Hypnotising a stripper

I was hypnotised by a man today. He was French,older, and stank of sexual experience and allure. He had  an air of danger about him, a knowing smirk to his smile - like Vincent Cassell playing a playboy baddie in oceans 13. 
He approached me whilst I was sitting alone at the bar after just being rejected. It was a slow Tuesday, and I'd had a long and bad day. The fatalist in me had won, and I had just sat down, alone, composing my thoughts that it was not my fault that the previous customer had decided to dance alone with my friend not the two of us. Her apologetic shrugg as she walked off with me said it all ; "couldnt be helped,just the way things are sometimes".
As I sat there, a man - handsome and debonair, had sat down in the seat next to me. "may I?"then moments later he pressed a twenty into my hand." this is for you- just a little something for being so lovely"
We talked, he was a smooth operator and I was falling for his charms.  He spoke of sex, true sex thats built on trust and goes anywhere, does anything.  At one point he grabbed the top of my head with a single hand, his thumb pressing on my top chakra, and made me stare deeply into his eyes. Im sure he hypnotised me, because in that moment i wanted him more than anything else in the world.
We didnt do any dances, he simply tipped me twice more and left before id finished my glass.
I'll go to sleep and dream of him tonight, what could have been, that's for sure....

Stripclub Stereotypes #10; The Pushbutton Guy

If there is one thing a stripper dreams of, it's a push-button guy.  He'll agree to anything you ask, and if he can't make it happen immediately, he'll try and find a way to. And he will do it with a big smile.

I had a push-button guy this weekend just gone, and he was a cut-and-paste stereotypical push-button that had been lifted straight from the catalogue.

Did he want another dance?  Yes please!
Did he want to go to VIP? Yes please!
Could he pay in cash rather than using the club's money? Yes please!

I'm afraid ladies and gentleman, that I took everything that was in his wallet in dances and a half-hour of VIP.  But he was so incredibly grateful for my company and all the attention I was giving him. Suprisingly, he was a young, nice guy from Guernsey, a carpenter (they must pay a lot to put shelves up in Guernsey!)  He was slim and fairly alright looking, but fairly sexually inexperienced and hadn't had a girlfriend for a while.  To him,  I was the bee's knees, the sexiest, most charming woman he had come across for a while, and he delighted in telling me so, again and again, always with a big, dappy smile that stretched glowingly across his features. He was so grateful that he bent to my gentle, teasing coercion and agreed to everything - and then came in the next night too!

Don't get me wrong.  Pushbutton's are not there to be ridiculed.  When a woman receives lots of appreciation - whether its monetary or compliments, she's grateful and happy too.  That's why we wish all customers were as gentlemanly and sweet as pushbutton's are.  Both nights that we had were really, really good fun - we had a great connection and he revelled in every minute of his stripclub experience.  I'm sure this weekend will be in his wank-bank forever.

Sex life advice from Stripper Mum

Stripper Mum and I (yes, I know I wrote a post on stripper stereotypes based around stripper mums, and this yummy mummy was my main influence - these people do exist. This isn't a made-up blog written by a balding 40-something in Kentucky, you know. Luckily, this stripper mum is happily shacked-up with the baby daddy, but she still rocks a body like a porn star.  ).  Anyhow, Stripper Mum and I were chatting away the other day as we waited for the club to fill up, sipping away at a glass of wine to get us in the mood.  As it was a slow start to the night, we ended up talking for over an hour and she came out with some super funny shit.

"so when i was pregnant, I was so fat that I couldn't even get down there. I've never been so hairy in my life, but at least I couldn't see the swollen hairy jungle between my legs. You can sort of scrape it, but it's dangerous to be using a razor blade near your baby bump, ya' know?  And you can't manoeuver a dick there either.  My husband, bless him, must have got so horny.  At first you stop having sex, because you are are so big, it's hard to balance, and you are worried about hurting the baby.  So I started giving him blowjobs, but soon they had to stop, because I just couldn't balance myself and have a cock in my mouth at the same time.  The bump was in the way whatever I tried. The last few months of my pregnancy I was wanking him off, and it was so fucking boring.  Up down, up down, I used to stick porn on and fastforward to the cum shots so that he would hurry up."
I laughed at stripper mum, "I get so bored wanking people off sometimes.  I think oh, whats on the telly, or I forgot to buy any milk."
"Nah, it wasn't like that.  I wanted to have it off with him. It was boring because that was literally the only thing we could fucking do.  We'd both be horny, and it was like, oh, what can we do now? Oh yeah, I've ballooned like a whale and can only use my hands.  Even after I'd had the baby I was still all fat - took ages to get our sex life back."

It's my time of the month - to make money!

You would be forgiven for thinking that when a lapdancer has her time of the month that she takes a few days off work - after all, we are getting our pussies out.

Well you'd be wrong.

Getting a period is good for business!

My tits swell up like juicy soft melons. The water bloating just makes my full ass sexier - unlike jeans, tummy rolls can be carried off with aplomb in the right lingerie.
Weirdly, the men seem to sense it - I must be emitting some sort of sexual pheromone, because my takings are always up when I'm on. Other dancers have corroborated this with me so it's not like I'm talking like a weird freak here.
Mood swings happen so often in the stripclub world that they don't seem unusual to my fellow staff.

And what do we do with the string? Tuck it up us, of course, and be sure to check and change regularly!

How to VIP with a Dutchman

Last night I had a VIP experience with a Dutch guy.
To put it into context, the Dutch are from Holland which has the infamous Amsterdam city; a red light district and general national attitude of progressive and liberal attitudes to sex.

I last had a VIP with a Dutch guy a year ago, and it was hell.  He just couldn't get his head round the idea that he had paid several hundred pounds to spend an hour with me that didn't include sex, touching, head or kissing.  I remember having to use all my feminine wiles to keep him in there without demanding his money back, and keep the situation upbeat and sexy without having a bouncer storm in and haul me out for breaking every rule in the book.

So when this guy said he was from Holland, alarm bells started ringing in my head.

But this man was different.  He said I was an English rose, that he had been waiting all night for an English blonde to come up and say hello but all he had got was a steady stream of Eastern Europeans.  Apparently his wife is Eastern European and he wanted a different experience to the girl he had at home, thank you very much.  In a twist of fate, his friend had been approached by a sexy English girl with a sweet little Cameron Diaz style blonde look and had hung onto her all night.  The poor guy (lets call him Dutchie) had sat there secretly fuming and gradually getting more and more exasperated that he was in a busy club with 70 women and none of them made the mark.

So when I bounced up, Dutchie was delighted beyond belief!  It was the easiest VIP I'd ever sold, and I was gutted that I hadn't charged more for the hour as he whipped out his card so quickly.  Stupidly, I hadn't pushed for an hour and a half either, but the other girl had.  Thats what happens when you haven't worked together before - your so busy convincing the guy that its hard to turn to a complete stranger of a girl and say - 'what are we doing? Lets work together on this and charge this for that long and in that room'  Something almost always gets lost in translation.

In the end we both only got an hour as it was my guy Dutchie who was paying for it all and his card wouldn't take that kind of hit.  As we went into VIP, Dutchie was still singing my praises.  However, as soon as he realised that this was it - the 'room' and 'VIP experience' English style obviously falling short of the Dutch one, his tune did begin to change somewhat.  He wasn't so happy. And then the fiasco started - 3 different waitresses, a shot girl and a manager to approve the transaction were coming in, then out, then in again, for the whole fucking hour.  And I swear they had turned the lights up and the music down that night, because VIP was like a quiet but bright doctor's waiting room that showed up every imperfection on my body.  I like at least some soft lighting for chrissakes or else the guys will spot that my lashes are coming off, my fake tan is smeared, and that a bruise is coming up from an earlier pole trick.  Oh, and that my tummy is still bloated from my midnight carb binge in the changing room where I stuffed a whole bag of doritos into my face before reapplying the lippy and going on stage to fart and burp where no-one can hear me as they are too far away and are totally distracted as my tits are out. So yeah, bright lights are NOT good when you have a full hour, face to face, in intimate surroundings and you can't get away.

However, in a minor miracle, I was not at fault!  Oh no, it was the clubs fault for their stupid room, the waitresses fault for confusing him with multiple tabs, the lights were too bright.  I've never seen a man blame everything else to the extend he did, all the whilst backing it up with protestations that I was the most perfect little thing in the world, a total English rose, a little lady adrift in this nightlife world and could never do any wrong.  (If there is a God, then it would be nice if it happened more often).

It turned sour at the end as the time ran out but hadn't been used wisely (ie: nice sexy alone in the VIP time). I was angling for more time but we had spent most of the hour squabbling over card payments for the multiple tabs running for his VIP with me, his friends VIP & girl, bar drinks, VIP drinks - I have no idea how or why tabs can be so complicated, but there you go.  I guess it depends on the waitress et al involved - I prefer the ones with a bit of experience that work with you, not against you.  No customer is happy if they get presented with a bill and don't understand what it's for - especially very, very drunk businessmen.  Unfortunately the waitress got a bit shirty and exasperated and stormed out to cool off and come back later.  Of course, this meant that Dutchie thought he had already paid/sorted it out and didn't understand why she reappeared again ten minutes later.  'Paperwork!' he shouted, "Always paperwork! When am I going to get my dance?"
Quite right too, as if simple things have to be repeated then they are eating into the 60 minutes of VIP that he's paid for, and its bloody hard to convince him to stay and pay for longer - well would you?

Friday Night at the Stripclub

So last Friday was a pretty interesting shift for me.  Literally, the day before, a major London-wide newspaper, The Evening Standard, had featured me in a huge photograph and an accompanying two page article.  Although the details were pretty hazy, and my face was hidden by an awesome blowdry, I knew that every stripclub manager in London would be thinking it was talking about his club, his girls, and him.
I walked into the changing room, and a few girls came scurrying up to me - was that you, I know you write a blog, was that you?
"Yes," I said.  "Keep it quiet, it's anonymous."
Then later on in the evening, a waitress came scurrying up to me - "was it you, was it you?"
By this point, I had my stripper head on.  I wanted to get my head down and hustle - to tread those boards and meet those men, be primed to pounce on them and their tables.  The last thing I needed was to let out my secret and stand their and gossip with the waitress, then she'd tell someone else, who'd tell someone else - eventually it would probably reach my boss who'd haul me into the office and say god-only-knows-what.
So I looked the waitress in the eye and said, "No, that wasn't me.  I was writing in my spare time, but I'm too lazy to keep up a blog."
"Oh,  I did wonder.  The boss thinks a journalist spoke to several different dancer's, but wrote it as if it was from one source."
"Really?" I was surprised at this, especially as surely it's illegal or bad practice to mould several different sources and quotes into a single little source called Lucy.  What kind of journalist did he usually hang around with? News of the World?
"and, er, tell me, what does he think about it?"  This reply could determine what I wrote on my blog for the foreseeable future.  If he was pissed off, I'd have to keep a super-low profile if I wanted to keep my job.
"Oh he doesn't give a toss. All publicity is good publicity, right?"
"Right," I agreed, nodding my head.  "It's all good...."  Secretly I was breathing a sigh of relief that there wasn't going to be a witch-hunt, and I could keep my head down and talk to men, not the manager.

This conversation did put me slightly at ease, so I decided to concentrate on the task in hand - earning money.  It was a late starting Friday, but once the guys came in I was on a roll, doing dances fairly easily and quickly with the customer's I chatted to.  Unfortunately the initial rush of customers quickly died down, so by 2:30 finding an available guy that I could approach was getting difficult.  I decided to leave and go join my friends at a party instead.  Stashing my money in my knickers, and my stuff in my locker, I leaped into a taxi, smiling to myself.
It may have been an awkward Friday night at the stripclub, but it was still Friday, and I'm too young and pretty to be all work and no play..... besides, I was a few hundred pounds up and my phone was ringing.    I settled into the seat of the taxi, and began to tone down my stripper make-up - London, here I come!

Striponomics

I had to keep my little mouth shut today at work after being featured in the evening standard newspaper which is distributed in a major way throughout London.

See the awesome article by super Simon English here

I've dealt with this by repeatedly requesting dolly Parton & disco anthems when I get called up on stage.

It's really difficult keeping your mouth shut when you have to talk for a living...

Stripper Beauty - the Real Story

It's a lapdancer's job to look beautiful, as her body, face, hair, all combine to make up her prime asset - herself.  But I know from personal experience that a girl's efforts to look Playboy perfect can take it's toll and have some super disastrous effects!  

I was reminded of this as I stood in the toilets this weekend, and helped prep a friend's extensions which were coming loose.  From afar, she is a Glamazon of a blonde, with luscious locks which cascade down her back and are artfully flicked around when she spins round the pole.  Up-close, she is going bald.  At 28.  What a waste.

My top 3 surprising beauty facts;

Stripper's have bald patches

Thick, long chestnut mane like Kelly Brooke?

Shiny, bright blonde like Pamela Anderson?

Hair artfully curled around her face, in such waves down her back, that it just makes you want to grab it and pull her in?

It's probably fake darling - a combination of hair dye (the richest browns are marginally better for you than harsh bleaching treatments which strip your hair like a hardcore XXX routine)

....plus some hair extensions to give added body and length. (Extensions are basically long mini ponytails  of 100+ hairstrands which are glued, stapled or woven onto a few strands of your own hair, close to the root.  As this is the follicle equivalent of a Cheesestring supporting an elephant, repeated use of extensions can pull on and damage the hair so much you get little bald patches.)

....plus heated devices used everyday at temperatures up to 180 degrees. They give 2nd degree burns on contact.

Luckily for you punter's, you are unlikely to ever notice this as most strippers yelp if a man tries to play with her hair, as you inevitably mess up a good hours worth of work with your big grubby man paws.

Our feet are foul

6" or 9" heels worn to walk, run, dance and climb in? Beer and champagne spilt onto our shoes? Shoes which, may I add, are made of sticky, stretchy perspex and get little condensation patches when they get too hot and sweaty?  Callouses and enough hard skin that I have to tip extra for a decent pedicure?

These are the problems my poor little tootsies have to face, so they tend to rebel and get real stinky with bits of toe jam, especially after a busy Saturday night. Yummy.

I visited a chiropodist recently who explained that the shooting pains in my calves and big toe were a result of my feet slowly becoming disfigured from the high heels.  In fact, if I wear flats, my feet are so unused to walking like a normal ape that I have to tiptoe around till my muscles warm up. That's why I now keep heels by my bed and have insoles in my trainers.  So if you do have a lapdance, please stare at my tits, not my feet.  Thanks.

Botox at 21

Every woman ponders getting botox, a nice chemical which is injected into your forehead to stop wrinkles in their tracks.  Many clubs I've worked in have a botox technician pop in once a month or so to   perform these injections on-site, usually in the changing room of the club. It's not unusual for us to then drink on the shift, pile make-up and sweat all over the injection site, or get botox too young and too often.

If it doesn't work, you get a funny looking face with little bumps on the head.  

If this happens its best to get the curling tongs out and change your hairstyle. Voila! Your artfully swept bangs now cover all signs of the botox mishap!

I'm sure that I can add to this list of beauty misdemeanours, so I'll keep a watchful eye out whilst in the changing room tonight....

It's a LONG night in Mayfair

One of my stripping buddies took me out tonight to say thank you.
That was nice - or so I thought...

She had organised a table at Funky Buddha and a Queen room for the pair of us at the Mayfair hotel - we have been working together a lot recently and had made some great money, plus she had stayed at mine after, being an out-oftowner and all.

It was all going swimmingly.
We met up, had cocktails at the bar before popping into the room and helped each other get ready. We shared make-up, straightened and curled those stray bits of hair the other couldn't quite reach, tried on each others outfits, gave accessories advice....

We covered the smoke alarm with a shower cap and smoked out of the window as we drank a chilled bottle of room service Veuve Clicquot

Then, happy, buzzy and slightly stumbling we trotted across the road to Funky Buddha - where my girlie partner in crime promptly met an old flame.

That's when she got really, really drunk and it all began to go wrong

I savour my nights off, and nights out - usually I use my spare time to sit at home, get stoned and chill with pals over a dinner party or alone with a bottle of rioja and a box set.

So tonight felt like a real slap in the face. It was all going so well till a guy got in the way.  It's just that stripper nights out always carry this risk.

Dancers are generally neurotic, slightly asexual creatures - we insist on very high and exact standards in our men as we meet guys every night of our working lives.  many girls nurture and breed complexes - such as; 'don't tell me what to do', 'lets do THAT now', in 'THIS' way, and what can we get out of it, ad infinitum.

It's sad to help a fellow worker dry her tears in the toilet, as you try and make her understand that she is being spoilt and acting slightly odd and unhinged. If a guy comes on to her at a nightclub, she goes on the defensive - 'this is my night off, stop getting in my space', totally forgetting that this is what men do, all the time, everywhere, not just at work.

I'd love to sign off this post saying that I have learnt my lesson, but truth be told, I enjoy wild crazy nights out with beautiful, sexual and predoratory women just as much as anybody, so I'm sure it will happen again soon.

In fact, there is a night out planned next week with girls from Stringfellows, Spearmint Rhino and For  Your Eyes Only....