King of Clubs

Today was totally a reminder of why I love stripping so fucking much:

Money.
The chance to wear ludicrous - yet somehow, still sexy - outfits, makeup, and hair, and get paid for it.
Money.
Getting paid to flirt.
Money.
Having the crock of romantic monogamy repeatedly debunked while at the same time hearing guys spout ego-boosting expressions of romantic monogamy.
Oh, yeah, and...money.

This super-friendly, attractive (in an ordinary sort of way), moneyed dude immediately took a liking to me, and once I struck up a conversation with him, he pointed out that we'd met before. Yes, he's been a customer of mine at each of the three clubs I've worked at, and each time, we've gotten along fabulously! It's a small world, after all! Now, if only Disney would (in between putting ridiculous racially stereotypical comic relief and/or villainous characters in each animated film) make a ride featuring strip club customers! As soon as we began our banter, the memory of him came back to me like an eager housemom asking for house fee. We had a blast, and he promised to visit again next time he's in town.

His visit aside, I gave a marathon series of dances to this other dude who was filled with some of the best lapdance quotes of all time!
"You're, like, the freakiest Indian girl ever! You're giving the other billion of you a bad name! You're giving Hinduism a bad name!"
"Damn these boxers! I keep having to readjust my dick in these jeans. Next time I come, I'm going to wear slacks."
"Well, if you're going to hell I suppose you might as well take me down with you."
"Girl, the way you're grinding on me, it's like you know I just got paid today."

I had to keep turning around and putting my ass on him so he would(n't) see me crack(ing up)!