Union Jack-off

For some reason, there has been a flood of Englishmen in the club lately. What, cheap tickets crossing the Pond?

Anyway, recently there was this one dude who looked just like an Indian Jeff Goldblum with whom I struck up conversation. It was a mad slow day and I didn't have a whole lot of money, and I tend to do well with the brown guys. We started chatting, and he let me know he was in town from London, and wasn't interested in buying lapdances but really wanted to take me out to dinner.

Me: Sorry, I don't go out with customers.
Him: Well, technically I haven't spent any money on you, so I'm not a customer.
Me: Touche, but I don't really think I can. Sorry. (gets up to leave)
Him: No, no, please sit.
Me: Well, my shift ends in a minute, so I should probably try to make some money before I have to head home.
Him: But, seriously, how often do you meet someone like me? I mean, we're both Indian, we both seem well read. There's so much we could teach each other.
Me: I appreciate that, but you're coming on really strong and I do need to make money.
Him: Listen, I didn't get to be who I am today by taking no for an answer*. Why not just sit and have a drink with me?
Me: I'd be happy to, but again, I'm at work...
Him: Okay, I'll pay you $150 to stay an extra hour or so and drink with me.
Me: You should probably do $200, because they will charge me an extra $50 to stay past my shift.**

So I ended up sitting and drinking with him, and I still can't figure out exactly why, but I wanted to slaughter this irritating-as-fuck man. Maybe it had something to do with his constant references to his years at Cambridge and Harvard. Maybe there was something really pathetic about a grown man asking me "What are your ambitions in life? Where do you see yourself in five years?" Maybe it was that, any time I started to answer any of his contrived questions or engage in a conversation, he'd cut me off and go into a ten minute diatribe about how we should definitely go out together, spend a day together, kiss, etc. Maybe it was because he name-dropped on the Chatham House and the way the staff at Bombay's Taj Mahal hotel treat him like royalty. He also tried teaching me some principles of interpersonal communication he learned at Harvard Business School.

Anyway, a good half-hour of his paid-for-in-advance time with me was spent with him trying to convince me to skip work the next day.
Him: Come on, I'm only here in NY for another day or two. Then it's back to London.
Me: No one is saying you can't come visit me at work...
Him: I don't want to see you there... It's not the kind of interaction I want. I just want to have lunch and drinks, take you shopping.
Me: Sorry, I have to go to work. I have customers who are expecting me and money to make.
Him: Well, I'm willing to skip work for you; you should be able to do the same for me.
Me: Well, I'd be foregoing hundreds of dollars at work and I'd be fined by the club for being absent, and as a grad student, I just can't forego that kind of money.
Him: Please, I know you're well-to-do. You're not broke.
Me: (resists the urge to tell him that's none of his business) You know what? Maybe we should just say our goodbyes tonight.
Him: Okay, I'll give you a thousand bucks for bunking work tomorrow. I promise, no sex, and we can stay in public the whole time.
(lather, rinse, repeat about a dozen times and you have a sense of our conversation)

It just so happens that he DID show up at work the next day. I greeted him warmly and said I was so happy he changed his mind. He told me "I just came to talk, no dances or anything." So I told him the club did not allow us to sit with guys and chat and went and sat alone in the corner. He kept trying to wave me over and tell me to come talk to him. Finally he caved, walked over, and said "fine, give me a dance." Halfway through the dance, we decided to take it to the champagne room, where the asshole kept trying to finger me!!! I was so disgusted by him, and by his arrogance at telling me that I "didn't know how to accept pleasure" and that he "could make me feel really good if only I'd let him."

Before he left he offered me his silk tie as a parting gift/souvenir. I told him to go hang himself with it. (Okay, I didn't really say that...)




* Yes, he actually said that.
** Not true, but I was charging him an "asshole" tax.

Champain Room

Last week, I had a crazy fucking day. First of all, I spent pretty much my whole shift in the champagne room with different guys. This is noteworthy for me because I'm not a big champagne room girl. I spend most of my time on the floor and make most of my money off of lapdances. I was thrilled - mostly because I pleased management with my lucrative day!

One guy was buying lapdances from every single dancer in the house. When he got to me, halfway through my first dance he called me naughty and asked me if I needed to be whipped into shape for misbehaving. I played along, and he got really really into it. Next thing I knew, we were in the champagne room and he was telling me (in no particular order) that a) I was his little slave girl, b) he wanted to put a collar around my neck and humiliate me, c) that every time I hear the word Daniel I'm going to come, even if I'm in a restaurant, and that I'll feel humiliated whenever that happens, d) that if I couldn't come on command upon hearing his name he'd have to punish me. It was possibly the easiest champagne room I've ever done in terms of physical work, but the emotional work (Hochschild 1979) was ridiculous. I was also confused by the racial dynamic of the whole thing; I know S&M people can be into the whole slavery thing, but what about when it's complicated by race (i.e. me a woman of color and him the whitest)?

Okay, my next trip back was with a guy from Hyderabad. Just turned 30, still a virgin, planning to get married soon. He asked me whether it was better to buy lapdances or go to the champagne room. Normally, my answer to this question is lapdances - I make more per hour giving dances than I do in the champagne room, plus I don't have to worry about unrealistic expectations or unwanted gropes. But this guy seemed pretty tame, and I wanted to impress management with a second room for the shift, so I suggested we retreat. This man was so so into my anus. It "tookus" no more than a minute before we were playing lapoeira , though this time it was anal-tug-of-war. The man couldn't take no for an answer! It's like there was insulin up there, and he was a diabetic (Chris Rock, anyone?). I think he thought the fact that we both speak Hindi gave him free reign over my hindy...An hour of keeping my anus away from him, and...I was exhausted by this Hyderabadass...

Back on the floor, a 1/2 Greek, 1/2 Turkish guy asked me if I was Arab, and if he could do a temporary nikah with me so we could have sex. I politely turned down his booty call/marriage proposal, and then he asked if we could go to the private room. Holy crap, three in one day? Sure! Back there, he revealed to me how much he loves Bollywood music and that I remind him of the Indian movies he grew up watching. Then... he tried to stick his finger up my ass. What, do I have stimulus money in there or something?! I shrieked and jumped away, and then he started laughing and singing Mehndi Laga Ke Rakhna to me! I chimed in for the female vocals, and thought we might just have a nice round of antakshri for the remainder of the hour. No "can" do! As soon as he got to the last verse, he went straight for the butthole again! I pulled all kinds of maneuvers to get his hand off of me, and then he resorted to standing up and bhangra-ing with me for a few minutes. Repeat a few times and you have a sense of how my hour with this guy went.

The story ends with a white publishing industry guy waving me over to him and straight up asking me if I want to go to the champagne room with him. Note: This never ever happens!!! I considered myself very lucky... Until I got back there, and he started asking me if my orgasms are mostly clitoral or g-spot. I told him clitoral, but I can also come through penetration. And then, very quickly, he goes, "let me try something real quick" and tries to stick his Finger In My Ass! Call F.I.M.A.!

What is up with this? Should I just take these as backhanded compliments?

There's the rub...

This customer has showed up twice so far. He's not really picky about which girl he spends his cash on (as long as she's dark-haired), and he always parks himself in the darkest corner of the club. I've danced for him on two separate occasions, and neither time did he allow me to take off my dress during lapdances. He just wanted to massage me. It was actually kind of nice at first - a shoulder rub, fingers through my hair, etc. But both times he's gotten all up in my face, literally and very deeply massaging my cheeks, my forehead, and then repeatedly doing this thing where he'll pucker my lips with his hands. (Picture a fishface being held in place by his creepy ass fingers.) With this pose in place, he may or may not try to kiss me. He'll also try to massage my eyelids or put his fingers in my mouth. The whole thing turns into a sort of Lapoeira-esque push and pull situation, but those caressing hands are strong! He'll "spin my head right round" and go right back to massaging away! It's so fucking creepy. I'm not sure I want his fingers all up in my grill (trying to get me to a hotel) when I have a pretty delicately-applied layer of makeup on my face, when swine flu clings to all sorts of surfaces, and when I think having a smashed, contorted face during a dance is just pretty fucking awkward.

Gentleman's Flub

A month or so ago, I had this great customer. Really nice, older white dude, very generous. We spent an hour in the champagne room and bonded over our shared politics, and he shared with me some great suggestions for dining and theater. The hour in the back ended with kind words being exchanged, along with email addresses. I went home and Googled him to discover that he's a very successful producer on Broadway.

The following email exchange ensued:
Him: I had a blast meeting you today. You are awesome, and we definitely had a spark. Good luck with the new school year, and write me back with when you're free for dinner.

Me: Thanks, I felt likewise meeting you. You're terrific company. Unfortunately, I don't think I can go out with you since you're my customer; if you find yourself in NYC again, stop by the club!

Him: I know you feel hesitant about meeting me, but please consider it. It's impossible to deny that something rare happened between us.

Me: Yes, I know we had a connection, but I feel very uncomfortable crossing that line. It's not you,* it's just the rule.

Him: Please reconsider. Perhaps we can meet in a very public place, just dine, and leave it at that.

I never responded to that email; I figured the more I said no, the more he'd just step up his persistence.

A few weeks later I was dancing in the cage in the front of the club and some guy was talking to me and tipping me for shaking my ass and in strolled Broadway Guy! I thought he reconsidered and decided it was better for us to hang out in the club than not at all, so I gave him a big grin. He nodded at me, but walked past. I assumed he was being respectful toward me and the customer I was entertaining. Said customer ended up swallowing much of my time for the rest of my shift, so I didn't really get to see or talk to Broadway.

The next time I was at work, Broadway came back again. This time, I was not busy when he showed up. He walked right past me, over to one of the waitresses, and started lavishing compliments on her, holding her hands and playing with her hair, right there in front of me. Another waitress walked by and he did the same thing. Then he went and sat with this dancer, right in front of me, and was talking to her really loud and being showy about all the affection he was giving her. When he walked past me at one point, I grabbed his arm to say hi (I didn't really mind that he was hanging out with others, though I did mind the cold shoulder) and he looked at me and then looked away, and kept walking.

Um, seriously!? You really think acting like this is going to make me wish I'd gone out with you? Were you so busy making millions of dollars these past few decades that you forgot to become an adult? Is it normal behavior for grown men to behave like fucking imbeciles?

Also, he literally just rolled into the club, lavished every girl except me with a few hugs and compliments, and left. If he really wanted to make me regret it, he should have given a very visible million dollar tip to someone, or something. I'm not sitting there like "Damn! I wish I was that girl not making a buck while this rich old fart admires my red toenails!"



*Not entirely true. I generally don't date bald, 52-year old rich white men who spend all their spare time in strip clubs. But, to his credit, he was really charming and funny and intelligent the first time we met.

A wolf in Veep's clothing

There was this dashing older man in a tie tipping me at the stage, so I pulled up a chair when I was done with my stage set. He didn't seem that interested until I said something about summer almost being over. "You're in school? What do you study?" The conversation quickly turned into a double-entendre-peppered debate between a libertarian trained as a political scientist, and myself. In the real world, I walk away rolling my eyes. In strip club world, I tolerate his elitism and ignorance and embrace a Maria Shriver-esque bipartisan camaraderie so I can take all the money this colorblind meritocracy has allowed him to earn. Indeed, he does end up spending a chunk of money on me, after giving me a very long speech about how confused his penis is, ("He came here looking for anything other than intelligent conversation with a hot cosmopolitan woman!", he tells me, talking about his penis in the third person, I suppose) and how libertarianism is anticolonial. My gentle (still trying to get his cash!) protests only excite him more. He slips me his business card (containing his first, middle, and last name - each of which sounds like a very old-school English last name...) before he leaves, and tells me to get in touch. ("Coffee, tea, or me" were his exact words, I believe.)

Dutifully, I google him as soon as I get home. The man was a nominee on the primary ballot for VP in several states a few elections ago*! I found a gazillion news articles about him, his happy marriage and four children, his Ivy League pedigree, and his views on how libertarian politics can solve all our foreign policy issues. I can't believe I was debating politics with a right wing U.S. politician! It's like playing devil's advocate with the devil himself...




* Apparently there are only a couple states that even have a primary ballot for VP.

Their byte is worse than their bark...

Giving regular customers my email contact is a great way to let customers know when I'm working, thank them when they make my day, alert them when I'm taking time off. It's also a great site for some absolute hilarity. Checkitty check some exchanges from various customers below:


Exhibit (A)
Him: "Hi, it's Sam from Delhi. I met you today. Care to meet for drinks Saturday night?"
Me: "It was great meeting you too. Unfortunately, I don't go out with customers. Come meet me at the club again!"
Him: "What about Sunday? I can get us a hotel room."



Exhibit (B)
"we are on the lake. this is a fine evening.....not very hot....nor very cold....cool breeze from the lake....i am there....and you are there too....

now we are at the middle of the lake.....no other boats are near by......far away we can see the sun setting slowly.......full bright red sun.......sometimes hiding in the clouds....and sometimes peeping out of it.....slowly immersing into the water.....we can see ducks moving around.....maa goes in front and the ducklings follow....in a line. some times it lifts out of the water and shake its body....we are standing in the openness.....you standing in front of me....i am holding you from behind.....we are just standing there ... looking into the vastness....staring at the stars now slowly emerging.....the moon slowly ascends.....your face is shining in the moonlight.....what a beauty to look at your face......you smiling with your eyes closed now.....touching my heart you telling me 'what is inside here matters'......i am deeply touched.....tears come into my eyes.....how soon you found it, oh my baby......you are always with me since the moment i saw you.......always,always thinking about you......

my dear...i can't wait any longer to see you......i miss you....."



Exhibit (C):
Him: "I will come see you on Friday for sure. And tell me, can we plz have SEX in the champagne room?"
Me: "Looking forward to seeing you, but sorry, I don't break those rules."
Him: "Ooh, don't break the rules, you're teasing me even online. Also, can you please send me a picture of you?"


Exhibit (D):
Him: "Amazing meeting you today!!!"
Me: "Great meeting you too. Pay me a visit next time you're in NYC, please!"
Him: "I have a lot of road time today. May I call you?"
(I didn't respond.)
Him: "Here is a picture of my dog Chuck"
(I didn't respond.)
Him: "Here is a picture of me before a baseball game."
(I didn't respond.)
Him: "My son is enrolling in this honors program at his college this fall. (hyperlink)"
(I didn't respond.)
Him: (sends the same baseball picture of himself in an email, no text)
(I didn't respond.)
Him: "Hey! I haven't heard from you in a while. Everything all right?"
(I didn't respond.)

I think he's playing hard to get rid of. Ick.



Meanwhile, I have this new customer who's absolutely awesome. He's a literature guy and feeds me tons of great reading suggestions, and after a few minutes of talking about Melville and Hawthorne's deep friendship, interspersed with some witty banter, we transition to moneymaking time. He tells me he thinks I'm awesome, pays me, and leaves. It's perfect because he's nice and has good boundaries, but then he'll be like "Oh, I came on Thursday and you weren't here. I was pretty disappointed." My schedule isn't the same every week, so I want to give him my email address, but I think that might be TMI for him given how appropriately guarded he is.

Two Wrist Attraction

Customer yesterday, mad obsessed with wrists. In the lapdance, he just wanted to kiss my wrists and didn't even want me to undress. Score! That's all I got...

Club Hoping

So, a full week after the raid, I am gainfully employed at a higher-end Manhattan club and generally very happy.

The cons?
-There are a handful of old customers who I don't know how to get ahold of who won't be able to find me at my new joint.
-This club is pretty strict about scheduling, fees, fines, etc.
-I won't have as many irritating or disgusting stories to blog about.
-The DJ played "Breakfast at Tiffany's" once this week.

Needless to say, the pros are numerous. The club management treats us really professionally, and the physical layout of the space reflects that. I'm fairly certain (not sure yet) that there is no fucking or sucking happening in the club. Lapdances here are actual lapdances; at my old club, they were sitting on the guy's lap and grinding on him. That practice has come to a grinding halt at this new club, where you always keep one foot on the ground, 1950s sitcom style, during a dance. Money comes much more easily at this club, probably because it attracts a professional/touristy blend of customers. And three of my old customers have followed me to this new spot. All in all, I feel good. A week of work and not one guy has tried to get a tit in his mouth, a kiss on the lips, and definitely no one's tried anything below anyone's belt. I realize how different the job feels when it doesn't seem like Lapoeira .

I am sad because I miss my friend coworker from the other club. In the raid, everyone scattered, and she's working somewhere else now. I discovered the raid actually happened because of some discrepancy in the club blueprints or some BS, which to me sounds like code for cops have issues with this club, or something. I think the neighborhood's impending gentrification does not bode well for adult establishments in the area.

Bad Raidings

I'll give you the bad news first. Yesterday, my club got raided. The good news? I wasn't there. My friend from work emailed me to let me know. I don't know what exactly happened, other than ten cops showing up, and the club now being closed 'indefinitely.' No girls were arrested... Knowing my club, the violation could range from the open and unabashed cigarette smoking to the open and unabashed soliciting (blow jobs and sex are available from many girls for the right price). Then again, knowing how law enforcement deals with strip clubs, there might not have been any real violation, but rather an underwhelmed group of cops dealing with a slow Thursday afternoon.

Anyway, I was less than pleased to discover I would not be able to go to work today. Not only that, but my heels and outfits are all stowed in my locker at the club, so I can't even hit the road and find another place to work, even though there are a half dozen new clubs I'm eager to try. It's kind of like the opposite of all dressed up and nowhere to ho.* From my brief research, it is likely that my club will be up and running in a few days, but the idea of being "out of work" is really unsettling.

Even more unsettling is the realization that these raids happen - frequently - and if I choose to continue dancing, I may not be as lucky to go unscathed. I happen to not offer "extras" in VIP unlike 80% of the girls at my club, but this fact rarely matters when the long arm of the law swoops in... In fact, usually raids end in indiscriminate arrests regardless of what "laws" the girl is breaking.

Speaking of laws, is there a guidebook out there in terms of what constitutes legality in the sex industry? I've talked to dancers who have been arrested for giving a lapdance and being within a half-foot of the customer. I'm sorry, but I've had lap dances where I've had a half-foot in the guy's mouth! Clearly, this is a violation. Apparently when guys tuck stage tips between your breasts, this counts as a form of sex work as well. At the end of the day, it's up to the cops, the connections club ownership has with the police, and dumb luck. If a cop wants to arrest me for prostitution, he pretty much can. I've heard of girls being taken in for patting another dancer on the butt!

Knowing this fucked up aspect of our so-called justice system was actually a big part of why I went into dancing in the first place ... but thinking about how close I am to a criminal charge actually scares the shit out of me. Apparently, it's easy to shake such a charge if you hire the right lawyer, but am I looking to spend all my hard-earned cash on a sex crimes attorney just to clear my name? The recommendation is generally to accept the charge, pay the fine, and have a misdemeanor on my record.

Right now I'm fighting the urge to spend a couple hundred bucks on new shoes and an outfit so that I can start working again today; I think I should let dust settle, let the weekend pass, and see what the deal is for my current club in a couple days...



*Thanks, $pread Magazine!

Cowboy and Indian

This is another, let's let the transcript speak for itself type post. Friday afternoon, a new guy strolls in the club and flashes me a smile. I approach him.

"Well hello there, young lady. Do have a seat."
"Thank you! You're a new face - nice to meet you."
"Well you are a VERY well spoken young lady. I'm guessing you're hyper-intelligent."
"That's my story and I'm sticking to it."
"What are you drinkin?"
"Water, neat."
"Ha, ha. Water neat. Well if I don't have you drinking whiskey by 5:30 then I'll be damned. So tell me, what is an intelligent, well-spoken young woman like you doing working here? I mean, I don't mean this with any level of disrespect toward these girls, but most of them have an abusive boyfriend, who resembles quite closely their abusive fathers, and side jobs selling dope. But you know, you look like an Asian woman, probably someone from a tradition where family is very very important. And you're hyper-intelligent, which is sexy as hell. You could look like Rosie O'Donnell and I'd be coming back from Amarillo Texas just to see you. But you know what the great part is? You're as sexy as you are hyper-intelligent. It's those eyes. You speak with those eyes. I can tell you started off trying to dumb yourself down for me. You must dumb yourself down for a lot of guys in here, which is a damn shame, because it's how hyper-intelligent you are that is a big part of your beauty. That, and your wild hair. Woo! (girl steps down from stage for a tip) Well, hello young lady. Here's a little something for you; I'll tell you, there's nothing a cowboy like me loves more than a beautiful black woman. Take care now. Anyway, see, you're nothing like her. You are hyper-intelligent. But that can be a curse too, because no guy is good enough for you. Let me guess... You hate relationships, because the boys get too clingy and get in the way of your ambitions. And you do have ambitions, let me tell you. You probably appreciate older guys, in their 50s like myself, because we know to give you space, and we know how to make love to you. Do you, let me just ask you this, do you know where your G spot is? Oh, my god, I love how honest you are with me. You know, the biggest medical myth is that every woman's G spot is in a different location. But actually, and I know you appreciate the scientific method, reliable studies have proven that there is actually more variation in size and location of the clitoris and not the G spot. You see, the G spot corresponds to the prostate on the male, it's differentiated earlier in embryonic development. But it's in the same space. Now, let me just take a moment to tell you how breathtaking you are. I'm only in town from Texas now and then, but you call me, on a moment's notice, we could be eating seafood in Barcelona, admiring Gaudi. And the good thing about Barcelona is that there are plenty of men my age with women your age; we'd fit right in. Now, I wouldn't say I have a foot fetish, but there is nothing more erotic than a beautiful, hyper-intelligent woman showing me her feet in stockings, and letting me suck on her toes. Have you ever taken Viagra? Next time I come, I'll bring you some. Don't tell anyone; that sort of thing can get me fired. But it doesn't make you hornier, it just makes your genitals more sensitive; the blood rushes there. Now there is nothing a man loves more than the scent of a woman's genitals. I mean, it's just the source of all pheromones. Men, on the other hand, we need to wear musk and cologne to attract women. Oh, see that girl? I'm embarrassed to tell you this, but she's given me oral and manual stimulation in the lapdance room. I mean, I'm sure she does what she needs to. But I can tell by looking at you that you don't break any rules here, or anywhere. No, you're not looking for a pimp or a sugar daddy. I mean, I won't insult you by paying you a fee for our trips to Spain, but believe me, I will treat you right. We can get a suite, stay there. I will shower you with affection. And if you don't want intercourse, that is fine. I am an old man. I've had enough intercourse in my life. I want you. I want intimacy. If I have to hold you and caress you for three nights straight, and then fly straight back to Texas, I'd be fine with that. Yes I would."

This conversation lasted as long as his supply of $20 bills did - a LONG time.