Lucky

I try not to talk about Jamie a lot at work. I don't like mixing those two. It's hard to talk about work with him because he hates my job. I hate it too, but sometimes I need to talk about it. I hate talking about him at work especially to the men. When I do, it makes me feel more like a whore than usual.

I bring Jamie up for two reasons.
-The first reason is used far more often. I bring up Jamie to distance myself from the guy. They start getting touchy-feely in the creepy "I want to date you" kind of way. So I bring up Jamie and how we're very, very, very serious and completely and totally in love. I also make sure to tell them that no man will ever even come close to comparing. With the this the guy has one of two reactions. The first reaction is that the guy gets pissed off and wants me to leave him alone. Which I am more than happy to comply with his wishes. Or the second reaction is the more common and the one that pisses me off "Oh... Well you make sure to tell him I say he's a really lucky guy." Here's the reaction that goes through my head: "I'm not going to tell him that! How dumb are you? Telling him he's lucky that I'm awesome, from a guy that is paying me because I'm a stripper. Oh my God! You're a genius. That's totally what gets him going. Being reminded that I take my clothes off for money." Here's my real reaction: "Thanks." I get up and leave cause the guys a douche.
-Second reason is to bring myself closer to a guy. I the case of a regular there comes a conversation, farther down the line where they want to know about my personally life. In order for them to feel like they have my confidence and are truly getting to know "me" I tell them about Jamie. I make up fake problems that we. They feel like they can help me talk through them. This allows us to be "closer" and then I make more money. I hate talking about Jamie, but in this circumstance all they get is his name. They don't learn anything about him. They still tell me "he's lucky."

Lucky. He's lucky that I make a lot of money because I take my clothes off. He's lucky that other guys get to touch me. He's lucky that I flirt for a living. He's lucky that thousands of men have seen me naked. He's lucky that something so personal is there for any one to see if they pay the right price.

I don't know how he deals with it as well as he does. He's special. He can keep living and keep loving me even through this job. He is stronger than most. I'm going on my anniversary of working at the club. Jamie and I have been together almost a year and a half. I have been working for twice as long as we've been together. It's hard for me. I don't know how it's not killing him.

You know Jamie is a real lucky guy.

Boredom

I'm so bored and I have nothing to do right now, so I thought I would write a post. I was just thinking about a regular that hasn't crossed my mind in about six months.

I live and work in Iowa. I wouldn't think that Iowa would be a huge business destination, but I have a huge number of clients that are from out of state. I tend to do really well with this crowd. I like them best of all too because it's usually their first time in and they don't know the rules. This means that they won't touch me because they think they will get in trouble. They're also more likely to be lonely and more interested in my conversation. They also have more money, on average.

I met this regular last June. He came in two or three times a month for five months. He was from California. Most the time he stopped in when he was in town for work, but sometimes when he had nothing else to do and wanted company, he would fly to Iowa just to me.

There's a turning point with regulars. They can go one of two ways. The regular forms an attachment that is of the romantic sort. You need to cut these regulars because these are the ones that will turn into stalkers. They can also go the way of friendship. These are the ones that come into the club that want company and just to talk. They  no longer get dances. These are also the ones that you can convince to help pay your bills. We keep these regulars.

Anyways my regular from California started going way of stalker. I eventually had to tell him I no longer wanted to see him any more. Because he lived in California I was pretty safe of never seeing him again.

I don't know why I thought of him today, but I did.

Angry Moments at Work!!!

So after the awkward moments at work. I thought I would do an angry moments at work post. I feel much more strongly about these, and there's more of them.

It's my third day working, a Friday. At this point, I have absolutely no clue what I am doing. I am like a blind person trying to find my way through a mine field. (That might be a bit extreme, but that's what it felt like.) I was approached by a Hispanic man, and I quickly found out that he was from Mexico and spoke almost no English.  He was young, and very excited to be at the strip club, that I could tell. We had a stunted conversation that was a nice combination of his poor English and my poor Spanish. We did one song. I was wearing a gold string bikini. The sides were just tied in bows, so that it would be easy to take off on stage. At the end of the song he said he was done. So I got up and had my back to him. I felt a tug on my bikini and he tried to pull it off. As I turned around he had his dick out. He handed me three dollars. Took me by the hair and tried to force my head down to blow him. He said "It's my Birthday, make it special. I'm 23." I slapped him and had him thrown out of the club. The funny thing is that what was going through my head at the time was "THREE dollars! Three. First of all, I would never do that. Ever. Second, I am worth SO much more than three dollars. Fuck him!" That was my first weekend night. It wasn't my last. But it was the beginning of a trend of assholes that crawl out of their holes on the weekend and congregate together at the strip club.


It was my second month working, and a Saturday night (of course) around 1:30 in the morning, so pretty early. I had started, key word started, learning how to be on the offensive at work. I let my guard down on stage because I figured there were hundreds of people around, so nothing would go wrong. And the bouncers would protect me... (common misconception about bouncers). Well, I was on stage and it was busy. There was a guy with a lot of ones in front of him, so I went over and talked to him for a brief moment. I was completely naked because it was towards the end of my set. I squatted down because it's easier on my knees than kneeling. I wasn't very close to the edge of the stage. I felt like it was a safe distance. The guy's friend jumped up really fast and fingered me in front of everyone. I hit him so hard. I was so pissed. I wanted to scream at him. I called the bouncer over, and his response was "I didn't see anything." I hate this bouncer, luckily he has been fired since then. And he can go to hell for all I care. Anyways, I got FINGERED on stage in front of everyone. I was furious. I just wanted to rail on the guy. It is the one and only time I have cried at work. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried til I threw up. No one saw, no one knew. I couldn't show any weakness at work at this point. I had no allies, no one to protect me. I was new, and not worth a thing to anyone. I ended up leaving early that night because I was so upset. To make matters worse that night I got home to my apartment filled with people I did not know every where. I had such a bad night, and then Jamie and I fought because he didn't even listen. I slept in the car.

I always wear a gold ring on my right, index finger. It's a simple band, nothing flashy. I was working on a Wednesday night, and it was about 2:30 in the morning. I was done for the night, and so I was walking across the floor towards the stairs to the dressing room. All of a sudden a guy grabbed me around the waist and sat me on his lap. I looked at him, and it was a Mexican. He and his two friends were decked out in cowboy hats and alligator skin boots. The one had me pinned in his lap. One grabbed my foot and was trying to take off my shoe. The other had my hand with my ring on it. The one, who's lap I was sitting on, was trying to talk me into going for a private dance. (I had made a lot of money, and was not interested.) I kept saying "no" and he kept pleading in a thick accent.  The one that was holding my hand was trying to pull my ring off my finger. My FINGER! But I had it bent in he wasn't able to remove it. I grabbed my hand away, and then I realized the other one had my shoe off and was trying to hide it from me. I hit the guy, who's lap I was on hard enough he let go. I grabbed my shoe. They started yelling "whore" "slut" "bitch" "cunt" "I'll fuck you when you least expect it." I went home.

I had been dancing for six months, and hadn't worked many Saturday nights in the last three months. I had gotten really good at protecting myself, so bad things were happening less often because I knew how to avoid it. Anyways, it was the first Saturday I'd worked in a month and a half. I was chatting with an older guy, when he started talking about the last time I danced with him, and how I was such a good kisser. (He was sober.) I responded with "I'm sorry, but you have me confused with someone else. I don't do that." He was very adamant, that we made out in private dance. "I swear to God it was you!" "You must have been to high, and don't remember." At this point I said "Go fuck yourself." And walked away.


The last Saturday I worked was a disaster. First, it was a bad day. There weren't very many people and no one made very much money. Second, the stages are made out of wood and cheap wood. The panels were starting to separate. The main stage had a few panels that had 1/4 to 1/2 inch separations with sharp edges. Third, the girls are bitches and always looking to start problems and cause drama. It was my first stage set of the night. I had worked quite a bit that week, and my knees were sore and pretty raw. I have a lot of calluses on my knees form dancing so much. I didn't notice it until I got off the third stage, which was covered in blood. One of my knees had been torn open by the separated panels on the first stage. There was blood all over my leg. You'll think I'm exaggerating when I streaming, but I'm not. The girl after me in rotation, Jen, is a bitch anyways, and she doesn't like me at all. She started screaming at me to find a bouncer to clean the stage so she wouldn't catch anything from my disgustingly diseased blood. I would just like to say, that I am clean. And one of the most respectable girls at work. Anyways, I was now feeling the large gash, and it hurt. But I searched all over the place looking for a bouncer. I finally went up to the dressing room and told the DJ to let one of the bouncers know. I found all of the bouncers hanging out in the dressing room. I told them, and they said "we'll be right on it." Well they didn't. And my friend Adrian made me sit down and helped me take care of my knee. It looked pretty bad, to be honest. Jen stormed upstairs and started screaming at me that I came upstairs and was chatting people up instead of cleaning up disgusting, germ-infested blood off the stage. Adrian, the toughest and most feared girl at the club. Started yelling back. "She was fucking looking everywhere. Tim [the DJ] and I made her sit down and take care of it. You have no right to yell at her. She's never fucking done anything to you bitch. She deserves respect. Give it to her, or you'll regret it." Anyways, bad night. I hate weekends.


I have a heart condition that likes to screw with my working. The past two and a half weeks have been pretty bad, and so I've had to cancel on my regular twice. I had started feeling better, and planned out my week. My symptoms came back with a vengeance combined with my painful period. So I wasn't going to go into work. But my regular texted me half an hour before I had to be there (and I live twenty minutes away) saying "Hey, I'm in town today see you soon." I responded saying "Oh? I thought we were scheduled for tomorrow." "Yeah, but that doesn't work for me. Today does." "Oh... Okay" "Well if you're busy, don't change your plans for me." "No, it's fine I'll be there." UGGGGGHHHHH. What I wanted to say is "I don't go because I enjoy your company. I got because you pay me $300 every week. I just want your money. If you would give me the money without me being there, duh! I wouldn't change my plans." This is me being spoiled.

My angry moments as a stripper, have changed over the last year.