Monday, October 22, 2012

Let's have a toast for the scumbags.

Ah, another autumn at the strip club, when the summer slump ends and horny boys need someone to keep them warm. Thankfully, things are picking up after a ridiculously slow summer - new faces and return offenders are all stimulating the economy - and themselves - this fall!

I was on stage the other day, dancing my ass off during my set. Four years into my stripping career, I've fully resigned my goal of learning a pole trick or two. Instead, I channel energies into my pole-less art - you might say I have a No-pole-eon complex. Regardless, there was a young, clean cut white dude sitting at the edge of the stage, watching quite intently. He greeted me warmly when I went over to collect my tip, and told me to come by when I was done on stage. I went over to him, threw and arm around his shoulder, and asked how he was doing. "Fine," he replied, and glanced down at his crotch. There, under the ledge of the bar, were the shortest pair of short shorts I've ever seen, made of what seemed to be the flimsiest material ever. It doesn't end there - peeking out of the bottom of said shorts was the tip of an erect penis. Yikes! Nice knowing ya, buddy.

Also, in creep-show news, there's been this British customer who shows up at the club once a week or so. He'll buy a dance or two from each of his favorite dancers. For me, the dance has consisted of me dodging his aggressive touch and spitting dirty talk such as "Look at you, you dirty little Indian girl." "I could just ravage you in a sari." And, my personal favorite, "I can just picture you getting fucked hard on the streets of Calcutta." All that is fine, but the last time he managed to get a hand free and use it to both give me a painful titty-twister AND a ridiculously hard slap on the ass. (Thankfully, my "dirty Indian girl" skin is dark enough to not bruise that easily...) So when he came back to the club last week, I let the bouncer know he needed to watch us during our dance, and I also stood about 1 foot away from him for the duration of the dance. When the song was over, he looked at me, disappointed. "That's it? THAT was my lapdance?" "Yup." "Wow. That was the shittiest lapdance I've ever received in my laugh. It was absolute rubbish. What a joke." Well, chap, the jokes on you. (Tucks $20 into rubber band bundle, walks away.)

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