shit xmas

god what happened to all of my 'hard work, every day, bundles of £££' ? its all been a pipe-dream. You guys are such skinflints this year its ridiculous. Bah Humbug.
I went parying for 4 days on the trot instead, and come back to work with a 'so u decided to come in then, huh?' FUCK OFF
My voice was going - wish i could have virtually chatted to those customers, everyone had cigars or blew fag breath in my face. I desperately wanted one but my throat wouldn't allow it. still, my medical kit got me going for the last haul:
*multi-vit tablet
*vit C tablet
*1 beechams powder (in cold water - no kettle in the changing rooms, ya'know?
*1/4 e tablet
*dab of speed
*a cheeky line
*3 vodka redbulls
*glass of shitty cheap champagne

and i ran around in that huge cold club - the heating is broken - i had goosebumps on stage!! I barely wanted to rub my hands all over my body and spin around the pole - my hands felt like ice, u don't want those on ur tits even if they are urs!

At the end of a miserable night, I made barely £200. Its the week b4 xmas for christs sake!! Spend those city bonuses, please

annoying yankee fucker

Last night was the worst. I had a customer and wanted to punch his smarmy little lights out.

Around a year and a half ago my friends and I rocked into a little China Town place after dancing the night away at some gay bar. We were loud, trashy and quite, quite drunk. I must have ate about 5 plates of chcicken wings, - being the token stripper amongst a load of gay students I could afford it!! We got talking to the table of American businessmen sitting next to us, yaknow, the usual "What can we do in this town" stuff. I probably told them to go to my club, its open late enough!
I totally forgot about that night when last summer I came back from NYC ( how very cosmopolitan I am when single) and there was a voicemail on my phone from one of the dweeby fuckers. I had drunkly given them my number!!!

TWAT!

But of course, I didn't reply - it was too late. Then this week I got another text - "Peter American" came up on the sender screen. I thought it was a customer that I met in my club in NYC, or here, or wherever, but I told him I was working tonight so if he wanted to see me so much, he could come in, thankyou very much. Like I am going to use up one of my nights off on going around London with some man I can't even remember!

HIM: (TXT) That's a great idea- I have a business dinner now - I hope its done by 9! Peter

He comes in, and texts me again - I am sitting by the front stage, wearing a dark blue sut I hope you recognise me. I look like a YAnk!!

Yank? Wanker more like. But I see who he is ( can still barely remember meeting him, let alone remembering his face)
Anyway, turns out he owns his own investment firm. £££$$$$$$ hooray££££$$$$$

We got on great - or at least you pretend you do, I haven't felt such contempt for a dweeby sleazy little shit before. What the hell was I thinking a year ago? He didn't know that I worked there, but it was his dreams come true, and yes he would love to see me ....blah blah....

Peter; So what are those little rooms back there?
Me: Lets go take a look - I can give you a few dances in there. (DON'T FEIGN INNOCENCE WITH ME)
Peter: Yes but explain to me. What goes on in there exactly?
Me: (smiling) I get to take every little last thing off - I bet thats not how you expected to see me but its too good an opportunity to refuse. (STOP WASTING MY TIME AND GET IN THERE)
Peter: So let me see. You take me in there and I get to see all ur beautiful body....
So my options are.......
Fancy this happening - you know, if I had imagined this last year....

In fact, the whole night the cock was repeating things DELIBERATELY to waste MY time and save HIM money. Then he insisted I drank tequila, so I got stonking drunk and couldn't then go hustle - thanks for forcing it down my throat you prick.

He said we would do a sitdown, so went to the ATM, which was out of order, then called the chip girl over TWICE but he kept on saying "time out, time out, " - possiblly the most annoying phrase in the world.

Well I was getting desperate - the club was full, every1 making money bar me, so I called him a prick, blamed the tequila, said it was all his fault and stormed off for a bit of a cry in the hen house ( our changing rooms)

Then I came out, after wondering why I had let myself get so upset over some annoyance waste of space creature thing.

He was still there, said he would get me some money, we went for a double dance with Rouge, then when the money girl came over he said time out again!! And walked off.

I HATE WALKERS.
they get ur hopes up, waste ur time, then if the manager has charged you for a sit down, maybe your money - at least you have to argue and beg with them after. I thought I was self employed!! Not the way your treated tho.

I promptly made 6 more dances, and went home at 3.20am. I had wasted 2 1/2 hrs with him - thats a potential £600, when I made £150 off him - and have a horrible hangover this am.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, now that off my chest, I can go make myself pretty in the university toilets and forget all about it. Rather than save last nights money, or pay bills, I am taking the boy out for dinner at a posh Japanese restaurant. I have a TasteLondon card, so can get discouts at a bunch of fancy restaurants - whoohoo!!
See - a night of pain, a bit of financial gain(not enough), and blam! a night of romance with a NICE man.
cant wait for the sex at the end, either.....

divorce looming..

God the boy has done it again.
I am about to go home to break it up with him.
He is paranoid, controlling, and his disputes against me, my friends and his friends have left me increasingly isolated.
I can't be bothered to put up with his pathetic demands anymore.
I want my money, my friends and my life back.

Or at least, thats how I felt last night when the boy was a dick ( again) and called my friend 'a lairy fucker'. Yes, she is rude, and tetchy occassionally, but I have known her for ages, she gives me lots of presents as a buyer for Topshop, and all in all i love her.

But of course, how can I do this and not totally erase him out of my life? I am, after all, sickenly in love with the little fucker. Breaking up with someone is such a huge, catastrophic jump to make - once I cross this divide, if I change my mind will I be able to jump back over it?

He's ringing me now - I have had countless messages, but have stubbornly ignored them whilst I organised my own thoughts in this chaotic mess of a head. I'll update you on the final solution tomorrow - right now I need to drag myself and my stinking hangover home to bed, via a long phonecall.

getting the horn with my ideal bloke

I was twirling around on stage, feeling pretty good about myself. My partner - a lovely ozzie brunette- and I had decided to stay till 4am - the death hours when it is usually twiddling your thumbs time - and made bank. Hey, we were the only ones with any razzmatazz and energy left!! Most girls were hanging out in the changing room, or trailing round the club miserable and tried, bullying the few remaining customers into a dance.
I was in one of my favourite dresses, a hot little pink number with silver tits and spangly g-string. (Unfortunately the g had lost all of its silver in a too hot wash and now looked like a scabby rubbery skin tone, but its small enough for no1 to notice in the lights - I hope!)
Anyway, my partner walked past the stage, shouting a sexy compliment and nodding towards the stag party in the VIP corner. She had arranged a double dance for the two of us, all they needed was a bit of a gentle reminder and lots of persuasion.
I thought sex - remembered my sexy man at home, that dark mop of almost curls, his naughty grin nuzzling at the back of my neck - and "ting!"I had my filthy face on, shooting dirty scowls at my audience, twirling round the pole so that my head rushed. Call me infantile, but I love that buzz.

I bounded off stage - I am very bouncy 99% of the time, even in 6" perspex heels - and was just walking towards the stag lot when I heard my real name called out. Jesus Christ - who's that, I thought, turning to see a tall, skinny Docherty lookalike. My interest was piqued, but £££ always wins, so I shouted to wait a minute and carried on. I figured I knew the mystery man from my 'normal life'.
However, he had got my name from one of the waitresses - very crafty, I like - and just thought I was hot to trot on stage - the sexiest girl there - which I also like- and wanted a few dances - multiples I also like -$$kerching!!$$

I loved dancing for this man, who ticked all my boxes - tall, skinny, dark hair, played guitar in somewouldnottellmeband, asked me to move closer, and closer, with a husky voice hewn from years of smoky back studios in Camden. I gave hime 3, then some extra, as I was enjoying it too much, and left the booth as horny as a schoolgirl.

This feeling crashed and burned though, as I then found out that the bouncer had charged me for 6 dances, not 3, so my earnings were pisspoornill for all that excitement and hard work.

Where has all the soul gone?
In fact, where has that sexy brute gone? Ahh, if only I was single.......

My boy was a total White Knight the other weekend.
A White Knight is a stripper term for a guy, usually ur partner, a customer, or a 'friend' who trys to get you out of dancing.
"You don't need to do it."
"I will work extra hours and look after you."
or even - " I can get you an apartment and take care of you whilst you are at university/child/shopping/whatever."
I know of no other job where this happens with frightening regularity.

Boyfriends usually have a 6-9month window on this one. Once tthe honeymoon period is over, thats it, its time for a reality check. They decide - or realise, that they don't like their little princess flirting with strangers and taking her clothes off in public, and want their girl to get a 'normal' job instead. Then the paranoia starts to creep in - they wake up late at night, checking the clock to see if you are not back at your 'usual' time, wondering who that text message is from, who I am meeting for lunch etc etc.

GET OUTTA MY FACE

Give it up he said.
What, and get into massive debt at university?

You do realise that I have been doing this for several years, have built up close friendships with several - no- many of the dancers, all over London and even the world, bills have to be paid and, shit, I like getting out of the house a few evenings a week.
IN fact, it all began before I even met the boy, so is a bigger part of my life in the pure longevity stakes at least. AND I met him thru a fellow dancer.

I think we rode this tide at least - I can be super stubborn when I want to be.
Once it all calmed down, we went for a night out in the funky bars of the East End and tried to chat up the tequila shot girl between us.
Anything to keep him happy and the relationship fresh, no?

Today I went in a hot-tub and got shot by a shotgun.
The end result of these cumulative affairs was that one got horrendously drunk.
One event naurally led to the other, as it seems to do.
At the moment I amgetting a masasge from a horrendous man seeing as he abstained from my superior drunken cooking. BUt he cannot give me a massage on this chair - a true fool.
I am waiting patiently., like godot... for precisely nothng as they say.
MY friend is waiting up fo me to lock this bloody penthouse up.
bUT TRY AS i MAY i refuse to come anywhere, and ths arrivederci mis amores, I must fly to my waiting chariot before I annoy anyone else.

My club has been cuckoo of late.

Due to a £3million tax bill, the powers that be have decided to squeeze us for more money. I know that everyone imagines us earning thousands of pounds a week, but its simply not true. The bottom has fallen out, especially in London, which now has lots of clubs, big and small, all open all night.
The Eastern European invasion has been harsh too - they undercut the standard prices and offer 'extras'. Fucking extras. I still squirm when guys want to meet me outside- just an hour, just a drink, they say. ALl I wanna do is lick your pussy till you come over and over again.

Spew over and over again I think... I mean, I have NEVER, EVER met a stranger who can get me off in an hour when I have only just met him. True, I have severly fancied customers, and properly creamed myself whilst bouncing up and down on their laps, but this has happened say, half a dozen times in 4 years of dancing?

Hardly a high hit rate.

The Stripper Bride

Modern life is all about combinations and permutations.

Mine is essentially awkward.

By day, I study at a London University and run around after my boyfriend, trying, like all 'good' wives, to create a nice, loving home and make the two of us happy.

By night, I dance erotically around a pole, smothered in make-up and shimmer, desperately trying to elicit my rent money from dirty old men, stag parties and city boys.

My heart races at two things - the sight of my boy, sleeping in bed when I sneak home in the early hours of the morning, and at the sight of a fat wallet, bulging at the seams with crisp 20s I wish are destined for me.

How can I love one man, yet flirt shamelessly and get my pussy out every night to complete strangers, stroking their necks and whispering filthy thoughts into their expectant ears? Where does this line between fantsy and reality blur - I either get accused of flirting with the boy's mates, or that I seem distant and " not into it" at work!!!

This can be my tonic, for at the moment the usual feelgoodstuff is shrinking. The boy and I are bitching, and my wages are spiralling downwards due to new regulations and an overheated economy.

Whats a girl to do?