How we got here (pt 2)
So Islands was my first club. There was nothing special about it. Actually, it very seedy club. It was a nude club which meant there was no hard liquor. Only beer. Most guys came in already drunk. It was in Midtown, the clientele was a mix of businessmen and construction workers on their lunch break or after their shift. The “Champagne Room” was in the basement. And it looked like it was hardly ever used. I can't remember specifics but I do recall an ‘underwater’ theme happening there. It was very dark and desolate, almost like ‘no one can hear you scream’ kind of scenario. But I had nothing to worry about. Club rules were Only FULL Nude Privates happen in the Champagne Room. And that was NOT HAPPENING! To me, everyone has breast. And yes, they come in different sizes, shapes, colors, and perkiness. But for the most part they look the same. Down there?!?! That’s different. That’s intimate. It’s not for just anyone. Needless to say I didn’t really make much money there. But I did learn a couple of things.
You dance in a set with 3 other women. 4 songs is one set. If you want good music that gets you in the right mood to dance, entertain and make that money? Tip the DJ well. Or he will play some bullshit as emo techno song.
Leave the club in a FULL ON disguise. You don’t want customers to be able to spot you walking to the train to go home.
Don't trust any of the women you work with. Most of them have an ulterior motive.
Wipe down the pole before you dance next to it, on it, holding it, etc. ESPECIALLY in a nude club because some woman’s ‘juices’ are on it from the set before.
Never let the first “No” of your shift dictate your whole night. Every guy wants a lap dance. He just needs to be a bit more drunk to want to part with his money so easily.
Don't EVER, NEVER EVER put money in your mouth or touch your hands to your mouth after handling money without cleaning them. I have seen and felt first hand the places where men try to stick $1’s, $5’s, $20’s even $100’s. One dancer did this shoulder stance, opened her legs to 2nd position straddle, NUDE, had her customer place a $1 bill on her lips. Her lips that are south of the order. And she proceeded to make the dollar bounce. Bounce like a rookie cowboy at his first rodeo.
After about a month I moved on to a topless club, CityScapes, where I became more comfortable than I like to admit being a stripper and learned a few other things.
Have a backstory. Like a really good solid one. It can be reality TV worthy, something involving a crazy Baby-daddy, a pimp living off your earnings. Or it can be as simple as providing for your elderly parents and 5 kids. For some reason the sadder more bizarre the story, the more money they want to give you. I think it's part of that “Captain-Save-A-Hoe” mentality. You know, the let-me-save-you-from-your-tragic-life, even if only for a brief moment. Lexi had moved to the city from ATL, had 3 kids and was sending money back home to support my boyfriend and our 3 kids. It worked... until it didn’t.
Don't put too much thought into your look, even though the outfits are hella expensive for a little ass dress that barely covers anything and a matching g-string. Honestly it doesn't have to match. It doesn’t need to show your personality. No one gives a shit. All that matters is that your eyeliner is dark, your lips are glossy and dress is tight enough to show the impressions of your nipples and short enough to show half your ass cheeks. No one cares if it’s one shoulder, or it brings out your eye, or that you paid $95 for it. NO ONE CARES.
You don’t get to go up on stage, dance, take off your clothes and make a shit ton of money. Oh if it were that simple. You have to be invested. There’s level to this. At a plain ole local Strip club you want “Regulars” that come in specifically for you. And you have to be willing to become their therapist. Talk to them endlessly about their life, and hear the same story 10xs in one night. Or you could travel to a remote Strip club in the middle of nowhere the guys are a bit more seedy and sketchy and you stay for the weekend at a Motel across from the club in a single room with 8 other women you’ve never met. I’ve heard it's a little scary but the money is usually good. If you work at a Gentlemen's club where the patrons are a little more reserved, you have to know how to talk people out of their money and they treat you like you are a prostitute. The ones that come in with a shit ton of money to blow would like to give you a gynecological examine while you check their prostate for cancer. The don't just want to throw money at you for parading around half naked, or give you $50 for a lap dance. What they really want is this fantasy they’ve created. The want you to have wild crazy sex with them unlike what their wifes are willing to do. Then there’s the super rowdy clubs where you can make more money in a shift. There’s always a “baller” in there trying to show out and making it “rain.” But there you have to be ready to show a guy that if he keeps slapping and grabbing of your ass, calling you out your name you ‘bout to mop his ass up or find a bigger dude to do it for you.
Did you know that you have to pay the club inorder to work?!? Each club is different. But the majority looks like this, every night you work you have to:
Tip the DJ $15 & up - You already know why.
Tip the House Mother $10 & up -The House Mother is the one that watches your stuff. You can’t carry all your money with you all night. You don't have pockets. And even though there are lockers in the changing room, they usually are broken. And the dancers will try to steal your money, your outfits, whatever they can get.
Weekday you pay the house(Club) $50
Weekend you pay the house(Club) $60
And you have to work at least 3 weekdays in order to work a weekend night.
So if you didn't make over $85 in your 7 hour shift that you split with 11 other women, on a cold Tuesday night right before Thanksgiving, then you came out your pocket to prance around half naked all night.
It was a life I wasn't ready for. But somehow found myself getting really comfortable in it. CityScape was a mixed crowd between the reserved and rowdy crowd. I created my own little niche there. I was everyone's therapist. But the dirty talking therapist. I had this one regular that loved for me to talk dirty while giving him a lap dance. Eventually he got VERY comfortable with me and started asking me to say some off the wall shit. Like some, clearly playing for the other team. He wanted me to describe doing things to him that I CLEARLY didt have the equipment in which to do it. I gave him the name of a place downtown in the village that would be more his speed. Beside therapist I was also the tomboy who would talk sports and politics. I somehow befriended 2 pimps that frequented the club. One ended up being like a big brother, watching out for me, bringing me food because I was over the chicken wings the club served. The other was trying to wife me and have me run his Strip club in Canada and be in charge of the house, where 3 women lived who called him ‘Daddy.’ The longer I was there the more I became the “Shit Talker.” Like a bawlsy shit talker. Like the kind of woman that would catch a man trying to slap her ass, grabs his hand before he can make contact and twist his wrist and leans in close to say, “ You can only slap it if there a $10 bill or higher in your hand and you plan to kiss it to make it better. If not you will pull back a nub. Don’t try me.” CRAZY, right!?!? Like who was I?!?! But the most important thing I learned was
I can’t do this, none of this, all of this... I cannot do this sober.
If you can’t do this sober, then why are you here?