Coastal Lapdancing - A Weekend in Bournemouth

Whenever summer comes, London clubs are seriously empty, so it can seem like a good idea to pack up and head down the coast to where all the stag parties are.
I spent last weekend in Bournemouth, the stag and hen capital of Britain, hoping to make some juicy cash from the inebreaited masses.
It was a complete and utter ball ache from start to finish.
The club required you to be on the floor at 9 and finished at 6am, so it was going to be a long shift, in a strange club, with different rules, policy and layout.  Eeek...
After a 4 hour drive from London in a car filled with 4 fellow strippers, I was hot, sweaty and late.  We didn't even have time to go to the hotel, so I did my makeup in the car and did the rest in the club.
It was a real labyrinth, with more staircases than you can shake a stick at. The main floor was three flights away from the changing room, and the dance booths were a double flight of stairs from the main floor and bar.  By the end of the night, my feet were swollen and bleeding from dragging guys up and down the stairs.  Even worse, as it was stag party central, the dances were generally one at a time - few guys stayed for more than one or two, as they wanted to try lots of different girls, or were too cheap, or were too scared of the letters 'VIP'.

Arriving at the hotel at 7am, we were shown to a dingy room that stank of mould. I was sharing with another girl, and we quickly passed out, only to be woken up a few hours later by the concierge.
They had double booked the room, and we had to move ASAP - but the next room wouldn't be ready till 1pm, so we had to keep ourselves busy somewhere else for a few hours.
I packed my stuff and moved into an even crappier room, before passing out for another 2 hours.
The girls and I got to the club for our 2nd night, and it was super busy.  Unfortunately they take such a HUGE commission, I had to march up and down those fucking stairs with a steady succession of drunk stags and their pals for the next 9 hours straight to be in hope of earning anything back.

As I said, it was bachelor party central.  Some were dressed as penguins, with black leggings and colouful jock straps.  One was an ex-Olympic rower who was only interested in sex.  Another stag was dressed as a giant baby, with oversized nappy, bib, cap and a huge dummy swinging awkwardly from his neck.  Several groups had matching T-shrts, caps - one lot were all wearing antlers, which kept on turning up in strange places like the DJ booth, stage and at tip-out time, I swear I saw a pair in the managers office.  Dancer's are like magpies sometimes.

After working a Friday and Saturday night shift, it was time to drive home.  Sunday turned out, helpfully, to be the hottest day of the English year so far, a sweltering 30 degrees, but at least there was no traffic.  As I massaged my swollen feet and burning thighs and swore never to work in a club with stairs again, I counted my crumpled notes.  I'd checked the tip-out list, and I'd actually been in the top 5 of earners on Saturday, but with the commission, I'd lost well over a third of my earnings.  Take out the hotel and petrol money, stress and lack of sleep, and I don't think I will be going down there again for a while.
Unless, of course, the London stripclub scene comes to a standstill..... Then stripping in Bournemouth will suddenly seem an attractive prospect again.....

Stripping for Stag Parties

Summer's here, and it calls for a different attitude to dancing.  The hustle is now all about working the busy weekends and large groups of stag parties.
Stag parties roam from day out to pub to stripclub to nightclub then back to stripclub in large groups.  For many it will be their first time; first time meeting the grooms dodgy cousins, first time in a stripclub, first time they have worn a novelty T-shirt with a dumb-ass nickname emblazoned across it's back.
Some stag parties take to strip-clubs like a fish to water, but annoyingly for us dancers. many need a lot more persuading.  Do you know how infuriating it is for a stripper to see a group of 20 guys come in, but then for 19 of them to insist that they are only here for the stag and he will be the only one having dances.  WTF? Suddenly, a group of 20 guys who may have danced with 15-25 different girls becomes a group of noisy, jeering idiots who are happy to watch the free stage show and only dance with the lucky few dancers who get the stag.  I'm telling you now, it can make us so angry - but as any hustler worth her salt will tell you, we have ways of persuading you.

a) Wait till you get drunk.  Even better, persuade everyone that shots are de rigeur on a Saturday night bachelor party.
b) Remind those who don't visit lapdancing establishments that this opportunity to have a hot threesome with Itsy and Bitsy won't happen again for a long time.
c) If they are really, really boring - so dull that it beggars belief that they are calling this a party, then hit them in the man-sized jugular of pride.  Tell them that this is a super-dull bachelor party - and jeez, am I an expert as I've seen so many - and that you and the stag will spend the rest of their lives regretting that they did not pull a Charlie Sheen and spend all night with a pair of tits in their face.  Tell them that the stories down the pub will be short and booed down. Tell them that the best man's speech will be politely clapped.  Tell them that the groom will secretly harbour resentment that he was not dressed up on stage as a nun and whipped with his own belt by some leggy Eastern Europeans and got lost in the VIP. Tell them that if they do not join him in these antics it will make him look like a sex-craved greedy bugger and he will feel lost and alienated at a time which is meant to be showing group solidarity.
d) remind them that this is not as bad as 'The Hangover', but, a true wolf-pack doesn't let a member hunt alone.  They are in this good time together, so let's fucking PARTY!

I love dancing for stag parties.  After a week of hustling suits, Essex boys and various smelly men with dodgy accents, a guy in a dress that is up for it turns me on.  Us lap dancers spend ages choosing, tweaking and putting together our best outfits, so it's great to see men getting in on the act too.
My favourite outfits include;

• Where's Wally
• Cave man
• Roman Centurion (I checked under his skirt for underwear - unfortunately he wasn't commando)
• Guys in drag
• Identical, brightly coloured T-shirts with matching slogans/nicknames - this is because it makes them easy to spot and dance for different members of the group.
• A chicken

As the summer goes on I will be writing several more strip club & stag party posts, plus any uber-interesting adventures that I have with them on their last night of freedom.  I love stripping for stag parties, whether it is taking them for a private lapdance or getting them up on stage and abusing them.    So if you have a stag party coming up, remember to dress up and make sure that the whole wolf pack gets down and dirty with us ladies - it's only one night, and what happen's in the strip club, stays in the strip club!!!

Stripper Stereotypes #8; The Glamazon AKA the Brazilian Lapdancer

The Glamazon's AKA The Brazilian Stripper - lean, sleek, glam.  As a stripper stereotype, they have been on the rise in the last few years as the sexy women of Brazil have been put on the map as more than just a girl from Ipanema.  Nowadays, you will find several girls from Brazil in any stripclub you care to visit, and boy were they born to do it.

The average Brazilian lapdancer has several things going for her.  Firstly, she can move.  Brazilians can shake their arse like no-one else, having practised since birth doing the salsa, meringue and rumba at carnivals up and down the country.  Their booty shaking is an art form, as it doesn't just wobble and spill - it undulates rhythmically, matched by a beautifully still, curved S-shape back.  It's mesmerising to watch, especially when said bottom is draped around a pole with brightly coloured strobes playing across her curves.

Ah, those curves!  Curves of some shape or form are pretty much a pre-requisite for a stripper, and the Brazilians have beautifully pronounced bodies.  The arse is big, the tits are big, the lips are big.  Brazil is one of the world's top countries in the world for plastic surgery, and it's de-rigeur for a woman to have several enhancement op's. I know one Glamazon who has had 4 or 5 plastic surgery procedures already, and she is only 19 years old.  Even better, many of the operations seem to have been designed with taking your clothes off in mind.  Take the bottom enhancement, or 'bum-job'.  Basically a boob-job for your arse, silicon implants are inserted into your cheeks to give it a nice, rounded look.  Your bottom will forever be perky and will look great in jeans.  However, many Brazilian girls have had this procedure whilst cultivating a tiny waist and super lean body, which means that their bottom looks a little boxy - less curvy, more like a shelf to rest your beer on. Or perhaps they double-up as a great cocktail shaker?

Brazilian Glamazons always have amazing manes of hair, like a superhero.  It's thick, glossy and black, and in fantastic condition because Brazil invented the Brazilian blowdry and statistically has more beauty and hair products than Imelda Marcos had shoes.  Naturally, this is hair on the head, as the rest of them are hairless and waxed as smooth as a baby's bum save a tiny landing strip nestling above their (surgically enhanced) designer vagina.

Brazilian lapdances are a trend that is set to rise as it's a funny trueism of lapdancer immigration that where one girl goes, her sister's follow (literally in many cases).   Like the Eastern European stripper demographic, they travel in packs, work in packs, and can magically break off from loud, incessant chatter in their native tongues to swoop on the nearest approaching customer.  Still, I do love the Glamazon's - the Brazilians are such a friendly, uplifting bunch and can really get a stripclub going with that carnival party atmosphere.  Now where's my mojito?

Marching down the Strand in my Knickers - The London Slut Walk 2011

It was a fantastic feeling to march down the Strand and into Trafalgar Square with my knickers on proud display during the London Slutwalk 2011.  The day itself, Saturday 11th June 2011, turned out to be a hot, sunny London summer day so was perfect weather to take your clothes off.
I shouted slogans, bonded with all types of activists, had a tear in my eye at the impassioned speakers and got thoroughly fired up at the all the crap society throws at us for being a girl (or gay/transgender/sex worker/rape victim - the list was long and the cause was loud).  I've spoken about the message behind the march in an earlier post, and I'll do so again, but for now I'll just comment on the day itself.
There were lot's of snap-happy photographers, and I must admit I had a fair few taken of me ( I had a fabulous outfit darlings).  However, as this blog is anonymous I'm afraid I can't show you a picture of me at the march, so instead here are a few snaps of my favourite London Slutwalkers;

These are old-school activists keeping it simple so that the strong message stands out.

 

 This Geisha uses her outfit to say her message for her - is this how we have to dress and act to not get raped or judged nowadays?

 The dominatrix in full length black latex must have been boiling in the sun, so along comes a nice blonde in pigtails to give her an icecream....

My favourite pair of the march.  Their inflatable cocks said "NO MEANS NO", note the shiny policeman's badge on their uniforms as a reference to the Canadian policeman's attitude which started the Slutwalk movement, and they were a really nice pair of guys from NYC to boot.  I had lots of fun camping around with them for a while before they left to go to Covent Garden to buy Baby Gaga breastmilk icecream.  As you do.....

I'm hoping the London Slutwalk is an annual thing - oh, and to top it off, the Naked Bike Ride went past us - TWICE!!!!

Stripclub Stereotypes #7; Bouncers at Stripclubs

One of the most memorable characters I encounter have to be the bouncers at stripclubs.  Sure, you expect dancers at stripclubs, and even waitresses at stripclubs, but the first person anyone meets as they walk up to the big doors with their silly little roped off area, gaudy neon sign and signposted promises of illicit girly fun inside is a big, huge, burly hunk of masculinity.  The Stripclub Bouncer.

Are these guys gentle giants, or are they steroid filled bullies? 

Do they hold a grudge against men or a complex against women?  

Are they nice to anyone? Ever?

The stripclub bouncer is an easy stereotype to spot.  They are usually very big - either very tall, very wide, or both.  They are usually dressed in black suits with some sort of tie, or have a thick long black overcoat and leather gloves in the winter.  They are the equivalent of a funeral parlour crossed with WWF.

They always come in pairs.  Bouncers approach their job straight out of the testament - like the doorkeepers for Noah's ark, they go anywhere two-by-two.  This can often be quite comical, if they have a little and large pairing.  It can also be really scary, if they are both equally matched, and tower over you.

Bouncers at any establishment are usually jobsworth's, and a strip club is no exception to the rule.  Do they know you? Do they even like the look of you? Are you acting silly, or drunk, or even breathing whilst waiting at their hallowed door?  If the answer to the above is no, no, no, then you may have a fight getting in.  Obviously if you fight, or argue, then you are definitely not getting in.  It's best to introduce yourself calmly and rationally, and slip them a £20.

For strippers, bouncers come in two groups - nice-ish and downright unfair.  As they are a form of semi-management at most clubs, they have the power to tell you off, kick your customer out, or slap you with a fine.  Have you ever been to a lapdancing venue and got into an argument with a dancer?  Did she plead, cajole then shout and finally storm off to get help?  Bet that took a good 5 minutes, didn't it?  The thing is, dancer's don't want to get the bouncers most of the time, as it just causes more trouble.  If a bouncer views it as a waste of his time, or a minor misdemeanour, then he will tell the dancer off in private afterwards.  Everytime a lapdancer fetches a bouncer, he remembers.  Before you know it, a lapdancer has a reputation for f**king things up.  (Naturally, some girls do deserve this reputation)

Still, if a dancer prances over to a bouncer without a problem they are usually say hello back.  I can always find a few bouncers in any club I work in who are friendly, fun, and like a chat.  However, bouncers in groups behave in the same way as all men in groups do - they make jokes at others expense. A girl has a cute arse? Joke about anal then.

Customer too drunk to see?  Joke about being ripped off then.

They kicked someone out? Big bragging story.

What about strip club bouncers and the customers?  Well now thats a mixed bag.  I've got so many stories of naughty customers and bouncers spoiling for a fight that I will have to save some for a future post.  Needless to say, if a bouncer gets called over to you, or finds you doing something you shouldn't - like drugs, grabbing a girl, or refusing to pay - then you need to shut up and listen.  Talking your way out of this one, especially when you have been drinking and the Russian blonde has given you a hard on and taken all your cash and your card is behind the bar, well, talking your way out of this one is going to be difficult.  He will probably think your a rude twat, call his mates over and drag you out of the club.  That's right, I said drag.  Security staff are specially trained to grab guys in a headlock, by the shoulders  (I've seen by the ear once), and forcibly move the wriggling, kicking, squirming body out of the club.  I've been on the sidelines a few times, and it's not pretty.  Very funny though to the bored strippers looking on.

There is still a lot I'd like to say in this post, but I want to see what comments I get on it.  I never knew that stripclub bouncers could be such an exhaustive topic!  But bless, bouncers at a strip club may be big, scary and menacing figures wielding power over all who enter, but, at the end of the day, they keep me safe.  When I've got my knickers round my ankles and suddenly feel vulnerable, I'm grateful that I can call over a 6"4 hero to save my ass.  Bouncers at my club, I salute you! 

When pole dancing is painful....

Maybe its because I'm a lazy dancer on the pole, but I've managed not to get a bruise as big as my friend did the other night.  When is pole dancing painful - and how bad can it be?
The most common injury is a bruise or two, and they are usually appear on the inside of your thighs, on your hip, or if you're really unlucky and fall off, your arse.
I've seen a girl fall head first a good 12 feet after losing her grip at the top of the pole.  The whole club gasped as she lay there for a split second, flat out on the marble floor, lights playing over her body.  She got up and, bless her, tried to continue her dance.  What a little trooper.  The entire club had seen though and she was called off stage pronto - you can't risk a death or lawsuit, and besides, even the meanest bouncers and managers are human inside.  (I think. Some are c**ts 99% of the time!)
Saying that another common injury from the pole is just big dumb clumpy shoes getting the way.  The amount of times I've kicked myself or wobbled and risked my ankles whilst the momentum of my legs kept going after a spin.  I've worked in clubs where the pole is mobile rather than static, so as soon as you grab hold of it you start moving.  Add alcohol and enthusiasm into the equation and you are royally screwed.
I've had some really painful pole dancing related injuries that didn't hurt too much when I first did them, but the bruises stayed and stayed till eventually I'd have to call in extra bottles of concealer and thick foundation to cover them up.  This usually results in a weird looking smear of pasty flesh cover-up with a blue/black undertone as my skin is pretty pale compared to a big mama black and blue shiner.
My friend was learning a new trick and had been practising on her pole at home.  You have to hold yourself against the pole whilst upside down and slide yourself bit by bit down the pole.  In case you want to try it at home, it's called a caterpillar.  It's a really impressive looking move, and definately not for beginners - or me for that matter.  Not after I saw the humongous shiner she had.  She came into work the other day and we were in the changing room going through the motions - make-up, hair, fake tan.  My pal was cursing the indaequacies of Max Factor as she tried to cover up a black and blue bruise that covered most of her inside thigh.  It was slightly scraped like it had been burnt or scraped too, so the make-up wasn't a good idea anyway.  I lent her a pair of stockings that I had in my locker, but even they didn't hide it entirely.  The next night she wore some really thick black hold-up stockings, I think they were Wolford but they were definately an improvement.
So poledancing can be painful, poledancing can really hurt like a motherf**ker, but hey - poledancing is fun too, even when you're not a world expert.

Can a stripper get fat?

Yesterday on twitter I described how I ate a whole lemon meringue pie in one evening - and I got loads of replies from people giving me diet tips.  Do you get fat strippers?  Would I get sacked as a stripper if I got fat? Or porky, or chubby, or flabby arms, or a little round pot belly? Would you have a dance with a lapdancer carrying lots of junk in her trunk?  (That's a post for another time, methinks.)

It really pissed me off that the automatic reaction to me eating a pie was 'go and starve yourself'.  Like I need to go on a diet?  Stripping is a form of dance, keeps me active and toned, I go for jogs now and then, go to yoga classes in little groups of stripper yoga bunnies and sweat out last nights hangover (FYI, we are always in the afternoon classes).  Surely I'm entitled to a little slip now and then - I mean, it was a Bank Holiday, and Pirate's of the Caribbean was on.  Ok, so if I ate a tower of fluffy peaked meringue and gooey lemon curd every day then my body would inevitably swell up and I'd be at risk of losing my cushy position at one of London's top strip clubs.  You can get lapdancer's that carry their weight well, but generally if you put weight on in my industry, you get told to lose it, or your earnings go down as you don't get as many dances, or you get sacked.  Simply put, strip clubs are a very body conscious industry.

But the Twitter reaction wasn't all doom and gloom on whether my waist line was in danger of expanding and bursting out of my micro thong.
As one follower, @smistephen said, 'Eating a whole pie in one sitting every day makes you fat.  Eating a whole pie in one sitting once makes you AWESOME'