Sleeping like a stripper

My day to day routine is pretty topsy-turvey, as I work a 9 pm to 5 am shift. I insist on dark bedrooms with blackout blinds and thick curtains, on quiet streets. Even with my best efforts though, I still suffer from insomnia especially when stressed or upset. Followers of me on twitter will know that I have been super upset and broken hearted recently, & that's meant one thing - a thoroughly modern girl about town diet. Like a fading heroine from valley of the dolls, this little girl turned to drink to forget & drugs to sleep.
At first glance, you have to love a sleeping tablet. Often pretty candy colours - duck egg blue Valium anyone? They knock you out, even when you have been staring at the ceiling for hours waiting & willing yourself to nod off. Plus they have a certain sexy doomed cachet to them. I feel very Great Gatsby in my silk lounge PJs, gulping down a tab or two with the dregs of a wine glass.
Problem for us ladies that like to bare their flesh of an evening is that they give you HUGE bruises. I mean proper blue & black whoppers that can't be covered by fake tan or foundation. Something to do with thinning your blood apparently. Going into work I had to wear 80denier stockings & a long sleeved dress, otherwise I looked like an A&E victim. I blamed my bruises on an imaginary pole-dancing class, & have started drinking Horlicks with a good book instead....

Mr. Nasty followed by Mr. Nice

Who knew that two friends could be so different?

Both were army guys, both under 30 ... they served and fought together and were out together - a whole gang of army pals, in fact. Regular readers will know that I have a soft spot for squaddies, sailors, pilots - anything forces based or rocking a uniform. It's a difficult job that polarises many opinions, but it's mans work goddammit, and I am happy to assist in some hot fantasies for them to take back to the front line when they want a nice mental image after a gruelling shift.

I spoke to Mr. Nasty first. I thought he was going to bring me to tears. It had been a killer of a slow night (that's half term and the snow for ya) and I had barely broke even after five hours shivering away with my butt hanging out. He was big, brutish and had a face which had seen a rugby scrum or two.

"Why should I have a dance with you?"

To be fair, I get this all the time, and usually smile like a million watt bulb and reply; "Well, firstly I'm not Eastern European, and then there are two great reasons right HERE" I point to my perky titties, stroke the right, then the left, before bringing my hand up to play with my hair and do that coy, cute look you can find on pages 3,9,18,21 and 42 of Playboy.

He dismissed all three of my very good reasons..."Yeah, but any woman could say that."

He then proceeded to tell me I was boring, that I was meant to be selling it, selling myself, and selling, selling, selling.

"Honey, I'm here to entertain. We are not in a car showroom - we are showgirls!"

"You're selling mate."

"Let's have some fun! It's Saturday night for chrissakes, it's snowing and cold outside...."

"Hmph. I'm used to the cold. I'm a soldier."

"Ohhh I lurve squaddies. I always give them a little bit extra."

"Can I get one for free then?"

"I'm not going to give you a free dance because you are a soldier. I'll give you an extra special one tho..."

"What's extra special mean?"

"More time in a booth with me...."

"Why would I want that? You're boring."

Argh! I counter-attacked with a host of witty remarks, sniper-rifled a few nasty put-downs of my own, before getting up to leave as I wasn't getting anywhere fast. Best to beat a hasty retreat.

But as I got up to leave.... he went "nah, don't go."

"I thought I was boring and wasting your time?"

"nah, I didn't mean it like that" (He soooo bloody did though. He was they type that loved to insult women and make them squirm... I wanted to go because I could feel me getting upset, and thats probably exactly why he wanted me to stay - to make me upset).

So I grabbed a passing sexy hot young thing, and said - "why don't we have a threesome? When was the last time you had a threesome, huh?"

The cheeky mare glanced at his watch and went "Oh, about 14 hours ago actually."

I would just like to re-emphasise the point that this man, whilst he had some funny lines, was essentially a big nasty bully who was ruining an already poo night - no empathy here readers, ok? lolz

Unbelievably, he then said I didn't have confidence in myself, as I tried to get another girl involved, so therefore I wasn't good enough!!!!

Errrr, how exactly did I say I wasn't good enough? Added to the 'you're boring' comment earlier, I was ready to run for the hills. But then surprisingly, Mr. Nasty got up and went "Come on then."

I must admit I most certainly did not give him my usual sexy squaddie special, oh no. I gave him a crappy, short lapdance with dead eyes and a body going through the motions, as I hated taking my clothes off for this cruel man with cruel eyes and cruel words.

I buggered off to the bar quick-sharp afterwards, and started talking to an absolutely lovely little fella who seemed a little shy and shell-shocked by it all. Turns out that Mr. Nice was in the army, and immediately alarm bells started ringing in my head after the demeaning quarter of an hour downstairs. These turned to full on sirens when Mr. Nasty approached. They were friends! He looked at me and immediately I thought the worst, but he just took a sip of his beer and went;

"I'd recommend her mate. Real go-er."

Well slap me silly, seems like even Mr. Nasty can say nice things sometimes.... and with his endorsement ringing in our ears, Mr. Nice and I went off to have fun together for the rest of the night. And I gave him a squaddie special....

Stripping by numbers

2      bouncing titties
4      nights worked per week
5      mis-matched pairs of black stockings scrunched in my locker
6      am by the time I get into bed
20    pounds per song...
40    ...or get a 'naughty forty'
69    girls on an average Thursday night
85    pounds house fee to work in most clubs in London
119  the most lapdancers in a club I've worked in - Christmas a few years back.
195  for a decent bottle of champagne
250  for a half hour in the VIP
400  for an hour in VIP
1100 my most successful night of 2011 after tip-out & taxi's.
20,000 most I've ever heard a fellow dancer made in one night - stripper folklore

Are you surrounded by women asking questions?

January is a slow month for most hospitality and entertainment operations, and the lapdancer's world is no exception.  In fact, it's a worse exception because we are all self-employed and have to pay out a nightly house fee which can run up to a hundred pounds a night.  It's only 5 dances, but when the club is empty, it's a hard struggle, and even the top-earning lapdancers may not make their money back every night.

So you have a bunch of bored, desperate girls, watching the clock and the door.  The moment a guy walks in, a ripple of excitement will run amongst the blonde and brunette manes, the hair will be flicked, tits rearranged, lips pouted - all in a matter of nanoseconds - before a veritable stampede of women will run towards the hapless punter, and surround him.  It's like he has a clipboard announcing who got the lead role.  Five, Six - even TEN WOMEN - around him in a circle, pushing and shoving each other for the best position, shouting out questions in a bid to initiate conversation and grab his attention.

Brunettes 3 & 7, blondes 2,4, twins 5&6 : "hello."
Brunette 1; "Hello, Where have you been tonight?"
Punter; "Wow, hello girls.  There's a lot of you tonight.
Brunette 7: "Yes hello.  Is this your first time here?"
Blonde 2: " Yeah, I don't recognise you."
Twins 5&6: " I don't know, you look familiar..."
Punter: "I've been here before, yeah, but not for a while...maybe a year ago?"
Twins 5&6: Did you play with us?
Punter: "No."
Twins 5& 6: "Did you have a good time?"
Punter: "yes, erm, I can't remember..."
Twins 5&6, Blondes 2&4: "You were drunk!"

note that the twins are getting the upper hand, the brunettes who led the first auditory charge are now lagging behind, so the blondes and brunettes are going to get anxious.


Brunette 1: "Where you from?"
Blonde 2: "You look Italian."
Brunette 3: "You look European."
Blonde 4: " Are you from America?"
Twins 5&6: "You sound English."
Blonde 4: "Have you ever been to America?"
Punter: "Er, yeah...I'm English, yes...I've been to America."
Blonde 4: "I've been to America."
Brunettes 3&7: "I've been to America.  We went together, to Miami - have you been? Whats your name?"
Punter: "I'm John."
All girls:  "Hi John!"
Brunette 1: "I'm Loretta.
Blonde 2: "I'm Tatiana. I'm from Romania." (brushes his sleeve)
Brunette 3: I'm Elena. Bulgaria.
Blonde 4: I'm Lena.
Brunette 7: I'm Tinelina. I'm from Lithuania.

As the make-up of English stripclubs is often 70% eastern European girls, this kinda scenario is not only likely  - its the norm.


Twins 5 & 6: Catherine and Caroline, we're twins.  From France.
Punter: Really? What part of France?
Twins 5 & 6: Well, French Algiers, but we lived a lot in France. On the coast.

Most dancers lies are about their age and where they are from.  But then lots of punters don't believe us even when we are telling the truth ("You're not really English...you can't be?" - this happens to me every single fricking night...)  So the lies even out really, and they are harmless little white lies anyway.


So, as you can see, if you venture into a gentleman's establishment this month you may feel like you are being interviewed in a David Lynch movie, but like Mulholland Drive - it's surreal, but still an enjoyable hour and a half of viewing pleasure.

Dating a lapdancer - an ebook? Really?

OMG I am creasing up with laughter here on this crisp London winter stripper morning (thats lunchtime for you normal 9-5ers)

I just found an ebook that teaches YOU GUYS how to date STRIPPERS!!!!

It's one of those super long, rolling screens that takes ages to scroll down, offering EXTRA'S & DON'T MISS THIS malarky, before you finally reach the bottom and it offers a 100page ebook of awesomeness for twenty bucks.

I'm seriously laughing so hard in shock that something like this even exists.  I mean WTF? What kind of creamed corniness can be found within it's sacred pages of advice on chatting up a lapdancer? Is there a book on dating pornstars too? Chatting up your nurse as you go for a routine check?

Have I dated men I've met in the club? Of course I bloody well have, it's the law of averages that if you chat to ten/twenty/fifty different men every night, one day you will meet a guy that you like.  But I usually have really short term affairs with guys I meet in the club - they just never seem to work out.  A few dates, a quick shag or two, maybe even a little weekend away, and 'poof!' the magic disappears, we are both bored, the fantasy crumbles, and I'm back on my own two feet.

I'm researching dating advice for being the partner or husband of a lapdancer because I want to write an exhaustive series of posts on the topic.  I've been collating emails from several friends of mine, readers of this blog, and even (eek!) old boyfriends of my own, just so that I can get a mens perspective.  Some makes painful reading, other emails has had me laughing out loud!  I'm also checking a few of my favourite bloggers thoughts on the topic - Angry Stripper, for example, has a really funny post and comments war going on.

So basically, do you have any thoughts on the topic? Either drop a few comments here on the blog or email me sassylapdancer@hotmail.com

Thats dating advice or experiences, not invitations for the 6:30 show at the Odeon cinema boys....

Happy 2012!!

My 2012 New Year's Stripper Resolutions

New Year 2012 - auspicious to all, special to Londoner's.
Resolution's - when one makes a series of promises to oneself, in order that they can become a better person.

I have two sets of new Year's resolutions this year.  Real life and Lap-dancer life.  Guess which life these are for;

1. flexibility!   I feel like a creaking, crunking, calamity-waiting-to-happen.  I totally ignored any fitness regime last winter, figuring that if I danced enough shifts in the run-up to Christmas I'd stay in shape.  Of course I did - my tummy stayed nice and flat, and the orange peel stayed on the log fire, not my thighs.  But it does mean that you are only flexing certain parts, so they get tired, whilst the rest of you seizes up.  Sure I am a teeny weeny size 8, but I can't touch my toes anymore or spread my legs wide enough to look like I'm showing off.  I'm going to hit yoga until I can once again lick my own leg.  Lick it!  
2. Whiten those teeth!  For an English chick, my teeth aren't too bad.  Year's of wearing traintracks in high school have left them nice and straight.  But the years since then haven't been quite so kind.  I smoke (especially when pissed), I've been on more 3 day benders than I can possibly remember, & I have a 5 bottles a week red wine habit. My pearly-whites ain't so pearly anymore.  I need to channel the Pearl-ay Queen's orf Sarf n East End Lunden, innit, for super shiny gnasher's.  This is the year when I bleach my teeth as well as my hair....

thanks to adrian, acediscovery at Flickr

                 3.  Hustle 4 times a week.  I'm a pretty lazy lapdancer.  I prefer to call myself chilled out, hippy child, eschewing the rat race.  But essentially my daily routine boils down to - "shall I go into work tonight - or not?"   So even a 4 night week can be difficult sometimes.  Consider the maths.  I go in on Monday & Tuesday, full of good intentions.  But getting home at 6am tires me out, I'm hungover to shit, so I take Wednesday off.  Thursday I wake up sober and full of beans, so run lots of errands, then eat a fat dinner, then pass out till it's too late.  A stripper in London needs to be getting ready and eating dinner by 7pm, so she can leave the house at 8.  As a general rule, most clubs like you in the changing room by 8:30, perhaps 9, so the house mum can whine endlessly about getting on the floor, so the management will get off her back.  Anyway's, Friday usually has something going on, Saturday always has something going on, so before you know it a full week has passed and I have done 2 or 3 shifts.  WELL NOT THIS YEAR!!!  I'm sticking to a 4 day week...every week.

              4.   Scribble.....  When I first started this blog, I wasn't expecting much.  I'd had a blog a few years before - the stripper bride - which had about 3 hits a month.  I'm not surprised, because I moan and rant a lot on the few entires that I have made.  But when I started writing this one, a curious thing happened.  I began to read and write about not only my personal experiences, but on the experiences of lapdancing that I found all around me.  Stripper's in the media, in books, in fashion - fellow lap dancers and sex workers who were also blogging, being activists, juggling cam shows with university.  It's a fantastic rich world out there, and I prefer it if these pages aren't just about me, me, me, and how my day went.  It's much more fun to explore, to laugh at, to see the absurdity in situations, rather than moan..... so my final resolution as Sassylapdancer is to continue writing, read tons, keep it funny, and make this blog as broad and fascinating as possible.  

I'm Sassy, I'm a Londoner, I'm a stripper, and I'm proud to be all three.

P.S.  If I can keep these resolutions going past march, I'll eat my pants.

Suspiciously quiet for Christmas

Last night was the last Thursday before Christmas, and you know what .... it was suspiciously quiet.
I get the feeling that anybody with money has fled to the country, the office parties are all over, and blokes are more concerned with panic buying last-minute presents than lapdances.

I did alright considering that an old friend randomly popped by, who didn't know that I worked there - they knew I am a dancer though, but while it wasn't totally awkward, it did throw me off a little bit.  Took a while to get my stripper swagger back, if I'm honest...

I'm going to work tonight, in the hope that a Christmas miracle happens, and that I get a nice big fat paycheck just in time for the annual Christmas Eve pub crawl.  If I find any time, I'll pull the odd shift over the holidays, but to be honest, I don't know where I will find the time.....