Tuesday, 30 August 2011

Brand new page of all my favourite blog posts!

Bonjour readers, I just finished going through my blog posts to find my favourites - the funniest, the rudest, the nastiest!
I've uploaded them all onto a spanking and sparkling new page which can be found here.

I hope you read and enjoy them - feel free to comment and moan all you like - although I want the sexy moan - not the nagging kind.  Mwah!

I've just enjoyed the last Bank Holiday of the so-called english summer, and have a few stories to tell which I'll be writing up and posting tomorrow.  Until then, I've got a bottle of red wine to finish off and a sofa which is calling me.


Friday, 26 August 2011

Advice on how to become a lapdancer in London

I've been asked recently by several readers for advice on becoming a lapdancer. I've been a stripper in London and have also worked abroad as a travelling/holidaying lapdancer. Stripper's on tour!  So it's safe to say I know the basics on becoming a stripper.  I can certainly help girls become a stripper in London.  BUT - I think many are missing the point of the job. Check out this email below;

I'm 21, moving to London just having graduated and am looking for a way to get extra cash - whether it's possible just to 'slip' in to this profession and 'slip out' easily I don't know yet! I'm confident, have never danced before, I'm very 'English', I'm pretty slim but could do with some work to be more groomed/body wise. I'm tall at 5ft 8 but look a little younger than I am. How likely am I to be accepted at a club?

Notice that a lot of the query rests on appearance.  Whilst looks are obviously key in this job, you would be suprised - you don't have to look like a supermodel to make the cut in an audition.....

My top tips are;

  • Go to a couple of strip clubs first. Secrets has ladies nights occassionally, and most clubs will let girls in if accompanied by a man.  I'd recommend Platinum Lace & the Windmill if it's your first time in a stripclub and you live in London.  This is because both are based near Leicester Square so you won't feel like you are making a perverted trip to a strange part of town.  You can also hit the gay bars in nearby Soho afterwards for a masterclass in attitude and wearing heels and frocks that you really shouldn't be.
  • Watch MTV and all those nasty hip hop videos.  Emulate the bump and grinds and then slow it down till you look like you are bored.  That's how to lapdance.
  • Get GHDS and either straighten or curl your hair. Hairspray and backcombing are mandatory.  Then add big drop diamante earrings.
  • Golden Rule 1; ALWAYS wear fake tan.  If you don't want to look like you have been tangoed, use Rimmel Sun-shimmer - ALWAYS medium shimmer, not fair or matte.  Apply to a pre-moisturised body with a mitt and don't forget your bum crack.
  • Golden Rule 2: ALWAYS wear fake lashes. Think Jodie Marsh when you are applying make-up.
  • AUDITIONS;  held at most clubs in the afternoons or early evenings.  They will ask you to dance 2 songs on a stage with a pole, one with your clothes on, then take your clothes off and dance in just your G-string for the 2nd song.  There will be NO-ONE in the club at that early hour, just the manager and lots of bored strippers staring at you.  So don't sweat the 'will I look ok' bit.  They've seen it all before.
  • LIE;  say you've danced somewhere before.  ie: "I danced in Leeds whilst at University for a bit" - google a club before.  "It's been a while though so I'm a little nervous."  Born-again Virgins are likely to elicit more sympathy and a job when compared to a fresh off the boat newbie.
  • FIRST NIGHT;  Remember stripping is about SALES.  You have to pay to work a shift and get your money back any way you can.  So practice speaking, persuasion, being pushy and smiling.
  • LOOKS;  You get tall, short, chubby, flat-titted, cellulited strippers all the time.  That's why we wear fake-tan - it hides a multitude of sins.  Failing that, find a club that is too cheap to afford a decent lighting system - it'll be so dark that no-one will notice.

P.s.  I hope you enjoy and use my advice on how to become a lapdancer in London.  You can, of course, use my advice on becoming a stripper for anywhere, or anyone.  Remember, don't despair.  If you fail at one club, audition at another.  There are a million stripclubs in London, even more stripclubs in the UK, and LOADS of tittiejoints worldwide and if you are new to the industry, you will either be disgusted or love the experiences you have finding them out.

Wednesday, 24 August 2011

Realised a home truth tonight

Stripping is fairly cliquey - well it's a bunch of girls after all - and naturally I've always strived to be part of the 'in-crowd'.
Despite years of trying, I've always been on the sidelines.
I used to think that I wasn't part of the in-crowd because I wasn't pretty enough.
So I changed my look, imitated the cool girls.

That didn't work.

Perhaps it was because I wasn't funny, generous or stylish enough?

I memorised jokes, shared my sushi, carried a monogrammed designer bags, wore boots & juicy couture velour tracksuits.

Still the conversations were just in passing.

But tonight I saw a girl trying soooo hard, and succeeding, with the in-crowd, when it struck me.
I wasn't defunct in some way
It's because I don't make enough money from guys.( I've never been the best hustler, truth be told.)

To them, I'm a liability.

Monday, 22 August 2011

What not to say to a lapdancer


There are a lot of things that we don't want to hear, but the single most irritating thing is ......



Actually thats the point I'm trying to make.  When guys are drunk, they repeat themselves, over and over, like a bloody broken record.

Case in point - last weekend I spent three hours in VIP.  Fantastic, right?  Think of the money, right? But the guy I was in there with, god he was SO ANNOYING.

He kept repeating, over and over, in a drunken slur "put your tits in my face...tits in my face...I want tits in my face..."

he did this for three hours non-stop.  THREE HOURS!!!

Problem is, most clubs in the UK are non-contact, so we can waggle our tits near his face, around his head, jiggle the damn things wherever you want, but a UK stripper can't smash her mammaries into your face for more than a split second.  Any more and the bouncer will swing by, tell off the dancer, and pull up the customer on it, thus ending our VIP/lapdance moment.

So everytime the tits moved out of the way of his face - a drunk face with slobbering tongue, drool coming down his bottom lip, and sharp little drunken teeth that wanted to bite the strippers, he'd let out a long wail "Tiiittts in my faacceeeeee".  I kid you not, this was the sole reach of his conversational skills.

Luckily I wasn't alone with the guy in VIP, there were two of us girls dancing for this guy.  This was excellent as he was the wandering hands type - the bouncer came in over and over to tell him to put his hands by his sides.  And boy were they some hands! Not only do drunk guys repeat themselves, they also grab really, really hard.  I pride myself on my lovely soft smooth skin, and hate the regularity of drunk guy's attempts to maul it.   Fucking mauled! If you're gonna squeeze my leg, touch my thigh, or make a lunge for my tit, why once you make contact do you treat it like a lemon?  I'm not a piece of fruit that needs squeezing and juicing, I'm a sexy woman who is trying to give an erotic show here.  That's hardly likely to happen when I am yelping out in pain every five minutes.

So in the end, the other dancer and I took it in turns to hold his hands down whilst the other waggled her tits in his general direction and spoke dirty.  Because he was leering at our tits we had a conversation of grimacing faces and bored WTF's over his head - literally over his head.

This went on for three hours, apart from one brief interlude which I'll reproduce here for your enjoyment;

HIM;   Tits in my face, tits in my face.....

ME;    Oh you want titties?  Here you go....    (to other dancer) I'll take over, grab his hands.

(the other stripper and I swap positions in a sexyish fashion, telling him he's a naughty boy whilst grabbing his hands)

STRIPPER 2;  OOOhh, look at those lovely titties, yummy... OWW!!! No pinching, lets be sexy, ok?

HIM;  Tits in my face, I wantttt tits in my face...titssss

S2 to ME;   Doesn't he ever get bored of saying that?  Oy! No biting us either.  Jeez, he needs a muzzle.

ME;   Come on now naughty, look at my lovely titties.  Look at them bouncing in your face, yummmm

S2;  Ohhh booby sandwich....

ME;  (here I lean forward whilst massaging my breasts and whisper into his ear)  Ohhh, lovely titties, titties in your face, ohhhh lovely nice titties, look at those breasts, little pert nipples.....

S2;   (whispers to me from across his head) I think your talks working, he's gone quiet.  Keep talking...

ME;   OOOhhhhh yeah, lovely nice titties,  ohh yeah...

HIM;   mmmm...SNORE......SNORE....

S2;  Oh shit, he's fallen asleep.  What shall we do?

ME;  Leave him for a bit.

S2;  But the bouncers will notice.  He'll get thrown out if he's asleep.

ME;  Not if we stand in the way and look like we're dancing....

(the two of us stand there swaying in front of this snoring guy for ten minutes before waking him up as if nothing had happened.....He woke up with titties in his face, and a drink being placed in his hand, and we spent another hour in VIP with him.)

So guys, what not to say to a lapdancer?  Well, we've heard it all, and don't really care what you say, as long as it's not the same inane crap over and over again whilst you pinch and pull at our tight little bodies, or else we'll pull Voodoo stripper magic on you and send you to sleep.... LOLZ!!!!

Friday, 19 August 2011

Stripclub Stereotypes #10 ; The Bored Stripper

Every lapdancer can be categorised as a 'bored stripper' at some point in their life - or even a shift.
You've all seen them - groups of bored looking girls grouped around the bar, the dark corners, the edges of the club - waiting patiently for customers to come along.  The bored stripper will be staring into space, playing with her hair, twiddling with the straw in her glass, staring with glassy eyes at the stage where, perhaps, another bored stripper stands slowly  swinging her hips.
Watching a bored stripper on stage is depressingly painful to watch.  If she looks like she is waiting for a bus, occasionally pulling off an item of clothing - just tugging it down if she can get away with it - the bare minimum to get her tits out - then she's bored.  A bored stripper on stage will also move with the least effort possible - akin to a stripper sloth, perhaps with a half-hearted twirl thrown in to stop her dying of boredom.
The bored stripper watching is in a state of half-sleep.  She's hibernating, one eye on the door, like a snake in it's hole.  She's all coiled up, waiting to pounce, but there is no-one there, just an empty club with booming music reverberating round the empty seats.
Bored strippers have been known to wait for two, three hours a night, especially right now, the slow, slloooooww evenings of August, as everyone is either a) on holiday or b) don't want to sit in the dark looking at girls when they can ogle at them for free in the park.  This is the month when there may be more girls than customers for the majority of the evening - or worse, the whole night.  This is the month when the doors get cobwebs, tumbleweed rolls across the empty floor, and the glasses get polished over and over by the equally bored barman.  All the conversations have been had twice this week already, and the gossip only lasts till nine, ten o'clock, so the dancers fall mute and stare into space, daydreaming of VIP.
It's easy to spot a bored stripper - the problem is that as soon as she spots you, she isn't bored anymore.  She turns into the predatory stripper, and you my friend, are her prey as soon as you step through the door.

Wednesday, 10 August 2011

Fantasies of a stripper

My imagination has taken to wandering after three days of being locked up inside my house whilst the violence rages on outside on the streets of London.  Denied the ability to work, fantasies of being a stripper fill my mind.  Well, I am one already, so really it's the fantasies of a stripper - lapdancing fantasies that have already happened, that I want to happen, how I wished they had happened.  I've danced for years, so have a lot, some are cookie-cutter fantasy, some are strange and esoteric, but I'll list a few of my favourite stripping fantasies;

  • Giving Johnny Knoxville a lapdance whilst wearing his cowboy hat - it felt so rock and roll.
  • Giving a sci-fi actor a lapdance - I can't remember whether it was Star Trek or Star Gate but our eyes locked throughout and we had a connection that was out of this world!
  • Doing tequila shots with my Pammy lookalike friend Grace in a dingy little Tokyo bar after work in the Roppongi district. She had nipples like pistons, and would wipe a slice of lime on one big, pneumatic nipple, sprinkle salt on the other, then balance the shot glass inbetween her ginormous surgically enhanced tits and approach my face with her ample creamy cleavage.  I was in tequila heaven. Yum.
  • Several VIP moments with several hot hot HOT girls - it's a shame that I'm not in contact with so many of these wonderful women any more, but thats the nature of the stripping industry beast - we move on and disappear.  If I ever have trouble getting off, its these lesbian twosomes and threesomes (with the guy customer watching with a massive grin on his face) that I remember.  
  • Dancing for a dwarf.  This hasn't happened yet, and it's pissing me off.  It's number one in my stripping 'To-Do' checklist - if there is a dwarf in my club, which seems to happen on an annual basis, I'll make a beeline for him as soon as possible. But I miss every motherfucking time! I've danced for guys half paralysed in wheelchairs, a blind man (that was really fun - I had to dirtytalk a lot), plenty of hobbling broken legs, carefully shimmied round broken arms, I've had stroke victims, Downs syndrome - the lot.  But not a dwarf - although I did dance for a guy who had no hands and his legs amputated at the knee, so I've danced for someone of similar height.  (As a disclaimer, I'm not doing this because I feel sorry for them.  They are in the club to party with beautiful women, and I am happy to provide that service.  If I've given him something for his wank-bank, all the better! However, to keep me inspired, I do have a 'To-Do' checklist of bizarre stripper-related aspirations) 
  • Getting rained on.  This is an American term which means that a guy stands at the tipping rail (side of stage) and throws notes on a stripper whilst she dances - but throws so many that it looks like rain.  I've had it happen to me with fivers in London a few times, single dollar bills plenty of times, but the best was by a music producer who rained on me with $100 & $20 bills when I was dancing abroad.  Wow. My garter was certainly packing that night, I tell ya!
  • Getting praised by the management for doing a good job.  This NEVER fucking happens, as even if the burly blokes do give you a compliment, it's always followed by a sarcastic rebuff/insult.     ie: ME; "I did really well tonight, here's a tip for you"  BOSS; "Thanks, I knew you would do well tonight in that outfit, it looks good on you. Makes you look like a right slag."
  • I'd love to give a rockstar a lapdance.
  • Ditto a pornstar - male or female, or a burlesque star.  Might be a bit intimidating, deffo lotsa fun.
  • I'd love to work in Vegas. It's like the stripper Mecca.  I've been, and loved it, and wish I could click me heels and go to where the sun always shines, the high rollers are always rolling in, and the lights are bright.  I'm sure they would love me over there - in my fantasies all these American guys go "Jeez, I lurve ur pritty inglish accent, lets go to V.I.P right now" and shower me with casino winnings. Sigh. Unfortunately, as I don't have a USA visa, Vegas business licence or sheriff's card, it ain't gonna happen, as the clubs in Vegas are SUPER strict on hiring. Meh.

Well, there are my favourite stripping fantasies right there. If I remember any more naughty times, or simply think of another lapdancing fantasy I'll let you guys know.  Especially as it's great fun to sit in the sun and fantasise about strippers, punters and stripclubs that I've met. 


Tuesday, 9 August 2011

Things to Do Whilst Housebound in London Riots

Things to Do Whilst Housebound in London Riots (stripper style)

  • Sunbathe - in garden, balcony or patch of light between the boarded up windows
  • Watch how long my Brazilian can grow out for
  • Do my nails - if sirens come, bite me nails
  • If sirens stop closeby, make tea & check out men in uniforms
  • Practise pole tricks

How to stay healthy and eat safe during the London Riots

There are 3 things which always concern me - diet, personal safety and money.
Because the London Riots show no sign of abating any time soon, I've been forced to have a long hard think today on how I can stop the riots affecting me too much.

Let's explain;

  • I live in South London, and work in the West End - riots have occurred in both places, and travel, especially late at night, will be difficult.  So it's best to stay at home, stay safe and take a few days off work if possible.
  • However, I took last weekend off, and used most of my money to cover bills and rent last week, so I'm flat broke.  Can I risk going to work? Will anybody even be visiting stripclubs right now?  
  • All of the shops have been told by police to shut early, so it will be difficult to get food, especially fresh - I'll need to bulk buy and plan my meals so that I stay away from frozen pizza and naughty foods!
Basically, I don't know how many nights it will be before the club will be both safe to work in and have enough punters for me to make any money. Remember, it costs ME to work - house fee, travel, accessories - around £60-100 a shift.

I also need to stay looking trim, as I'm stuck at home for the best part of the week - my gym is closed and it's not safe to jog round the park when gangs are congregating there.  

So I took action!  I went to the ATM and withdrew enough cash for a few days - well they will be empty if this carries on.  I then visited the local fruit and veg market and bulk bought enough fresh produce to tear my arms off - I balanced it all on the handlebars of my bike but it was still more than little ol'me could handle.  

So my week is looking like this;

roasted veg, cous cous & feta (cheap, long lasting produce that tastes amazing!)
homemade soups & chowder - this recipe only has a few ingredients
halloumi & olives - both keep well in the fridge
marinate a family pack of chicken drumsticks and freeze
dust off my yoga mat & do a youtube yoga class in my living room - this core strength one should do the trick
hula-hoop in my garden for cardio
Sunbathe in the garden too
Read the naughty doorstopper ; 'Juliette' by Marquis de Sade (this will keep my mojo up!)

As I write this, sirens are blaring up and down the streets near my house - I can hear 6 different types and cars. Shops all over London are boarded up. Stripclubs are shut - even Spearmint Rhino was evacuated last night (although Platinum Lace proudly tweeted that they were open!)  Who knows when I'll make money again? Or be able to pop out without fear?!

But at least I'll stay solvent and skinny....

Monday, 8 August 2011

London Riots - Bad news for London strippers!

I'm flabbergasted to note that this is my umpteenth post about riots and protests in London.  It seems that every other month there is a protest - the Slut Walk was a very positive empowering experience for me, the student protests in the West End were not as they shut down half the neighbourhood and turned it into a quiet night at work.
But this weekend we saw the start of riots across London. The full shocking extent can be found on this map here  but basically they started in Tottenham, North London, and further riots sprang up in several places, including Brixton and Oxford Circus.

I woke up hungover and at home today, looking forward to starting the working week with a nice, slow Monday night shift at the club.  But once again I'm apprehensive as;
a) nobody is going to visit a stripclub when riots happened across London yesterday.
b) especially when the riots included Oxford Circus and the West End.
c) getting a taxi home after work will be a nightmare.

I thought that I would take me mind off my hangover and the worrying events by taking a walk in the park, but the first thing I saw was this
The only reason why you would EVER find an empty box in a park for chrissakes for a top of the range 42" Plasma TV is because last night this happened;

(from the West Londoner blog, thanks)

I'm glad to say that I still enjoyed the walk in the park, but will just have to eat beans on toast until it calms down and people start partying in London again, as it's a gamble otherwise.  As a lapdancer, I have to pay a 'house fee' every night I work there, so if it's a quiet night, I may not make my money back.  I lose out twofold, my time and my money.  Riots in London are bad news for strippers as the club will be deserted, still at least its not happening during the busy Christmas season...

Friday, 5 August 2011

Stripper blogs - why do we do it?

After reading 'Belle de Jour' many years ago, I thought, "I can do that!"

No, not that - blogging.  (you think I meant sex for money? ha!)

I really enjoy taking my clothes off for a living, and writing about it is pretty fun as well.  It's very cathartic to blog as a lapdancer, as stripping can be soul-destroying sometimes.  By writing a blog on my life as a lapdancer, I am able to vent out any frustrations that the previous nights antics have brought out in me.  It allows me to take time and review the idiot customer, the bitchy girl, the stubborn management, and instead of bottling up the feelings inside, I put it in my lapdancing blog.  I don't think I could work in this industry without a stripper blog!

Of course, I'm not alone.  There are lots of blogs and sites written by women in the sex industry, and you can find my favourites here.  I find it fascinating to see how women in similar industries, often living on the other side of the world to me, cope with their situation.

I see my blog as an ever-expanding resource, and if nothing else, if I have had a hard night stripping, I can look over past entries in my lapdancer blog and realise I've had worse!

Wednesday, 3 August 2011

The smoking ban is tres annoying

As a smoker (occasional, social, whatever), I didn't really mind when the smoking ban came into London a couple of years ago.  Clean air in pubs would be a novelty, although I was dreading going to a club - as soon as I get wasted, I start to chainsmoke. (This is true of many of my friends, but the government hasn't seemed to notice yet that the majority of young smokers only really start a fag session where they get through the first couple of vodka tonics, and then before you know it, the packet of 20 Marlboro's is empty. They seem to think all smokers are blowing smoke into babies faces, or couples desperately have those babies).

But the smoking ban has affected me in another, weirder way that I hadn't originally foreseen.  You see, a lot of the men visiting my club are smokers, and due to the new rules they have to go outside for a cigarette. Outside!  But I can't reach them when they are outside!  I can't hustle them, talk to them, or convince them that the thing they really, really need right now - more than any fag, may I add, is ME!
Even worse, I'm losing count of the number of guys that I manage to win over, and then, just as we are arranging to go, suddenly say;
"We'll have a dance just after I've gone out and had a cigarette."
But the ultimate worse is when the guy and I have decided on a dance, are just excitedly getting up off our seats to go find a booth so that I can give him his four minutes of absolute sexual delight in nudist form, when a voice calls across from another of his friends, "Ere mate, fancy coming out for a quick smoke with me?"
I've yet to meet a man who turns his mate down.  Nicotine addiction is obviously, tragically, more powerful than the call of a beautiful woman.

The rammifications of this go further.  The journey from the front door of the club to his table is a hazardous one, where he will be accosted by many predatory dancers before he gets back to me for the 'promised' lapdance.  Whilst we are (mostly) friends backstage, in the frontline we are out for what we can get.  And the entrance to a stripclub is about as frontline as you get, as all the dancers congregate there, hoardes of 10, 20, 30 women greedily eyeing you up as soon as fresh meat enters their line of sight.  The only thing stopping him from going off with another woman is his sense of decency and loyalty - so not much then!

Of course, a lot of dancers smoke.  I did some research and this article  in the Coventry Telegraph made me laugh.  Who knew that the provincial papers would be the only source of journalistic merit on an issue which affects me personally each and every shift?  It basically says that the council had been receiving complaints about a stripclub called 'Heat' (how ironic) after scantily clad dancers had been lighting up outside the club (surely lighting up in front of Heat is a canny promotional move?)  The really funny bit comes at the end, where the bar opposite complains that the free ogle-show was affecting their business.  Now if I was having a fag across the road from some sexy women in bikinis,  I'd probably finish the packet, hence spending lots of time at said bar.  Why pay the entrance fee when you can watch from 20 yards away for free?

In the West End if you are a stripper wanting to smoke, you have to put on these hideous long jackets, which are clearly a) second hand and b) in a man's size and c) are probably the bouncers rejects, and go outside to smoke in those.  They always stink, the buttons are all missing so you have to hold them fast with one hand, and they are always taken by one of the other girl, so there is usually a queue.  Oh yeah, and you HAVE to wear one of the regulation jackets, even if you have a perfectly serviceable demure long jacket of your own.

I'm shocked at the length of this post! I must really have a secret festering issue with so many aspects of the smoking ban.  I should, of course, rise up and protest, which I will, as soon as I've had a nice cup of tea and a fag....

Tuesday, 2 August 2011

changing room conversations

I walked into the changing room yesterday looking like shit.  Honestly, sunburnt shoulders, washed out face, with bloodshot eyes, and seeing as I was sitting next to a load of dancers who were almost ready - a trio of bronzed and buffed up beauties, it made matters worse.
"Sweetie, you look like shit." opinioned Stripper Mum usefully.
"Yeah, you ill or something? Don't give me your fucking cold."  This was my friend from Essex, who likes to make her voice known through the use of expletives which pepper every other sentence.
It's been really hot and sunny in London this week, hitting the 20s with an easy stride - the front page of the Evening Standard screamed that we would be 30 degrees this wednesday! Imagine, 30 degrees in England!   this is, obviously, front page news (obviously a slow news monday).  Unfortunately, as you can probably tell since I haven't posted all week, I spent the weekend enjoying myself.  I didn't mean to get paraletic for 3 days straight, but thats what happens when you spend all day drinking in the park.
I was berating myself for being such a lazybones, and missing all the fun and excitement of a payday weekend, when Stripper Mum gave me a funny rendition of how the weekend had been for her;
"I had a VIP with the King of Haliotosis.  His breath was so bad that I wished I could squirt toothpaste from my tits - he kept on asking me to move closer and closer...'Come here, oohh yeah, a little closer baby"
She then started licking her lips like a village idiot (her impression of a fat slobbery bad breath guy, not because she is mental.)
"Ohhh closer, let me breath on you, big doggy tongue on your nice clean skin"
As I giggled manically, she finished up by collapsing in her chair, wailing like the wicked witch of the East.
"Help me! My silicone's melting...I'm melting...melting"

I may have missed the weekend, I may be hungover, but at least someone had a more gruesome experience than me....