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?