Last night I went home with 10k cash in my wallet, to add to the 5 from Monday night. So basically I made 15 in total for two night’s work. I’m swimming in it, rubbing it all over my body, making money angels on the bed.
Like snow angels but better.
I’m giving up my day job. I’m not joking. Like I’ve been working three nights a week to supplement this terribly paid industry job I do a couple days a week but seriously, what for? If I’m ever going to finance my own work it’ll be through stripping and not endless funding applications or money from poorly paid dog-work.
Also having cash is doing wonders to my loser syndrome. If you can’t trust love at least you can trust money.
Speaking of which, Kay hasn’t been around. We both work part time and don’t always overlap. Schalk, the dude with the ex-stripper ‘girlfriend’ has though. Two nights in a row he’s bought me sushi and paid to massage me. His conversation is repetitive drivel peppered with the same phrases: ‘I may be rich but I’m not fancy, ‘what you see is what you get!’ and the same story about dating a stripper (still trying to figure out if its real).
There are also the same racist jokes (‘Do you have a lighter?’ – ‘No I don’t have gas, I’m not Jewish!’) straddling the tales of how ‘the first time Martini stayed over there was no sex but she learnt to trust me and realised that I’m not a Mogammat and maybe one day you will too!’
blah blah blah blah blah.
That said it’s nice to be able to relax and feel like my stomach and wallet are being taken care of without having to remove my g-string or wear-out my hips. When the conversation gets too much I just zone out and stare at the hot women around me.
Actually this happens a lot.
Sometimes I’m too busy looking at the girl on stage to pay proper attention to my client and lose them as a result. When I did this last night he caught me and was all like ‘Are you into women? Just my luck!’ to which I quickly responded by turning to him, looking him in the eye, pulling on his shirt collar to bring his face towards mine and saying, ‘of course not baby! I’m into YOU!’
Everybody believes that they’re the ones with a special connection beyond the transaction because that is the business model here – pretending to defeat the business model.
Like the dreadloced guy from Ghana on Monday. We did three dances and he thought I was wet although seriously I was just sweating from the effort of a 45 minute forward grind. But he was hot so it was fine, I mean I wasn’t not enjoying myself. This was all well and good until he couldn’t’t pay because his card was maxed out and I had to run around after him on my toppling heels, enraged. His reasoning against having to pay me then turned into ‘because it was real’.
Err… No. Actually.
I sold my soul for this and now you’re not paying me which now makes me think you’re the WORST person on earth. I don’t care how much you think I’m enjoying it, if you forget that this is my job it’s because I’m EXTRA good at what I do and really you should be tipping me. There was nothing that could legally be done so management took his phone with the promise to come back with the 3k he owed me the next day which he did, thank god. A
Although I refused to talk to him.
He was 26 and swiping into debt for a stripper.
And then there was the young dude who picked me up off the main floor. We went for a pleb no-touch lap dance, then he upgraded to a VIP booth because he wanted to touch me but when we go there he then decided he would rather be my boyfriend and ‘respect’ me. So I kept on my underwear and we had a chat while I acted as if there was a chance I’d actually be into him. The possibility of this chance (in his head) necessitated an upgrade to the bullion bar for the last 30 minutes of opening where he swiped his card into debt.
He was 26 and swiping into debt for a stripper.
He was all like ‘I know I could just go to a club and hook up with a girl like you…’ and I was just thinking nahhh not a chance fucker. Not with your bad teeth, terrible hair, heavy metal T-shirt and shit-boring mind – I was actually struggling no to fall asleep.
He continued, ‘… but we have a real connection.’
Of course we do buster… so long as you keep reaching into your pockets.
Obviously I didn’t say that out loud, but I wasn’t building on his case for our future relationship either. I just wasn’t out-right disagreeing with it. They hear what they want to, and what he wanted was to save me from having to do my terrible, humiliating and immoral job. I could stay at home. He’d give me all the money I needed. I could do whatever I wanted – anything but this job.
It was amazing to me that he couldn’t see that they were the same thing minus the fact that being a kept woman exclusively by a 26 year old minor computer programmer was definitely going to be more boring and worse paid. He wanted me to add him on Facebook and me to give him my number. They always do it in such a funny way, like, ‘I’ve had such a good time and so I just want to ask you something really unorthodox, I’m sorry but like can I have your number?’ It’s not unorthodox, you are only the tenth tonight. ‘Course I said I wasn’t allowed to give him my number but would DEFINITELY add him on Facebook as soon as I got home. At some point he scratched his head and was like, ‘oh I hope this isn’t just a scam.’
Nooo… but it is a strip club.
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