers the club had ever seen. She would move from customer to customer with such speed that no other dancer had a chance to make some money. Her selfish ways were brought to attention many times only to be shot down by her sour attitude. Basically, she just didn’t give a fuck. Violet hated a dancer named Phoenix. Phoenix “stole” one of her customers by accident one night and Violet swore she would “never forget it.” This made Phoenix giggle. In the same week, Violet hustled huge tips out of a few guys, which made them broke alot faster than they wanted to be. The strip club equivalent of the “cock block”, once she had her claws in a guy, she took him for all he was worth so no other girl could get a penny. Needless to say, no one liked Violet. Everyone liked what happened to her on Friday however. It was the beginning of the night, a time when a few guys would come in here and there and the dancers would wait awkwardly to go sit with them. Sometimes two dancers would stand up at the same time to go talk to one guy. Other times, ten minutes would go by and no one would make the first move. Violet is exempt from all of this. She prefers to hover around the table as the customer is taking his coat off and sit with him before he has even gotten a good look at the place. The other girls then have no choice but to wait for the next group to come in. Not on Friday night though. Violet was determined to get first dibs on every man that walked through the door so when the second group came in, she jumped off the lap of the first guy and headed over to them as fast as possible. What she did not realize was that her hair had fallen into the candle at the first table and was in the process of burning up. She became aware of the smoke and the smell as soon as she approached the new guys, but not before the entire row of dancers, the managers, and the DJ noticed. And they laughed. Hard. Violet began patting down her hair frantically and eventually retreated to the back room where she was promptly suspended. Unfortunately, Phoenix did not witness this hilarious event. She spent Friday night doing shots of Grey Goose and dancing not at a strip club, but at the local goth bar. She also woke up with a wrapped condom stuck in her hair and a tattoo of a couple of cherries on her right boob. The tat was fake, but the horrific hangover wasn’t. Neither were the four bodies she had to step over to get to the bathroom. All of this is almost as fabulous as watching a crazy stripper’s hair catch on fire, but not quite. Sorry Violet, but you had it coming. So do you, anonymous e-mail writer. It is just a matter of time.

As a dancer in a club, you are entirely responsible for how much money you make in a night. Sometimes, you get approached by a guy who is interested in taking you back for some VIP time. Other times, you ask every single customer in the club and not one of them wants a private dance from you. Basically when you start your shift every night, you are staring into the unknown. Will you get lucky? Or will you have to hear “no” or “come back later” over and over again? Should you sit with this guy? Or should you see if that guy is willing to spend some money? And then there is the idea of actually working together with another dancer. Men usually come into a club and expect some one-on-one time with a girl they find very attractive. Is inserting another girl into the equation a good idea or something to be avoided? Here are some recent experiences I have had with teamwork.

Dani and I approached two men who were talking quietly amongst each other. Business partners from North Carolina, they were happy to be interrupted by two half naked girls asking to sit on their laps. The four of us talked for a while, mostly about travel and the club. They also made sure to tell us that we were the prettiest dancers they had seen all night. The compliments and the smooth conversation paved the way to the private dance area where I soon found myself. Grinding. Teasing. Pleasing. My business partner was absolutely smitten with me, but not to the extent that the other man was with Dani. I returned to the floor after one $30 dance to find the two of them still going at it, so I just concluded that she sat with the richer guy and that it was just dumb luck. A few songs later, they emerged looking very relaxed. The four of us were reunited and that is when the other guy said something that made me shoot Dani a “look”… “Hey man, can you believe I got four songs for the price of one? This girl have me a hell of a deal.” So there I sat, the bitch that did one song for $30. Talk about awkward. The club takes $5 from every single dance so if Dani did do four for the price of one, she only made $10 for her time with him. I made $25. I politely left the table a few minutes later and focused on finding a new customer… alone.

I was sitting with a group of men one night when a dancer named Angela approached me. She whispered in my ear that she was sitting with a guy who had just gotten divorced and was looking for some company. Why she picked me to hang out with them, I’m not sure, but I willfully left the deadbeats I had been sitting with to investigate this lonely customer she had found. The two of us sat on either side of him and chatted with him while he was eating his calamari. My idea of chatting is asking him where he lives and what he does for a living. Angela apparently prefers to unbutton his shirt and pinch his nipples while asking him ten different times if he wants a dance in the VIP room. It became obvious that our styles were completely different when working with customers and I began to grow incredibly anxious. This guy was undoubtedly going to get fed up with her harassing him while he was trying to eat and would probably leave and never come back. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Soon after he finished his food, he brought both of us in the VIP room for a double half hour ($350 per dancer). My idea of a dance is sensual, slow movements mixed with some grinding, lots of eye contact as well as massage and hot breathes in the neck area. Angela, however, felt the need to grab his crotch, let him peek underneath her thong, and shove her nipples in his mouth. She kept saying over and over again how much she wished she could have his “big cock” down her throat and that she wanted him to not be so “shy”. With all that talk, it’s no wonder we didn’t get raped back there. Thankfully he was a total gentleman and didn’t fall for her mindless banter, something he told me made him really uncomfortable when she left for a smoke break after the dance. It made me uncomfortable too. The customer then said that I was more his “type” and that he would be back with two grand to spend on me in the beginning of May. CHA CHING.

Even though working as a team can be quite lucrative, I think it is a bad idea in general. Every girl has a different way of pitching the dance, performing, and conversing with the customers. Combining two different styles can create some uncomfortable moments for everyone involved. Also, you run the risk of totally burning him out to the point where if he sees one more set of boobs, he may spontaneously combust. This is obviously not good for business. My advice… keep it one-on-one and save the threesomes for porn.

It wasn’t always like this. In fact, there was a time in my life not too long ago when everything just felt right. I had a great circle of friends. I was working on my degree. And on the nights I wasn’t going to frat parties, I was dancing at my favorite club and making good money. Life was good. Now, I feel there is a dent in my spirit so deep that not even Billy May’s Ding King Kit can help me out. And like with every hit and run situation, I find myself cursing the unknown. Who would do this to me? How could they not admit it? Why are they such a coward? WHO WOULD DO THIS TO ME? There are also the situations where you are fully aware of who put the blemish on your soul and you curse yourself for allowing them to do so. How could I not see that coming? Why did I give them that power? Who do they think they are? HOW COULD I NOT SEE THAT COMING? Allowing people into your life is a huge liability. Often times, you are unaware of how truly evil and selfish they are until it is too late. I think everyone learns this lesson at some point in their lives and my time just happened to be my mid twenties. Unfortunately, I keep getting hit over and over again. What am I doing wrong? I guess it’s about time I stop parking on the street and try a garage instead.

My friend and I wanted to try line dancing class. There was a popular country bar about fifteen minutes from my apartment and we decided to check it out on a rather dull Tuesday night. It was this decision that brought a woman named Susan into my life. She was attending the class with a guy friend of hers and they just happened to be next to us in the huge circle we formed on the dance floor. After some small talk and laughs, we decided to all sit together and have some drinks. I found out Susan lived about five minutes from me and she was an only child. She also told me her family was Muslim and she visited the Middle East often. Her stories were very interesting and we had a wonderful time talking to each other, something I rarely experience with other girls simply because they bore me. My boyfriend did this. My boyfriend did that. Do I look fat in this? Susan didn’t really come across as a typical women other than she was self conscious about her age. She was in her thirties, but if I didn’t know that, I wouldn’t have placed her older than 25. At the end of the night, we exchanged numbers and went our separate ways, but it didn’t take long for us to meet up again. Susan and I checked out some bars down town with our friends and we had movie nights at each other’s apartments. We became gym buddies too and during Total Conditioning class, she told me something I was not expecting at all.

“I used to be a stripper.”

No fucking way. Apparently she did it only for a short while but thought it was fun. I decided to open up and tell her about my past too. The two of us thought it was so interesting that we had that in common and it furthered our friendship into something deeper. I thought she was great. A while later, she introduced me to a new guy she was interested in and he seemed pretty nice. We all hung out and she constantly asked me what I thought of him. This is where things got weird. No matter what I told her, she would always respond with something like, “I bet he wants a pretty, young girl like you”, or “I saw him looking at you and I think he likes you better.” I brushed these comments off as compliments but then received an e-mail from the guy saying that Susan would really like for he and I to be together because we are young and good looking. Where the hell did that come from? I texted her and told her I had no interest in him at all and that I was annoyed she was trying to set us up. She told me that if he sent that message, he must be interested and that the two of us had been planning to hook up for a long time. Once again, where the hell did that come from? I only met the guy once. Suddenly, the ever-so-cool Susan turned into a complete psycho. She texted me about 100 times a day telling me I was nothing but a “home wrecking whore” and an “ugly white person”. And the friends we all went out to the bars with that night… she sent them all a personal message online saying I was a stripper, that I could not be trusted, and that I would sleep with all of them. I was completely furious. I did absolutely nothing to this person and she completely let her mind run away with her. For a long time, I was scared she was going to vandalize my car or my apartment or maybe stalk me on the street. The text messages were extremely hostile and nasty. None of that happened, thank God, but I did acquire a very intense mistrust of women. After all of that with Nina (40 year old dancer that dated my teenage brother and made my life miserable) and then this… I was completely convinced that all women were mentally unstable. Of course my mistrust of men would happen at a later date, but it was the ladies that paved the way to my bitterness. I often wonder what kind of life experiences prompt such horrible social skills. Could it have been the only child thing? Maybe something about age and the Muslim religion? I have no idea and I never want to go back there and find out.