For those who are too chicken to really go topless...
Seriously, the shirts look cool and comfy. Check 'em out. http://toplessapparel.com/details.asp?pid=9 The one above is $25.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
The match trick
So for this trick, you need to be topless, and you need a book of matches. And please practice before you do this. Lets start with one nipple at a time.
Tear out a 2 matches. Take one and split the bottom in two. Like the match has legs. Let the legs go half way up the match stem. Then make sure your nipple is hard and put the "legs" on your nipple with the match head sticking up. Squeeze the legs together on the nipple to give them more grip them make sure you pull the match head away from your nipple so it's pointing out at an angle; that way it won't burn you as it ignites. Then use another match to light it. Make sure that the head is pointing away from your body by holding the legs around the nipple and pulling it away from your body. This is key! Then once it is lit, let go. Do a little shimmy. Then when the fear sets in, blow it out. Or let him. But go at least 5 seconds.
Once you can master one, then you can move on to two nipples.
Good luck! And don't burn your house down!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The ice trick
OK, so you will need some ice...duh.
As you are dancin' for your man, make sure he has a drink filled with ice next to him as you dance. Then reach in and grab a piece. Squeeze it hard in your hand. As you are lap dancing (make sure to be in Pole Position on this one) lean back and squeeze your hand over your nipple so that water drips onto your breast, right above your nipple. Point your elbow in the sky so that the water runs from your finger tips. Once it starts, it will drip pretty quickly. Put the ice cube on your nipple and roll it around a few times then lean back and drag it across to the other nipple. Then you have two options...
1. Put it in your mouth , then lean in to kiss him and put it into his mouth.
or
2. Lean over him in Pole Position, so that the water will drip into his mouth, from your nipple. You can even say "open wide."
Trust me. He will looove this one
Friday, June 26, 2009
BASIC MOVES INTRO CLASS..tomorrow (Sat 6/27)
BASIC MOVES INTRO CLASS
How long have you been waiting? You have been wanting to take a striptease class, but you have been too nervous, too busy, too full of excuses! Now is the time ladies. Our Basic Moves Intro class is tons of fun! The moves are basic, yet very spicy. We give you the tools to drop any lover's jaw!
WHAT IS IT?
It is a class of up to 12 women, where you learn the basics of exotic dance. The room has a large mirror, but is private so there are no spectators. There is one instructor and everyone participates. The class lasts 2 hours. It is open to all levels and any age (over 18). No dance experience is necessary.
WHAT WILL I LEARN?
We start with a few basic moves that show you how to move your hips and hands. Then we go over eye contact and a few tricks to help you exude sexiness and confidence. We cover a bit of the ever popular lap dance (using empty chairs) from how to position your lover and yourself, to the rules of contact, to moves that will leave them begging for more. We go over moves that you do facing your audience, whether that is your lover or simply your own mirror, as well as moves done with your back turned to increase the anticipation. We also cover how to remove your lingerie slowly and seductively. You will also get a cheat sheet that covers all of the moves that you learn.
IS IT RIGHT FOR ME?
Do you want to feel more sexy, more confident, laugh, move your body, and learn something that every woman is secretly dying to learn? If your answer is YES, then you are in the right spot! This class is perfect for all ages, sizes, and shapes of women with a little, a lot, or even no dance experience. Everyone starts on an even playing field. We have taught all women from 18 to 68, size 2 to size 20, Sunday school teachers, CEOs, professional dancers, and those who have never hit the dance floor. The class is small so you get individual attention and feel at ease with the group that you are in. Also, we understand that everyone coming into a class like this is nervous and we strive to make everyone feel comfortable and protected. And the routine can be done for a lover or just for yourself to reconnect with the inner sexiness that you have inside.
It is a class of up to 12 women, where you learn the basics of exotic dance. The room has a large mirror, but is private so there are no spectators. There is one instructor and everyone participates. The class lasts 2 hours. It is open to all levels and any age (over 18). No dance experience is necessary.
WHAT WILL I LEARN?
We start with a few basic moves that show you how to move your hips and hands. Then we go over eye contact and a few tricks to help you exude sexiness and confidence. We cover a bit of the ever popular lap dance (using empty chairs) from how to position your lover and yourself, to the rules of contact, to moves that will leave them begging for more. We go over moves that you do facing your audience, whether that is your lover or simply your own mirror, as well as moves done with your back turned to increase the anticipation. We also cover how to remove your lingerie slowly and seductively. You will also get a cheat sheet that covers all of the moves that you learn.
IS IT RIGHT FOR ME?
Do you want to feel more sexy, more confident, laugh, move your body, and learn something that every woman is secretly dying to learn? If your answer is YES, then you are in the right spot! This class is perfect for all ages, sizes, and shapes of women with a little, a lot, or even no dance experience. Everyone starts on an even playing field. We have taught all women from 18 to 68, size 2 to size 20, Sunday school teachers, CEOs, professional dancers, and those who have never hit the dance floor. The class is small so you get individual attention and feel at ease with the group that you are in. Also, we understand that everyone coming into a class like this is nervous and we strive to make everyone feel comfortable and protected. And the routine can be done for a lover or just for yourself to reconnect with the inner sexiness that you have inside.
WHAT DO I BRING?
A pair of high heels, an extra bra, and an open mind.
HOW DO I SIGN UP?
It is super easy. You can sign up on our website. The Intro Class is $35 for one ticket. If you purchase 2 tickets (yep, grab your best gal pal and get a discount!) they are only $30 a piece. All classes are pre-pay. You can sign up here. The next class is this Saturday. Once your payment is processed you will receive an email with further information. You can also call into the office to sign up over the phone 1.800.747.1462.
Feel free to call with any questions. You can also send us an email at info@stripxpertease.com .
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PUNCH CARD CLASSES!
Can't make the Basic Moves Intro Class this weekend? Then check out our Punch Card Classes! Classes are open to all levels especially beginners. Each class is 1 hour and 10 minutes. And rates start at $20 per class! No reason to prepay, drop-ins welcome. All PC classes held at Ripley Grier Studios. Actual room location subject to change. Please check Ripley Grier main board.
Purchase tickets/class cards here.
Detailed class descriptions here.
Purchase tickets/class cards here.
Detailed class descriptions here.
MONTHLY ON-GOING PUNCH CARD CLASS SCHEDULE
Stripper Strength: Tuesdays 6:10-7:20 pm, studio 16P.
Desire Series: Wednesdays 6:40-7:50 pm, studio 16P.
Stripper Strength: Wednesdays 8:10-9:20 pm, studio 16P.
Desire Series: Wednesdays 6:40-7:50 pm, studio 16P.
Stripper Strength: Wednesdays 8:10-9:20 pm, studio 16P.
$$Punch Card Prices$$:
Drop-ins $20
Or buy a punch card and save:
4 class card $74
10 class card $165
25 class card $325.50
Drop-ins $20
Or buy a punch card and save:
4 class card $74
10 class card $165
25 class card $325.50
Thursday, June 25, 2009
First day as a stripper..another day in the life story and my 2 cents.
I love this, my thoughts as usual in red...
http://archive.salon.com/sex/feature/2000/08/09/dancer_1/index.html
How I became an exotic dancer
My exhibitionist streak saved me from slinging doughnuts. First of two parts.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
By Sheila Hageman
Aug. 9, 2000 I can still remember the first time I was allowed to take a bath all by myself when I was about 6 years old. It was early in the evening, after dinner. Mom was washing dishes, Dad was reading the newspaper in the living room and my sister was doing homework in her bedroom. I filled the cracking beige porcelain tub with bubbling waves of soap and then soaked myself until my fingers were wrinkled like white sun-baked grapes. Balls of moisture formed on the bathroom window and fogged out the black night. My yellow plastic duck bobbed up and down by my two pink knees, poking out from the filmy water like two naked mole rats. Hot water traveled through the clanking pipes of the radiator and combined with the clinking of the dinner dishes Mom set out to dry. I held my breath and listened harder; the crisp turns and folds of Dad's newspaper were a song of comfort and home that protected me in the quiet night.
It was then that I first thought the world revolved around me. The outside sounds were made just for me. Other people lived on earth just to help fulfill my life's experiences. It was as if I'd discovered the meaning of life. I was the center of the universe and my job was to allow everybody around me to help me to experience the world. I wanted to know and feel everything in every way.
The bath water began to chill. Suddenly, the small tub enclosed me and made my dreams seem minuscule. How could the world be just about me? If it were, surely I would have a perfect life. That thought frightened me and made me think perhaps I was only a part of somebody else's world. I needed to return to my feeling of safety and connection with the larger world. I needed to stop the spreading veins of fear in my mind. I drained the water from the tub and fluffed my body dry with the mauve butterfly towel. My hand turned the wobbly crystal doorknob. I felt the exciting rush of cold hallway air and made a shivery dash for the kitchen.
My mom spun around as I rushed past her, squealing in my happy nakedness. My feet made streaky splats along the orange tiles. Mom dropped the Roadrunner glass back into the sudsy dishpan, "Karoomph!"
"Streaker, streaker!" my mom bellowed as I raced through the adjacent dining room into the brown living room. My dad peered over the top of the Connecticut Post. I zoomed past him and around the circle of the house again. I was laughing, running and getting goose bumps all over my body. It felt good to be naked.
Coming back to the opened bathroom door, I glanced in to see rivulets of water running down the steamy windowpanes. It was much more inviting to turn to my right and run around the circle one more time. Dad put his paper down and tried to catch me.
I was winded with happiness as I collapsed back into the bathroom, gasping for breath. I could hear my mom's and dad's muffled voices whispering from the other side of the door. Not only did I feel good, but now they were talking to each other without yelling.
The whole world had watched me. That's how it was meant to be. Shy little Sheila, who usually clung behind Mom's protective shadow, finally felt free to be noticed. I guess showing off was in my blood.
Years later, I plopped down into the orange booth at Dunkin' Donuts on my break and skimmed through the Connecticut Post's Help Wanted section. My view skirted to an advertisement I'd seen there before: "Exotic Dancers Wanted! Make up to $1,000 a week! No Experience Necessary! Will Train!"
A stripper. An exotic dancer. What a wonderful way to be the most beautiful and the most loved. I could show everybody what I was capable of becoming. Perhaps by showing my body to the world, I would be able to quench my longing for attention. All my life I was an attention whore..I think that is how the acting bug got in...
I mean, why shouldn't I become a stripper? It was almost as if I was being called to be one. My hair was blond and my ass was tight. Young, beautiful and intelligent women were supposed to do amazing and daring things.
I was wasting away in suburbia -- if I lived in New York I could go to more acting auditions. But it was so expensive to live there. I needed to make some big money. Ahhh, yes, I know this story.
A thousand dollars a week? I could do it. I was an actress -- all I had to do was play another role. I really do think it was my acting skills that made me good..when I was good, before the burn out sets in...I tore the small ad from the paper, shoved it in the pocket of my Levi's and brushed the color sprinkles from my pink polyester apron.
Two days later, I was driving to a brick apartment complex in downtown Bridgeport. I walked down a long dark hallway filled with the sounds and smells of babies and knocked on a door with a cardboard gold star that read "Star Management." I pushed open the thin wooden door into a small office covered with photos of naked ladies. Johnny, his striped polo shirt sweated to his chest, interviewed me for the job. His partner, Ron, was on the phone the whole time, talking to a woman named Lola.
I had brought my modeling portfolio with me. Johnny flipped through it, stopping to stare at the nudes. "Why don't you go slip into your costume?" I nodded and headed for the bathroom. The bathroom was also used as a storage room for extra boxes of glossies, so I barely had room to sit down on the toilet. I slipped on a white lace bra, a thong and heels.
The door stuck on the shag carpet as I tried my best to appear graceful. Johnny whistled and nodded as I did the fashion model turns that I'd learned at Barbizon Modeling School the year before.
"Could you take off your bra?"
I felt so stupid reaching my arms around my back and trying to unsnap it. Johnny leaned back and revealed his sweaty pits as I exposed my nipples. I waited for him to say I was too flat-chested, but he just took a Polaroid of me topless -- "for the files." This only happened to me in NY, I wonder what they do with all those photos...
Johnny then went into a rambling monologue about the different clubs and their rules.
"Now, you look really young, so I need you to look glamorous from the minute you walk into a club." He rocked back and forth in his leather swivel chair, making squeegee sounds.
I tried hard to listen, but my moist thong kept sliding me farther back into the plastic folding chair. Whom was I kidding? Maybe Johnny would see right through me and tell me I wasn't sexy enough to be an exotic dancer.
"You'll need a signed permission letter from your guardian, since you're under 21." Huh, I have never heard of that before. It was all good as long as you were 18 in TX.
How do you ask your mother for permission to be a stripper? "You mean I've got to tell my mom what I'm doing? I'm 18!" I sat up and leaned onto Johnny's cluttered desk. "I'm an adult."
"Well, you aren't legal to work in bars until you're 21, but don't worry." Johnny touched my hand. "I won't tell anyone if you forget your permission slip.
"I'm your boss; you answer to me, not the club owners. I book you and I help you when you need it, and you help me when I need it." His hand ran through his curly hair. "If you have any problems, you just call me."
I smiled, nodding in agreement with everything he said. I wanted to get out of that stifling office.
"If you're caught on the premises with drugs, it's an immediate week's suspension. Clearly intoxicated, same thing." Tufts of chest hair spurted from his open collar.
Drugs and alcohol at work? Who does that? Ahahaha..so naive..soon you will learn my pretty.
"G-string stays on at all times and absolutely no physical contact with the customers." I liked that rule.
"You'll get paid $55 in cash at the end of your seven-hour shift. Of course, you'll make your real money in tips."
I thought it would be more money. How many shifts would I need to work to make $1,000 a week? How much could I possibly make in tips?
"So, when can I put you into the rotation?"
I had been hired. Just like that. I was a topless dancer. I didn't want to sound like an amateur, but there was one question that kept floating through my mind.
"Umm, the free training advertised in the paper?" I asked.
For the first time since I'd arrived, Ron cleared his throat, stood up and leaned against his desk. "Just get up there and dance," he said. Yep, there ya go..ON-THE-JOB training...
This is part two...
The Bungalow was tucked away at the back of an industrial park. I swung open the blacked-out glass door with the sign "No Fat Women Allowed!" The darkened pit gobbled up the bright noon sun, and the cool damp smell of liquor snuck up my nose. I leaned against the bar railing and a blond man's head popped into sight. I remember that walking in from the sunshine gorgeous outside clean crisp air into the club. Your eyes would have to adjust. It smelled of stale booze and cigarettes. The music muffled outside now played too loudly. It was always this weird transition.
"Hi, my name is Kyrea. I'm supposed to ask for Billy. It's my first day." Did that name sound stupid? Was I supposed to say my real name instead?
"Hey, it's nice to meet you! I'm Nick. The dressing room is down there -- I'll let Billy know you're here." He pointed off to the right and continued lifting boxes of beer to the bar.
I turned and saw it for the first time, a long L-shaped stage with Christmas lights strung along the edge, surrounded by chairs. I stumbled into the dressing room thinking I must have made a mistake; it was just a bathroom with a gold star on the door. There were three stalls (one without a door), a sink and two broken wall mirrors. I plugged in the space heater and it whirred to a start. I had expected something more glamorous. I have worked in clubs like that. You know you're in trouble because its obvious the owners and managers could give 2 shits about the dancers. Get your bag and run!
I pulled on my costume and tried to puff up my hair and squeeze my 34-A breasts as high as they would go. I looked too young.
I click-clacked my way back to the bar in my undies and high heels, wondering if I should have covered myself up or if I was supposed to be as nude as possible at all times.
The owner now sat at the bar, drinking a small bottle of club soda. He was in his late 20s and had long golden hair.
"Wow! You look beautiful." I could feel my face getting hot and red, just like my bra and thong. I felt like a gigantic tomato, but both Billy and Nick said I looked great.
"You might want to put on a robe when you're not onstage, though. I don't want you catching cold." Now my face got redder, but Billy gently squeezed my shoulder.
I showed them my forged permission note. They glanced at each other and Billy thanked me.
I relaxed on a wobbly stool and leaned my elbows against the rail. A few men started strolling in, so I tried to look as demure as you can look when you're the only woman in a bar and in your underwear.
I could feel eyes staring at me from across the bar. I tried out my most seductive smile, but I couldn't tell if he smiled back. My ice water slid down my throat, causing my nervous belly to ache. No more smiles for you, mister.
I sat there for half an hour, wondering when the other dancer would arrive. Johnny had said I should watch her first and then imitate her moves. It was almost noon, which was when the shows were supposed to start. The clock churned on and men kept entering. They were talking about me and pointing, in between going to the cooler at the back end of the bar for a sandwich and gulping down their beers. Billy said, "Whenever you're ready."
My feet carried me past the catcalls and whistles, past the pool table and the TV. I dropped my plastic purse into the giant tip basket at the corner of the stage.
Two wilted dollar bills from the bar started the jukebox A jukebox?!!? Where the hell was this girl working?!?!and I picked out my first set of songs -- fast ones so that I wouldn't have time to slow down and be aware of what was going on. I turned to face the crowd and smiled at the few men who sat by the stage. Their eyes were eye level with my calves; they couldn't help staring up at my crotch.
Oh, my God, what should I do now? I sashayed down the stage and grabbed a metal pole that stuck out from the middle of the stage and stretched my legs. The music began to beat out from speakers all around me. Male eyes peered through the hazy smoke, heavy-lidded with the effects of liquor.
I rotated my hips slowly, bent over and extended my legs. I danced like molasses sliding down a wooden banister and swung my long hair, letting it land and brush against my ass.
Men were watching me from all sides. I saw two guys leaning against their pool cues, drooling. All other action in the bar had ceased. The walls were lined with mirrors, so I could see myself dancing. I looked firm and shiny and perfect with the rosy lights playing on my body from above.
I'd stop dancing long enough to take the dollars held out to me. The men wanted to know my name and how old I was. They wanted me to stop dancing to talk to them. But I didn't want to get in trouble, so I tried to never stop moving.
"I must know your name!" A man in a blue suit squeezed my hand as he handed me a five.
"Kyrea!" I shouted over the music. I turned my back to him and undid my bra. The smelly air clung to my curves. I caught a glance of my white breasts in the mirror and I felt really naked for the first time.
"Perrier? What kind of a name is that?" I laughed at the suit and kept dancing.
It was funny how safe I felt. No one tried to grab me or said I was a whore. All they said was how beautiful I was. I felt like a queen on a pedestal with control over the men. I only had to dance for a customer about a minute before I'd see a flash of green being waved somewhere else. I decided when to dance away from one guy to the next. I was the one with the power; the men were helpless in my womanly spell. I remember that feeling too. The good nights
This was much better than selling doughnuts.
I noticed another woman standing by the stage. I scooped up my dollars as the men applauded and scurried back to the bathroom, clutching my bra to my chest. Men stopped me along the way, wanting to buy me a drink. I just smiled and rushed past them.
I plopped down on the bathroom chair and pressed out my dollars flat. Some of them had been crumpled into little balls and thrown to me, and others had been folded into little bow ties and swans. Always some loser folding all the bills into origami, now I have to spend my time unfolding that shit. If I have to spend five minutes unfolding your origami elephant it better be a $50. ...I know, I'm a bitch. I had earned $32 during that set. Not bad considering that my doughnut job had paid $5 an hour.
I mopped off my body with hard brown paper towels and yanked on my next outfit, a yellow thong leotard with pink hot pants. The muffled sounds of pool balls being smacked, men laughing and coughing and hard rock music pulsed through my ears. A whoosh of powder on my damp skin and I was all set. I wanted to get out there to study the other dancer.
I ordered an orange juice and settled in at the bar to watch the show. Kelly did a lot more talking than dancing. She also had her own repertoire of moves. She'd bend over and look at a guy between her legs, pick up dollar bills by squeezing her breasts around them and slap her butt and make a squealing noise. Her performance was not a striptease, really -- it was a half-naked woman walking from man to man and wiggling. There is a lot of that out there.
Billy sat with me and reviewed the club's rules, which were strictly enforced. The Bungalow was strictly topless and no flashing (pulling your G-string aside) was allowed. A lot of girls "play" with their t-backs to make it look like it might come off. Several clubs realized girls were flashing and made a rule that you couldn't touch your t-back at all. Physical contact with the customers was grounds for immediate dismissal. Any problem with a customer was to be handled by the bouncers. "If anyone should proposition you, come and tell me." Po-po in the building.
I looked Billy in the eye and nodded.
"I run a clean club and I don't want to get closed down."
"You can count on me."
Billy smiled and touched my arm.
I danced a total of six half-hour sets that day, keeping up my energy with a ham sandwich from the cooler and a lot of ice water. I used the ice onstage by running it down my body. It kept my skin cool and my nipples hard. The men loved it when I did something spontaneous like that, because they could tell I was discovering the moves for the first time. Hahaha, I almost forgot about the ice trick. Yep they love that one. I will go into more detail on that one tomorrow.
Kelly was older than I and you could tell she'd been a dancer for a long time. She wore the same costume all day long, while I liked to change my outfits so the guys would have something new to look at. My whole mood changed when I switched my costume from white lace to black plastic. That was me, I hated changing, more laundry. I also felt it was better because guys would look for you based on outfit. Like, bring me the girl who was wearing the black dress with pink at the bottom.
I must have warded off a dozen date invites. The men seemed to be asking me out seriously, not like I was a prostitute. What did these old fat guys think? That I would want to go out to dinner with them? That they were going to make a love connection with a stripper? Yes! They think they can take you away from it all. Of course, there were some who wanted something else and were very clear about it. As soon as a man's words began to sound like a proposition for sex, I'd flip my hair and dance away.
The guys got rowdier and more offensive as the day wore on. Some guys would look away when I approached, so as not to have to give me a dollar. The old, if I don't see you I won't have to tip you. I would just stand there until they had to tip. Ha! I was such a bitch. But it worked! Others got pissed off because I wouldn't flash. They told me that everybody else did it, but I had no intention of flashing. There were plenty of customers who were more than happy to watch me do an actual striptease dance. I used a lot of eye contact and found that the men liked to be teased. They watched my face as well as my body. My acting skills were really coming in handy. Yep!
Kelly's dancing got bawdier and she spent a lot of time at the far end of the stage. She would bend over and fiddle with her thong while customers leaned in close. She'd flip herself up all of a sudden and shoot a look to the bar. I pretended not to be watching her, but she must have known I was.
After 5 o'clock it got really busy and Kelly waved to everyone. One fat guy threw a matchbook onstage and the guys went wild, screaming and clapping.
"What's going on?" I asked Nick.
"You'll see. It's her signature move." I looked toward the stage again and was bewildered. Kelly was inserting matches in her nipples. The audience got louder as she lighted the matches and carefully swung her flaming breasts in circles. The stunt lasted only a moment, but customers were throwing money onto the stage. It was bizarre, but I guess the men liked the novelty of it.
There is always a couple of girls who did this. It wasn't my bag. I tried it a few times though. Maybe I'll explain that one too. :)
The second-shift dancers began arriving around 5:30. Other wise known as the A-team. It was my first opportunity to speak with other women all day. One dancer with long blond hair started quizzing me as soon as I walked into the bathroom after my last set and counted out my dollars.
"Wow, you made a lot."
"Yeah? It's my first day."
"Your first day at this club or you mean your first day dancing ever?" She was slipping on a cheerleader outfit.
"Oh, my very first day."
"Mmm, well you better watch yourself around these other women. You're young and pretty -- a lot of dancers are going to be jealous." She brushed her hair up into two ponytails.
"Oh, I don't know."
"Seriously, you should put a lock on your suitcase and watch your back." She checked herself out in the mirror one last time and then whipped around and left the dressing room. She had not sounded friendly in her warning. In fact, she sounded downright hostile. Perhaps she had been talking about how she felt, and I decided that I should try to stay out of her way. I felt a twinge of panic at the thought that she had actually threatened me. Sounds like she had it right on. No one likes the new girl. I hated being the new girl.
I hurried to leave because I had a dress rehearsal for Neil Simon's "Brighton Beach Memoirs" at 8 at a local Playshop. I wished that I could take a shower to wash off the sweat and smoke that clung to me, but instead I dumped on some more baby powder.
I left the club at 6:30 with $275 in cash. Wearing sweats, I slipped out completely unnoticed; I'd become totally invisible by putting my regular clothes back on. My mind was spinning, my legs ached and I had a pounding headache, but the cool evening air refreshed my tired body and brought me back to the real world. By the time my Sundance hit Interstate 95, I was feeling like Sheila again. Kyrea drifted away into the black night somewhere around exit 40.
As I drove I wondered how long I'd be a stripper. I could feel that bar darkness beckoning, a place where I could escape the pressures of being a superwoman. In the club, my only responsibility was to be sexy. I knew the crowds of men had no respect for me. It didn't matter who I was or what I was about; they only wanted to look at my naked body.
I spoke to my reflection in the foggy rearview mirror. "I'm Sheila now. Kyrea is back in the bar." I brought my attention back to the road and as the white dashes flicked by I realized I had no idea who I was or where I was headed.
And the road stretched out very far in front of me.
salon.com Aug. 10, 2000
- - - - - - - - - - - -
About the writer
Sheila Hageman is a writer in New York
I loved this article. She has since retired, good for her! She has a blog too http://strippermom.blogspot.com/
http://archive.salon.com/sex/feature/2000/08/09/dancer_1/index.html
How I became an exotic dancer
My exhibitionist streak saved me from slinging doughnuts. First of two parts.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
By Sheila Hageman
Aug. 9, 2000 I can still remember the first time I was allowed to take a bath all by myself when I was about 6 years old. It was early in the evening, after dinner. Mom was washing dishes, Dad was reading the newspaper in the living room and my sister was doing homework in her bedroom. I filled the cracking beige porcelain tub with bubbling waves of soap and then soaked myself until my fingers were wrinkled like white sun-baked grapes. Balls of moisture formed on the bathroom window and fogged out the black night. My yellow plastic duck bobbed up and down by my two pink knees, poking out from the filmy water like two naked mole rats. Hot water traveled through the clanking pipes of the radiator and combined with the clinking of the dinner dishes Mom set out to dry. I held my breath and listened harder; the crisp turns and folds of Dad's newspaper were a song of comfort and home that protected me in the quiet night.
It was then that I first thought the world revolved around me. The outside sounds were made just for me. Other people lived on earth just to help fulfill my life's experiences. It was as if I'd discovered the meaning of life. I was the center of the universe and my job was to allow everybody around me to help me to experience the world. I wanted to know and feel everything in every way.
The bath water began to chill. Suddenly, the small tub enclosed me and made my dreams seem minuscule. How could the world be just about me? If it were, surely I would have a perfect life. That thought frightened me and made me think perhaps I was only a part of somebody else's world. I needed to return to my feeling of safety and connection with the larger world. I needed to stop the spreading veins of fear in my mind. I drained the water from the tub and fluffed my body dry with the mauve butterfly towel. My hand turned the wobbly crystal doorknob. I felt the exciting rush of cold hallway air and made a shivery dash for the kitchen.
My mom spun around as I rushed past her, squealing in my happy nakedness. My feet made streaky splats along the orange tiles. Mom dropped the Roadrunner glass back into the sudsy dishpan, "Karoomph!"
"Streaker, streaker!" my mom bellowed as I raced through the adjacent dining room into the brown living room. My dad peered over the top of the Connecticut Post. I zoomed past him and around the circle of the house again. I was laughing, running and getting goose bumps all over my body. It felt good to be naked.
Coming back to the opened bathroom door, I glanced in to see rivulets of water running down the steamy windowpanes. It was much more inviting to turn to my right and run around the circle one more time. Dad put his paper down and tried to catch me.
I was winded with happiness as I collapsed back into the bathroom, gasping for breath. I could hear my mom's and dad's muffled voices whispering from the other side of the door. Not only did I feel good, but now they were talking to each other without yelling.
The whole world had watched me. That's how it was meant to be. Shy little Sheila, who usually clung behind Mom's protective shadow, finally felt free to be noticed. I guess showing off was in my blood.
Years later, I plopped down into the orange booth at Dunkin' Donuts on my break and skimmed through the Connecticut Post's Help Wanted section. My view skirted to an advertisement I'd seen there before: "Exotic Dancers Wanted! Make up to $1,000 a week! No Experience Necessary! Will Train!"
A stripper. An exotic dancer. What a wonderful way to be the most beautiful and the most loved. I could show everybody what I was capable of becoming. Perhaps by showing my body to the world, I would be able to quench my longing for attention. All my life I was an attention whore..I think that is how the acting bug got in...
I mean, why shouldn't I become a stripper? It was almost as if I was being called to be one. My hair was blond and my ass was tight. Young, beautiful and intelligent women were supposed to do amazing and daring things.
I was wasting away in suburbia -- if I lived in New York I could go to more acting auditions. But it was so expensive to live there. I needed to make some big money. Ahhh, yes, I know this story.
A thousand dollars a week? I could do it. I was an actress -- all I had to do was play another role. I really do think it was my acting skills that made me good..when I was good, before the burn out sets in...I tore the small ad from the paper, shoved it in the pocket of my Levi's and brushed the color sprinkles from my pink polyester apron.
Two days later, I was driving to a brick apartment complex in downtown Bridgeport. I walked down a long dark hallway filled with the sounds and smells of babies and knocked on a door with a cardboard gold star that read "Star Management." I pushed open the thin wooden door into a small office covered with photos of naked ladies. Johnny, his striped polo shirt sweated to his chest, interviewed me for the job. His partner, Ron, was on the phone the whole time, talking to a woman named Lola.
I had brought my modeling portfolio with me. Johnny flipped through it, stopping to stare at the nudes. "Why don't you go slip into your costume?" I nodded and headed for the bathroom. The bathroom was also used as a storage room for extra boxes of glossies, so I barely had room to sit down on the toilet. I slipped on a white lace bra, a thong and heels.
The door stuck on the shag carpet as I tried my best to appear graceful. Johnny whistled and nodded as I did the fashion model turns that I'd learned at Barbizon Modeling School the year before.
"Could you take off your bra?"
I felt so stupid reaching my arms around my back and trying to unsnap it. Johnny leaned back and revealed his sweaty pits as I exposed my nipples. I waited for him to say I was too flat-chested, but he just took a Polaroid of me topless -- "for the files." This only happened to me in NY, I wonder what they do with all those photos...
Johnny then went into a rambling monologue about the different clubs and their rules.
"Now, you look really young, so I need you to look glamorous from the minute you walk into a club." He rocked back and forth in his leather swivel chair, making squeegee sounds.
I tried hard to listen, but my moist thong kept sliding me farther back into the plastic folding chair. Whom was I kidding? Maybe Johnny would see right through me and tell me I wasn't sexy enough to be an exotic dancer.
"You'll need a signed permission letter from your guardian, since you're under 21." Huh, I have never heard of that before. It was all good as long as you were 18 in TX.
How do you ask your mother for permission to be a stripper? "You mean I've got to tell my mom what I'm doing? I'm 18!" I sat up and leaned onto Johnny's cluttered desk. "I'm an adult."
"Well, you aren't legal to work in bars until you're 21, but don't worry." Johnny touched my hand. "I won't tell anyone if you forget your permission slip.
"I'm your boss; you answer to me, not the club owners. I book you and I help you when you need it, and you help me when I need it." His hand ran through his curly hair. "If you have any problems, you just call me."
I smiled, nodding in agreement with everything he said. I wanted to get out of that stifling office.
"If you're caught on the premises with drugs, it's an immediate week's suspension. Clearly intoxicated, same thing." Tufts of chest hair spurted from his open collar.
Drugs and alcohol at work? Who does that? Ahahaha..so naive..soon you will learn my pretty.
"G-string stays on at all times and absolutely no physical contact with the customers." I liked that rule.
"You'll get paid $55 in cash at the end of your seven-hour shift. Of course, you'll make your real money in tips."
I thought it would be more money. How many shifts would I need to work to make $1,000 a week? How much could I possibly make in tips?
"So, when can I put you into the rotation?"
I had been hired. Just like that. I was a topless dancer. I didn't want to sound like an amateur, but there was one question that kept floating through my mind.
"Umm, the free training advertised in the paper?" I asked.
For the first time since I'd arrived, Ron cleared his throat, stood up and leaned against his desk. "Just get up there and dance," he said. Yep, there ya go..ON-THE-JOB training...
This is part two...
The Bungalow was tucked away at the back of an industrial park. I swung open the blacked-out glass door with the sign "No Fat Women Allowed!" The darkened pit gobbled up the bright noon sun, and the cool damp smell of liquor snuck up my nose. I leaned against the bar railing and a blond man's head popped into sight. I remember that walking in from the sunshine gorgeous outside clean crisp air into the club. Your eyes would have to adjust. It smelled of stale booze and cigarettes. The music muffled outside now played too loudly. It was always this weird transition.
"Hi, my name is Kyrea. I'm supposed to ask for Billy. It's my first day." Did that name sound stupid? Was I supposed to say my real name instead?
"Hey, it's nice to meet you! I'm Nick. The dressing room is down there -- I'll let Billy know you're here." He pointed off to the right and continued lifting boxes of beer to the bar.
I turned and saw it for the first time, a long L-shaped stage with Christmas lights strung along the edge, surrounded by chairs. I stumbled into the dressing room thinking I must have made a mistake; it was just a bathroom with a gold star on the door. There were three stalls (one without a door), a sink and two broken wall mirrors. I plugged in the space heater and it whirred to a start. I had expected something more glamorous. I have worked in clubs like that. You know you're in trouble because its obvious the owners and managers could give 2 shits about the dancers. Get your bag and run!
I pulled on my costume and tried to puff up my hair and squeeze my 34-A breasts as high as they would go. I looked too young.
I click-clacked my way back to the bar in my undies and high heels, wondering if I should have covered myself up or if I was supposed to be as nude as possible at all times.
The owner now sat at the bar, drinking a small bottle of club soda. He was in his late 20s and had long golden hair.
"Wow! You look beautiful." I could feel my face getting hot and red, just like my bra and thong. I felt like a gigantic tomato, but both Billy and Nick said I looked great.
"You might want to put on a robe when you're not onstage, though. I don't want you catching cold." Now my face got redder, but Billy gently squeezed my shoulder.
I showed them my forged permission note. They glanced at each other and Billy thanked me.
I relaxed on a wobbly stool and leaned my elbows against the rail. A few men started strolling in, so I tried to look as demure as you can look when you're the only woman in a bar and in your underwear.
I could feel eyes staring at me from across the bar. I tried out my most seductive smile, but I couldn't tell if he smiled back. My ice water slid down my throat, causing my nervous belly to ache. No more smiles for you, mister.
I sat there for half an hour, wondering when the other dancer would arrive. Johnny had said I should watch her first and then imitate her moves. It was almost noon, which was when the shows were supposed to start. The clock churned on and men kept entering. They were talking about me and pointing, in between going to the cooler at the back end of the bar for a sandwich and gulping down their beers. Billy said, "Whenever you're ready."
My feet carried me past the catcalls and whistles, past the pool table and the TV. I dropped my plastic purse into the giant tip basket at the corner of the stage.
Two wilted dollar bills from the bar started the jukebox A jukebox?!!? Where the hell was this girl working?!?!and I picked out my first set of songs -- fast ones so that I wouldn't have time to slow down and be aware of what was going on. I turned to face the crowd and smiled at the few men who sat by the stage. Their eyes were eye level with my calves; they couldn't help staring up at my crotch.
Oh, my God, what should I do now? I sashayed down the stage and grabbed a metal pole that stuck out from the middle of the stage and stretched my legs. The music began to beat out from speakers all around me. Male eyes peered through the hazy smoke, heavy-lidded with the effects of liquor.
I rotated my hips slowly, bent over and extended my legs. I danced like molasses sliding down a wooden banister and swung my long hair, letting it land and brush against my ass.
Men were watching me from all sides. I saw two guys leaning against their pool cues, drooling. All other action in the bar had ceased. The walls were lined with mirrors, so I could see myself dancing. I looked firm and shiny and perfect with the rosy lights playing on my body from above.
I'd stop dancing long enough to take the dollars held out to me. The men wanted to know my name and how old I was. They wanted me to stop dancing to talk to them. But I didn't want to get in trouble, so I tried to never stop moving.
"I must know your name!" A man in a blue suit squeezed my hand as he handed me a five.
"Kyrea!" I shouted over the music. I turned my back to him and undid my bra. The smelly air clung to my curves. I caught a glance of my white breasts in the mirror and I felt really naked for the first time.
"Perrier? What kind of a name is that?" I laughed at the suit and kept dancing.
It was funny how safe I felt. No one tried to grab me or said I was a whore. All they said was how beautiful I was. I felt like a queen on a pedestal with control over the men. I only had to dance for a customer about a minute before I'd see a flash of green being waved somewhere else. I decided when to dance away from one guy to the next. I was the one with the power; the men were helpless in my womanly spell. I remember that feeling too. The good nights
This was much better than selling doughnuts.
I noticed another woman standing by the stage. I scooped up my dollars as the men applauded and scurried back to the bathroom, clutching my bra to my chest. Men stopped me along the way, wanting to buy me a drink. I just smiled and rushed past them.
I plopped down on the bathroom chair and pressed out my dollars flat. Some of them had been crumpled into little balls and thrown to me, and others had been folded into little bow ties and swans. Always some loser folding all the bills into origami, now I have to spend my time unfolding that shit. If I have to spend five minutes unfolding your origami elephant it better be a $50. ...I know, I'm a bitch. I had earned $32 during that set. Not bad considering that my doughnut job had paid $5 an hour.
I mopped off my body with hard brown paper towels and yanked on my next outfit, a yellow thong leotard with pink hot pants. The muffled sounds of pool balls being smacked, men laughing and coughing and hard rock music pulsed through my ears. A whoosh of powder on my damp skin and I was all set. I wanted to get out there to study the other dancer.
I ordered an orange juice and settled in at the bar to watch the show. Kelly did a lot more talking than dancing. She also had her own repertoire of moves. She'd bend over and look at a guy between her legs, pick up dollar bills by squeezing her breasts around them and slap her butt and make a squealing noise. Her performance was not a striptease, really -- it was a half-naked woman walking from man to man and wiggling. There is a lot of that out there.
Billy sat with me and reviewed the club's rules, which were strictly enforced. The Bungalow was strictly topless and no flashing (pulling your G-string aside) was allowed. A lot of girls "play" with their t-backs to make it look like it might come off. Several clubs realized girls were flashing and made a rule that you couldn't touch your t-back at all. Physical contact with the customers was grounds for immediate dismissal. Any problem with a customer was to be handled by the bouncers. "If anyone should proposition you, come and tell me." Po-po in the building.
I looked Billy in the eye and nodded.
"I run a clean club and I don't want to get closed down."
"You can count on me."
Billy smiled and touched my arm.
I danced a total of six half-hour sets that day, keeping up my energy with a ham sandwich from the cooler and a lot of ice water. I used the ice onstage by running it down my body. It kept my skin cool and my nipples hard. The men loved it when I did something spontaneous like that, because they could tell I was discovering the moves for the first time. Hahaha, I almost forgot about the ice trick. Yep they love that one. I will go into more detail on that one tomorrow.
Kelly was older than I and you could tell she'd been a dancer for a long time. She wore the same costume all day long, while I liked to change my outfits so the guys would have something new to look at. My whole mood changed when I switched my costume from white lace to black plastic. That was me, I hated changing, more laundry. I also felt it was better because guys would look for you based on outfit. Like, bring me the girl who was wearing the black dress with pink at the bottom.
I must have warded off a dozen date invites. The men seemed to be asking me out seriously, not like I was a prostitute. What did these old fat guys think? That I would want to go out to dinner with them? That they were going to make a love connection with a stripper? Yes! They think they can take you away from it all. Of course, there were some who wanted something else and were very clear about it. As soon as a man's words began to sound like a proposition for sex, I'd flip my hair and dance away.
The guys got rowdier and more offensive as the day wore on. Some guys would look away when I approached, so as not to have to give me a dollar. The old, if I don't see you I won't have to tip you. I would just stand there until they had to tip. Ha! I was such a bitch. But it worked! Others got pissed off because I wouldn't flash. They told me that everybody else did it, but I had no intention of flashing. There were plenty of customers who were more than happy to watch me do an actual striptease dance. I used a lot of eye contact and found that the men liked to be teased. They watched my face as well as my body. My acting skills were really coming in handy. Yep!
Kelly's dancing got bawdier and she spent a lot of time at the far end of the stage. She would bend over and fiddle with her thong while customers leaned in close. She'd flip herself up all of a sudden and shoot a look to the bar. I pretended not to be watching her, but she must have known I was.
After 5 o'clock it got really busy and Kelly waved to everyone. One fat guy threw a matchbook onstage and the guys went wild, screaming and clapping.
"What's going on?" I asked Nick.
"You'll see. It's her signature move." I looked toward the stage again and was bewildered. Kelly was inserting matches in her nipples. The audience got louder as she lighted the matches and carefully swung her flaming breasts in circles. The stunt lasted only a moment, but customers were throwing money onto the stage. It was bizarre, but I guess the men liked the novelty of it.
There is always a couple of girls who did this. It wasn't my bag. I tried it a few times though. Maybe I'll explain that one too. :)
The second-shift dancers began arriving around 5:30. Other wise known as the A-team. It was my first opportunity to speak with other women all day. One dancer with long blond hair started quizzing me as soon as I walked into the bathroom after my last set and counted out my dollars.
"Wow, you made a lot."
"Yeah? It's my first day."
"Your first day at this club or you mean your first day dancing ever?" She was slipping on a cheerleader outfit.
"Oh, my very first day."
"Mmm, well you better watch yourself around these other women. You're young and pretty -- a lot of dancers are going to be jealous." She brushed her hair up into two ponytails.
"Oh, I don't know."
"Seriously, you should put a lock on your suitcase and watch your back." She checked herself out in the mirror one last time and then whipped around and left the dressing room. She had not sounded friendly in her warning. In fact, she sounded downright hostile. Perhaps she had been talking about how she felt, and I decided that I should try to stay out of her way. I felt a twinge of panic at the thought that she had actually threatened me. Sounds like she had it right on. No one likes the new girl. I hated being the new girl.
I hurried to leave because I had a dress rehearsal for Neil Simon's "Brighton Beach Memoirs" at 8 at a local Playshop. I wished that I could take a shower to wash off the sweat and smoke that clung to me, but instead I dumped on some more baby powder.
I left the club at 6:30 with $275 in cash. Wearing sweats, I slipped out completely unnoticed; I'd become totally invisible by putting my regular clothes back on. My mind was spinning, my legs ached and I had a pounding headache, but the cool evening air refreshed my tired body and brought me back to the real world. By the time my Sundance hit Interstate 95, I was feeling like Sheila again. Kyrea drifted away into the black night somewhere around exit 40.
As I drove I wondered how long I'd be a stripper. I could feel that bar darkness beckoning, a place where I could escape the pressures of being a superwoman. In the club, my only responsibility was to be sexy. I knew the crowds of men had no respect for me. It didn't matter who I was or what I was about; they only wanted to look at my naked body.
I spoke to my reflection in the foggy rearview mirror. "I'm Sheila now. Kyrea is back in the bar." I brought my attention back to the road and as the white dashes flicked by I realized I had no idea who I was or where I was headed.
And the road stretched out very far in front of me.
salon.com Aug. 10, 2000
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About the writer
Sheila Hageman is a writer in New York
I loved this article. She has since retired, good for her! She has a blog too http://strippermom.blogspot.com/
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The Perfect At-Home Pedicure
continued from our newsletter...
OK! First you need to gather your supplies. Just click on the links for pictures and suggestions on where to buy. Just remember, this will be an investment, but will pay for itself in a few pedicures. Plus you can use most of these items for manicures too!
There are also kits you can buy that have several of these items.
Then ta-da, you are ready!
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Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Confessions of a Teenage Stripper...(a day in the life) and my 2 cents
Stumbled across this article, my thoughts as they came...in red.
Sayyadina Thomas, Posted: Jan 27, 2004
Editor's Note: News of nationwide crackdowns on the trafficking of undocumented immigrant sex workers causes a young writer to remember her experiences in a strip club, and the extra risks faced by immigrant women there.
SAN FRANCISCO--Recently I opened the newspapers to read about a bust of a brothel and its undocumented immigrant sex workers in a sweet-looking house in a residential neighborhood. It made me think back to my days as a stripper, working alongside immigrant girls in a downtown club. I have really only experienced this here in NY, not so much in Texas.
I needed money, and a girl I knew suggested we try stripping. She didn't want to go alone. I was just 17, but a brought a forged birth certificate.
For me, the club was a place to make what I thought would be fast, easy money. The manager warned if I couldn't make $400 a night it wasn't worth my time. I started work at 6:30 p.m. and got off at 2:30 a.m. About 20 other girls worked with me. It was really hard to make money at first because I talked too much and didn't work the customers to buy dances. Every stripper had to pay the club's house fee each shift: $100.If there were not a lot of paying customers, some girls had to go home. Very similar to my story, except I was the one convincing my friend, and the managers never sent girls home. If there weren't a lot of custies at least they could make money off of the girls. I worked with about 20-60 girls...average. Our house fees were around this, including tipping out. I also did pretty well from the start as I think most girls do, that is how they get hooked in. New girls always make more money...fresh meat.
I went into debt before I got the hang of it. When I started to learn how to manipulate the customers with my body I started making money, about $300 to $600, depending on the night. Other girls, the tall blondes with breast implants and the little, under-aged looking Asians, made the most money. Sometimes I saw girls pocketing $800 dollars. Again, similar, in our club back in mid to late 90's, less than 300 was terrible, average was 500. Amazing night was closer to 800-1,000. That's about 20 lap dances and four pole routines worth of cash.
I just wanted to get quick money, but I found out early that no money is that easy. First of all, stripping can be bad on the psyche. You analyze your body down to the tiniest flaw, finding fault with everything. You go from feeling good -- men are paying a lot of money to see you dance -- to feeling like a used hand rag, with everybody wiping their fetishes off on you. I stayed high a lot and I spent about a half of what I made getting my nails and hair done and buying expensive stripper clothes. I stripped for about six months. ahhh, yes.
This next bit, I can't relate to...A strip club is almost always a demeaning environment to women, and it is racist because every girl has to label herself. Blacks and mulattos are exotic beauties. Whites are American beauties. Once, a tall, willowy blonde pulled me aside to tell me that -- surprise -- her mother was black. She was Brazilian, but at the club she told the customers she was Portuguese. It sounded better than Brazilian and better than black, she said. It was rumored that some girls were prostitutes, but I never saw a girl in the club turn a trick. Me neither, although I have seen lots of girls giving hand jobs, one blow job, and lots of girls letting guys finger them and what not. At the club where I worked some of the most preferred customers were police officers, white-collar workers and firemen. One particular cop visited the club often for lap dances. He gave me a business card and tried to convince me to call him so he could pay to perform oral sex on me. ah, yes, they always wanted you to call them. I would give him the most expensive dance I could and casually tell him I wasn't interested.
Two Asian girls I worked with were illegal, and everybody knew the boss loved illegal immigrants. Since an illegal immigrant is a security risk, a club owner may demand that she pay three times the normal house fee. If she is popular and makes $600 nightly, she has to give $300 to the club. If she doesn't make enough money to pay the house she will most likely go into debt. The two Asian girls kept to themselves and talked to few people. They were prized at the club because they looked about 12 years old and guys really liked them. One small-boned girl with a classic straight bang haircut was no doubt one of the biggest moneymakers in the house. She had a mean accent and could barely pronounce English. Another stripper friend, a Central American, is a student at City College in San Francisco. She told me her boss had asked her to help him smuggle some girls from Central America to work for him. My home girl is an activist who brings money home from the club to her family because her father is a political prisoner and her family is in poverty. She turned down the boss's request. CRAZY!
I never got to know any of the girls intimately. We smoked an occasional joint together, but strippers tend to be wary of each other due to the competitive nature of the place. I do remember that a lot of girls started stripping thinking they'd make a few thousand dollars fast. Make money, enroll in school, find a husband, perhaps put a down payment on a house -- isn't that all part of the American dream? But in a strip club, especially if you're a foreigner, you can catch sight of the worst side of the American dream. Just like those sex workers in the pretty neighborhood house.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Another Vice article.. love it!
OK, so underneath that Vice article from yesterday was another one... You gotta check out all the comments http://www.viceland.com/issues_au/v2n8/htdocs/how_to.php people get so serious...it's comedy fools! Lighten up fer fuck's sake!
YOU ARE NEVER GETTING IN
By Gloria Glory
One of the greatest things about dewds is their ability to assume every woman wants them. The greatest things about dewds are that they continue to believe this in places such as Strip Clubs. Let's get one thing straight as far as we dancers are concerned it's a JOB - period. Part of the job is finding your stories about eating a hot dog and then going home to take a crap the most fascinating hunk of conversation ever shared. Oh, I am gonna loove this one.
By Gloria Glory
One of the greatest things about dewds is their ability to assume every woman wants them. The greatest things about dewds are that they continue to believe this in places such as Strip Clubs. Let's get one thing straight as far as we dancers are concerned it's a JOB - period. Part of the job is finding your stories about eating a hot dog and then going home to take a crap the most fascinating hunk of conversation ever shared. Oh, I am gonna loove this one.
Well guess what you're as sexy as a weather report, not a poet laureate; you are your own poetic justice. You would have a better chance screwing Queen Elizabeth after regaling her with your hair gel stories. Ergo, for the men who act like they are doing us a favor or tey (try?) bringing roses to a strip club because there was a "connection", oh no..i know those guys..oh this is gonna be bad..i feel the laughter tears wellin' up already. here's a few reasons why you are doomed.
PLANNINNG TO GO TO THE CLUB:
Let me guess: You find yourself going alone or with all male jock friends who are horrible with women…
Solution: JUST STOP! Call your mom and explain that you are horrible with women, start to cry and then go to bed. It's better than accidentally overhearing us mention that you are a gorgeous example of an unattractive guy.
YOUR ARRIVAL SUCKS
What you do: Apparently you haven't called your mother yet so you think you are still in the game. SIT DOWN!
What you do:
Guys who come in and make a "mother fucking ruckus" translates into a "mother fucking fuck us - financially". It pisses of everyone including the guy jacking off at his table. He even feels superior to you. oh noooo.
Gynecology row is a Gynecology No! Maybe sitting right in front the stage impresses a girl at a Sting concert but it a peeler bar it tells the girls you think went to a Sting concert.
Just do this: Sit to the side of the stage in the shadows like a sexy Vincent Price. DO NOT make a seen( scene?). How impressed do you think we'll get you're in a peeler bar for fuck sake. True, I like how she calls it a peeler bar. I have never heard that. We always called them titty bars.
HYGIENE
The smell of a guy can be amazing if you're into him but if not (ie you) your personal odor is as welcome as a waft of a stranger's pepperoni belch. Cover it up with something, but before you do
ask yourself this: "Did I use a judicial amount of cologne or do I smell like I should be wedged between the pages of GQ? If you reek of shitty cologne go down the street to Planet Hollywood and find your wife.
Why we hate cologne:
The fact that I'm explaining this is making me furious! It REEKS and after smelling 40 different carefully chosen "scents" we've done more damage to our nasal cavity than the blow we just did. Bah hahaha! All your doing is effectively telling the girls that you have the expectations of a horny ten year old and you actually believe hip hop music videos are self improvement tapes.
ORDERING A DRINK
Make it short and sweet. The longer you take ordering while the waitress is there causes a log jam inhibiting you from being the man you think you are.
Complaining about drink prices in a strip bar is like complaining about not getting across the border American in a pot leafed "legalize it" shirt. Oh fuck! I hated, I mean HATED when guys did that. I was like are you for real?!?!
Why we hate it:
If you are losing your bald coconut over a $1.50 you're not exactly going to be peeling out the dead Prime ministers for my perfect ass. So true!
CONVERSATION
This is the deal ender is almost every case. You are in a strip club. Do you walk into a grocery store expecting free food cause your bragging about how much you eat?
Your cock, sex stories and financial success stories are BORING. If you somehow pull a David Copperfield they will figure it out on your date, in fact even Coppefield couldn't hypnotize Claudia into staying with him.
The solution:
Nothing. If you're a human yawn there is little you can do in a five-minute conversation while "Shock The Monkey" is playing. Go home and shock your monkey.
WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!
Actually I want to stick with conversation. Let's face it this is where men rule. They may have been wired to be aggressors and are individually convinced they would bring home the most from the hunt. Thanks to the implausible lessons of pop culture combined with their equally clueless friends, most guys think they are sexual warriors. Here are some golden moves courtesy of my last month at work.
Anyhow, check out how out of control it's become.
VIP GUY
1 - This line is from a guy in a VIP lounge whispered into the ear of Erotica " If I told you who I actually am you would cum.. You have no idea how much I can do for you if we get along"
WHAT does that mean? Why don't you just put on a cape, twirl around and throw a smoke bomb on the floor captain enigma? oh god, I have heard versions of this. I mean get real. If you are so amazing, then why are you here paying me to pretend I like you. Pull-eeze!
HITLER LOVER
2 - Here's a line from a guy who was wearing a suit that looked and smelled like it was "stolen from a rotting corpse"
"I may be Chinese but I love Hitler. Followed by a Zieg Heil. This was his idea of casual conversation. Saying you love Hitler is rich enough but thinking a Zieg Heil will seal the deal is at least 4 Ice Ages ahead of its time. Weird!
I'LL BAKE YOUR MOTHER
3 - This one happened during a strippers birthday at a club We brought a home made cake to the club for a dancer(yeah we can be right fucking classy)
Guy: Can you bake me like you baked that cake?
Dancer: I'll bake your mother.
Guy: What do you mean by that!? (Actually angry.)
SENSITIVE MALE
4 - And Finally, just last night I got:
Guy: Inever get dances. Can I get your number? Or you want to come by my place.
Me: Look buddy, I'm not going to fuck you.
Guy: (self righteous) Who said anything about fucking? Maybe I just wanted to TALK and have some coffee. (then he made this ridiculous "upset" face.
(It was 3:30 AM) Hahaha...these guys are a dime a dozen. " I just want to hang out." Suuuuuuure.
SEE YOU NEVER
Well, good luck. If you can get your shit together and you do pick up, prepare for a life of work stories from your sweet heart about a thumb being squeaked up her ass at work when she wasn't looking.
It won't be me. Hee he. Shes funny.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
How to fuck a stripper...all you need is drugs.
I fucking LOVE Vice. So I found this article..my comments are in red...so wrong and soo funny!
HOW TO FUCK A STRIPPER
And Still Have Money in Your Pocket
And Still Have Money in Your Pocket
Most people think the way to a stripper’s pussy is with money, buying lap dance after lap dance, throwing stacks of singles on stage as they dance, and surprising them with expensive gifts. Those people are idiots. “Marks,” as the girls call them. Someone to be siphoned until not one drop of cash is left. So far very true...
There is only one surefire way to pull a stripper and it has nothing to with personality or money (although those things don’t hurt). The secret is DRUGS. hehehe...
Contrary to what many pro-stripper films and documentaries tell you, 9 out of 10 strippers are on drugs of some sort.* I'm gonna have to agree, cuz booze is a drug. Be it coke, dust, weed, pills, booze, if a girl’s job is to climb up on stage and spread her gash for a bunch of sweaty, over-weight mutts in ill-fitting work clothes you’d better believe it takes a certain type of courage that can only be had from illegal substances. Knowing that, the key to making a needy young sex kitten your slave for the night (or the week) is to always be holding. But you have to make sure you’re carrying the right stuff for the type of stripper you’re trying to bang. It just so happens that this whole thing can be broken down racially. Along with the genetic yarns that make a woman a certain color go these little strands that decide their drug proclivities. Don’t freak out—I didn’t write the rules here. God did. I just follow them. I am commenting as I read..now I am scared..lol.
WHITE STRIPPERS (BLONDE): White chicks love coke. HA! It’s as simple as that. Any stripper worth sticking your dick in is between the ages of 18-28, meaning they were born between 1976 and 1986, which makes their moms either 70s disco coke whores or 80s yuppie coke sluts. Either way, the coke slut gene has been inherited by their daughter. When she asks if you’d like a lap dance, respond: “No, I want to get out of here and do some blow. What time are you done tonight?” That’s usually enough to get you in, but for added emphasis it helps to pull her to the side, dump some powder on your fist and give it to her to prove you’re for real. (Don’t buy beat shit. Strippers who love coke know coke. You’re not getting anywhere with shit that’s been stepped on ten times.) OMG. I have had guys do this...but I didn't go home them. I did get a bunch of free coke in my days though. They would say, "Here take it to the back and do a few. So you would walk back, dump half the bag, share with friends, and come back. Or transfer to another bag for a later date. I knew girls with real habits who never bought their own. Suckers.
WHITE STRIPPERS (TATTOOED AND/OR WITH PUNK HAIRCUTS): This is a somewhat trickier bunch to read because they like pills and saying someone “likes pills” is like saying someone “likes music.” You’ve got to either roll the dice on a narrow spectrum of possibilities (uppers, downers, psyche, or pain) or you can be smart and invest in a smorgasbord of pharmaceuticals and have all your bases covered. There’s nothing worse than sparking a girl’s interest only to learn she likes Xanax and you’ve got a pocket full of Ritalin. Pretend that you’re going fishing and you’ve got an empty tackle box. You’re going to need a little of everything: lures, bobbers, hooks, etc. Pills are inexpensive ($5-$8 a pop), so see if you can work out a deal with your man on a variety bottle. At that price you shouldn’t think twice about pissing them away. Offer a blue to the first girl you see. If she takes it, she’ll go and tell the other girls. Give 10mg to each and every girl in the club. 10 strippers = 10 pills = 50 bucks. No big deal. If you have enough to get each girl high on the job, one of those girls is going to have enough brains to realize you’ve probably got more. She’ll be the one to ask you, “What are you doing later?” Thaaats funny.
BLACK STRIPPERS: The black stripper is difficult to snare, especially for a white male. Their drug of choice, weed, is the cheapest drug on the market and easiest to obtain. This makes them the most affordable fuck, but you’re white and you have to compensate. That’s where things get expensive. Don’t freak out, it’s still completely doable. First, start by tipping. Don’t go crazy. Just a dollar or two here and there to let her know you’re interested. This will automatically put you ahead of any black patrons in the club because it is well documented that black males do not tip at strip clubs.** That's terrible, and not true. But funny. Your next move is to have better than average weed. Like flowers, girls like weed that smells nice. Hehehe. It helps to tell them that it’s from your boy’s crop, and has been featured on the cover of High Times three times and it’s Redman and Snoop’s favorite weed. It’s important that this lie and the two following lies be convincing: “Yeah, I know Snoop,” and “Next time he’s in town, I’ll introduce you.” That should take care of it. For added effect I like to lie and say I make beats and ask them if they want to go over to my studio after they get off work. This helps to both sell the con and save money on hotel rooms. Be sure to know where a local recording studio is. A cheap one is between $75 and $150 an hour, which is cheaper than taking her to a nice hotel. Be sure to bring the new Usher CD and when her favorite song comes on tell her you made the beat. Then turn one of the knobs on that big mixing board thing in front of you. OMG..thats terrible...haha
OTHER STRIPPERS: That is correct, I am going to lump together all Asian, Latin, Paki, Euro strippers, along with anything else that might have just come off the boat and amputees. This category is really your best bet, especially Euro girls, because all they want is to be loved and taken care of and what drug emits more love than Ecstasy? The reality is you could give them mescaline and they’d take it without caring.*** A key with foreigners is to make them feel welcome in America. This is accomplished by telling them you don’t detect an accent, that they speak great English and that you basically understand and agree with whatever they are saying regardless of the fact that you can only make out every fourth word. Ahahaha. To do this convincingly, you must practice. Go to your stereo and put on some rap music that you can’t understand the lyrics to (most any rap will work), turn up the volume just slightly, then go into your bathroom and shut the door. You should not be able to easily hear more than reverb and bass. Stare dead in the mirror, strain your ears and try to decipher the lyrics without looking unsure, without creasing your forehead and pursing your eyes. If you can convince your mind that you know every lyric to that Ghostface song, using only your eyes and facial expressions, you’ll be able win any foreigner over, completely negating their self-consciousness. Using drugs as bait, of course.
Before you go running to your phone to cop there are a few more things you need to be aware of when trying to run this kind of game. First, and most importantly, is that you don’t ever do the drugs. If you’re an addict don’t even bother because you’ll always take the drugs over the girl and might even get arrested for beating a girl for touching your shit without asking. You can get high all you want when she’s gone but while you’re with her you have to pretend to inhale, go take a piss when your turn to bang a rail comes around, throw the pill over your shoulder and pretend to pop it. Sounds lame but you need to have full control over the situation. I’m telling you from experience, strippers are cunning, any sign of weakness and you’ll wake up without your pants, your wallet and your drugs. Secondly, realize you only get one shot of pulling them out of the club. If it doesn’t happen that night, it doesn’t happen. Don’t play yourself by giving your number and don’t take a number. Consider it a failed attempt and go home and get high. Lastly, and I can’t stress this enough, don’t let them know where you live. If you can, take them to a hotel (or the studio). If you’ve blown all your money on the drugs and are forced to take them back to your place, take the most ridiculously fucked up route ever to get there. Then after you’re done with them, give some more drugs to fry their brain a little more and put them right in cab and send them on their way (instructing the driver to use an alternate, more confusing route.). As a child you had a great many dreams of things you wanted in your lifetime, and I’m pretty sure that a drug-hungry whore knocking on your door at 4 in the morning was not one of them. That was funny. And there were some moments of truth in there.
Thank you vice. You rock. Now, where's the blow?
CHRIS NIERATKO*All research conducted and collected solely by Nieratko and proven to be 100% accurate.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Desire girls
Same as last week...
Bring Bra (back closure strapped) and a tank top and try to wear tights with bootie shorts on top. Also if you have thong, bring that in too. :)
If there is any thing else you have a desire to strip out of ..bring it in! Remember this will all be done OVER our clothes.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
More strip club/stripper stories..and my 2 cents.
Stumbled across this article, my thoughts as they came...in red.
http://news.pacificnews.org/news/view_article.html?article_id=c59ecb297a167db0e886498658ed0451 Sayyadina Thomas, Posted: Jan 27, 2004
Editor's Note: News of nationwide crackdowns on the trafficking of undocumented immigrant sex workers causes a young writer to remember her experiences in a strip club, and the extra risks faced by immigrant women there.
SAN FRANCISCO--Recently I opened the newspapers to read about a bust of a brothel and its undocumented immigrant sex workers in a sweet-looking house in a residential neighborhood. It made me think back to my days as a stripper, working alongside immigrant girls in a downtown club. I have really only experienced this here in NY, not so much in Texas.
I needed money, and a girl I knew suggested we try stripping. She didn't want to go alone. I was just 17, but a brought a forged birth certificate.
For me, the club was a place to make what I thought would be fast, easy money. The manager warned if I couldn't make $400 a night it wasn't worth my time. I started work at 6:30 p.m. and got off at 2:30 a.m. About 20 other girls worked with me. It was really hard to make money at first because I talked too much and didn't work the customers to buy dances. Every stripper had to pay the club's house fee each shift: $100.If there were not a lot of paying customers, some girls had to go home. Very similar to my story, except I was the one convincing my friend, and the managers never sent girls home. If there weren't a lot of custies at least they could make money off of the girls. I worked with about 20-60 girls...average. Our house fees were around this, including tipping out. I also did pretty well from the start as I think most girls do, that is how they get hooked in. New girls always make more money...fresh meat.
I went into debt before I got the hang of it. When I started to learn how to manipulate the customers with my body I started making money, about $300 to $600, depending on the night. Other girls, the tall blondes with breast implants and the little, under-aged looking Asians, made the most money. Sometimes I saw girls pocketing $800 dollars. Again, similar, in our club back in mid to late 90's, less than 300 was terrible, average was 500. Amazing night was closer to 800-1,000. That's about 20 lap dances and four pole routines worth of cash.
I just wanted to get quick money, but I found out early that no money is that easy. First of all, stripping can be bad on the psyche. You analyze your body down to the tiniest flaw, finding fault with everything. You go from feeling good -- men are paying a lot of money to see you dance -- to feeling like a used hand rag, with everybody wiping their fetishes off on you. I stayed high a lot and I spent about a half of what I made getting my nails and hair done and buying expensive stripper clothes. I stripped for about six months. ahhh, yes.
This next bit, I can't relate to...A strip club is almost always a demeaning environment to women, and it is racist because every girl has to label herself. Blacks and mulattos are exotic beauties. Whites are American beauties. Once, a tall, willowy blonde pulled me aside to tell me that -- surprise -- her mother was black. She was Brazilian, but at the club she told the customers she was Portuguese. It sounded better than Brazilian and better than black, she said. It was rumored that some girls were prostitutes, but I never saw a girl in the club turn a trick. Me neither, although I have seen lots of girls giving hand jobs, one blow job, and lots of girls letting guys finger them and what not. At the club where I worked some of the most preferred customers were police officers, white-collar workers and firemen. One particular cop visited the club often for lap dances. He gave me a business card and tried to convince me to call him so he could pay to perform oral sex on me. ah, yes, they always wanted you to call them. I would give him the most expensive dance I could and casually tell him I wasn't interested.
Two Asian girls I worked with were illegal, and everybody knew the boss loved illegal immigrants. Since an illegal immigrant is a security risk, a club owner may demand that she pay three times the normal house fee. If she is popular and makes $600 nightly, she has to give $300 to the club. If she doesn't make enough money to pay the house she will most likely go into debt. The two Asian girls kept to themselves and talked to few people. They were prized at the club because they looked about 12 years old and guys really liked them. One small-boned girl with a classic straight bang haircut was no doubt one of the biggest moneymakers in the house. She had a mean accent and could barely pronounce English. Another stripper friend, a Central American, is a student at City College in San Francisco. She told me her boss had asked her to help him smuggle some girls from Central America to work for him. My home girl is an activist who brings money home from the club to her family because her father is a political prisoner and her family is in poverty. She turned down the boss's request. CRAZY!
I never got to know any of the girls intimately. We smoked an occasional joint together, but strippers tend to be wary of each other due to the competitive nature of the place. I do remember that a lot of girls started stripping thinking they'd make a few thousand dollars fast. Make money, enroll in school, find a husband, perhaps put a down payment on a house -- isn't that all part of the American dream? But in a strip club, especially if you're a foreigner, you can catch sight of the worst side of the American dream. Just like those sex workers in the pretty neighborhood house.
http://news.pacificnews.org/news/view_article.html?article_id=c59ecb297a167db0e886498658ed0451 Sayyadina Thomas, Posted: Jan 27, 2004
Editor's Note: News of nationwide crackdowns on the trafficking of undocumented immigrant sex workers causes a young writer to remember her experiences in a strip club, and the extra risks faced by immigrant women there.
SAN FRANCISCO--Recently I opened the newspapers to read about a bust of a brothel and its undocumented immigrant sex workers in a sweet-looking house in a residential neighborhood. It made me think back to my days as a stripper, working alongside immigrant girls in a downtown club. I have really only experienced this here in NY, not so much in Texas.
I needed money, and a girl I knew suggested we try stripping. She didn't want to go alone. I was just 17, but a brought a forged birth certificate.
For me, the club was a place to make what I thought would be fast, easy money. The manager warned if I couldn't make $400 a night it wasn't worth my time. I started work at 6:30 p.m. and got off at 2:30 a.m. About 20 other girls worked with me. It was really hard to make money at first because I talked too much and didn't work the customers to buy dances. Every stripper had to pay the club's house fee each shift: $100.If there were not a lot of paying customers, some girls had to go home. Very similar to my story, except I was the one convincing my friend, and the managers never sent girls home. If there weren't a lot of custies at least they could make money off of the girls. I worked with about 20-60 girls...average. Our house fees were around this, including tipping out. I also did pretty well from the start as I think most girls do, that is how they get hooked in. New girls always make more money...fresh meat.
I went into debt before I got the hang of it. When I started to learn how to manipulate the customers with my body I started making money, about $300 to $600, depending on the night. Other girls, the tall blondes with breast implants and the little, under-aged looking Asians, made the most money. Sometimes I saw girls pocketing $800 dollars. Again, similar, in our club back in mid to late 90's, less than 300 was terrible, average was 500. Amazing night was closer to 800-1,000. That's about 20 lap dances and four pole routines worth of cash.
I just wanted to get quick money, but I found out early that no money is that easy. First of all, stripping can be bad on the psyche. You analyze your body down to the tiniest flaw, finding fault with everything. You go from feeling good -- men are paying a lot of money to see you dance -- to feeling like a used hand rag, with everybody wiping their fetishes off on you. I stayed high a lot and I spent about a half of what I made getting my nails and hair done and buying expensive stripper clothes. I stripped for about six months. ahhh, yes.
This next bit, I can't relate to...A strip club is almost always a demeaning environment to women, and it is racist because every girl has to label herself. Blacks and mulattos are exotic beauties. Whites are American beauties. Once, a tall, willowy blonde pulled me aside to tell me that -- surprise -- her mother was black. She was Brazilian, but at the club she told the customers she was Portuguese. It sounded better than Brazilian and better than black, she said. It was rumored that some girls were prostitutes, but I never saw a girl in the club turn a trick. Me neither, although I have seen lots of girls giving hand jobs, one blow job, and lots of girls letting guys finger them and what not. At the club where I worked some of the most preferred customers were police officers, white-collar workers and firemen. One particular cop visited the club often for lap dances. He gave me a business card and tried to convince me to call him so he could pay to perform oral sex on me. ah, yes, they always wanted you to call them. I would give him the most expensive dance I could and casually tell him I wasn't interested.
Two Asian girls I worked with were illegal, and everybody knew the boss loved illegal immigrants. Since an illegal immigrant is a security risk, a club owner may demand that she pay three times the normal house fee. If she is popular and makes $600 nightly, she has to give $300 to the club. If she doesn't make enough money to pay the house she will most likely go into debt. The two Asian girls kept to themselves and talked to few people. They were prized at the club because they looked about 12 years old and guys really liked them. One small-boned girl with a classic straight bang haircut was no doubt one of the biggest moneymakers in the house. She had a mean accent and could barely pronounce English. Another stripper friend, a Central American, is a student at City College in San Francisco. She told me her boss had asked her to help him smuggle some girls from Central America to work for him. My home girl is an activist who brings money home from the club to her family because her father is a political prisoner and her family is in poverty. She turned down the boss's request. CRAZY!
I never got to know any of the girls intimately. We smoked an occasional joint together, but strippers tend to be wary of each other due to the competitive nature of the place. I do remember that a lot of girls started stripping thinking they'd make a few thousand dollars fast. Make money, enroll in school, find a husband, perhaps put a down payment on a house -- isn't that all part of the American dream? But in a strip club, especially if you're a foreigner, you can catch sight of the worst side of the American dream. Just like those sex workers in the pretty neighborhood house.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Gettin' in the strip club for free!
Coyote Promotions : http://www.cpnyc.com/ ...turn vol down if at work
I have used them several times to get passes to Hustler for our Strip Club Field Trip. And I have never had an issue. I also don't get tons of email from them, which is good.
Sign up to their newsletter for comp passes to Scores and Hustler. Yeah, save that admission fee for lap dancing. Yeahhh baby.
Friday, June 5, 2009
I Love Vagina clothing co.
I love this company!
Great t-shirts with awesome sayings....I love vag, Lick me till I scream, Vagina, Enjoy cock, Vaginatarian http://www.ilovevagina.com/products/ilv-070.html (LOL!), 2 in the pink, 1 in the stink.
I want these! >http://www.ilovevagina.com/products/ilv-077.html
Main page: http://www.ilovevagina.com/index.html ...turn vol. down if opening at work :)
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Stripper FAQ
I have stumbled across this site from time to time and although I don't condone girls getting into the biz, I love this site because it is pretty honest. Especially her FAQ page.
Here it is ... with my notes in RED.
- What is the best way to learn to dance are there any videos that would show me the techniques or different styles of dancing? I was wondering if I should take a private dancing class or if just plain dancing will get me by.
Dancing is something really best picked up on the job. I've never seen a girl really have a problem. If you're really worried once you're hired try showing up early before the club opens to practice. I agree. In about 2 weeks, they all pick it up. Some never do, but they still make money. You can improve your dancing by taking any kind of dance classes, not ness. exotic. The biz is much more than dancing anyway. - Do you strip away from where you go to school and live? I am like you and do not wish to have anyone know I am stripping either. I live on the border of Mass. so I could easily go there for a job.
New York's a pretty big city and most of my classmates couldn't afford to go to my club so I'm pretty safe. A lot of our girls live in other states and commute into NYC to work on weekends. You will always run into someone you know. Always. - I really want to be a dancer but I've really small breasts. It's kind of embarrassing- do you think I can still be a dancer?
Don't worry about your chest. I've worked with lots of girls who are totally flat. Different guys like different types of girls, many men prefer a more athletic figure. If it really bothers you just go get them done. NO!! But do it because it will make you feel better about your body not because you care what people think. Too many girls go through life hating their bodies and there's really no reason for it. A properly done augmentation cannot be told from the real thing I totally disagree with this. and it makes clothes fit SO much better. Girls with implants tend to make more money but there's nothing to say you can earn a good living without them. I also COMPLETELY disagree with this. Don't worry about it and don't buy boobs unless you really want them- I'm sure you look great just the way you are;) If your body embarrasses you, you will not enjoy being a dancer. True, true, true , true. Keep in mind when your dancing that every single guy in the room would saw off his right arm for the opportunity to spend the night with you so they're hardly going to insult you to your face. Ummm, well some do. That's the nice thing about stripping- men who wouldn't look at you twice if you were walking down the street drool all over when your on stage. - I keep getting turned down on auditions- what am I doing wrong?
I'm really surprised you're having so much trouble. Clubs are always desperate for dancers. They don't generally pay salaries and the more girls they have the more customers they get. It's really a win win situation for them so they have to have a very good reason to turn a girl down. It's generally because she's carrying a little to much baggage. Remember aside from boobs, low body fat is the name of the game. Flat chest, plain face,short legs- no problem, but if you're carrying even a little extra in the butt and thighs they won't hire you. I'm very sorry, I don't mean to be insulting and I may be totally off base but this is what keeps most girls from getting hired. I agree with her. If you are getting turned down repeatedly, it is not for you. Or try a day shift audition. - You said that you earn $600 to $800 a night. I just started dancing 2 weeks ago and still haven't made more the $150 a night. What am I doing wrong?
It depends a lot on what city you're working in and 2 weeks is still fairly new. When I started it took me about a month before I started really making money. Those first few weeks were so depressing- a couple of times I only made cab fare home! If I were you I'd try to get a feel for what the other girls are making. If they've been there a year and are still making only $300 a night then perhaps you should look for a better club. Lol. "I am not making 1k a night! What am I doing wrong?" Oh honey...it really isn't like the movies. I think most clubs in most cities $500 average is the best you'll do. Most girls make between 100-600 a night. The big bucks ($600 plus even on bad nights) are for big cities and the best clubs, where you have to pay at LEAST $150 just to work there. - I really want to be a dancer and my boyfriend says he's ok with it but do you think that he will really be able to handle what I am doing?
Most boyfriends are okay with it for the first few weeks. Then jealousy can start to set in. They imagine you're doing all sorts of things at the club at night when they're at home. Or if his friends find out they can try and get him worked up- they say things like "man, how could you stand to have other men looking at your girl like that, I'd never let my girl do that" This can start to build up and eventually leads to a big fight during which all his suspicions come out and it gets pretty ugly. BUT DON'T WORRY! It doesn't necessarily have to go that way. It really depends on how secure the guy is- him having a little bit of an ego doesn't hurt either. But keep in mind it does take work- most dancers are single. ...or in bad relationships, but not all. - Does it matter if your body is not perfect? Mine is fine but I wouldn't call it spectacular. Do you think the men in the club will notice and find me unattractive?
No it doesn't matter. Women come in all shapes and sizes and men know that. Men come to strip clubs to enjoy woman- not complain about them. Not all of them. Things may be different elsewhere but I have never heard a customer in my club express displeasure at a woman's body. I have seen guys insult girls to their face and chat about girl's "problem areas" with other dancers in every club I have been to or worked at. But it is a small percentage of clients. That's one of the big features of the job- all those guys worshiping the ground you walk on. But keep in mind though that the better you look the more money you will make. Diet, make-up, exercise and yes sometimes surgery can turn any girl into a hotty. If you are determined enough there is no reason your body can't be spectacular. - You mentioned that it's fine to do girl-on-girl shows. What do you do to make it look real and entertaining? I've never done that before but the part that I am most nervous about is one on one with a strange person. Do you think that they require it, how far do you have to go?(I think I'd be fun but I'm a bit nervous).
Remember you don't "have" to do anything! This is very important. Lots of new girls get taken advantage of. A customer will say something like "well the other dancers let me touch their crotches" and the girl feels like she has to allow it otherwise she won't get customers. Remember you don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with and if the management tells you differently leave and go to a better club. Girl-on-girl shows are always at the dancers discretion. That being said you're not going to be thrown into a 2 girl show on your first night. Watch the other girls see how far they go, what they do. When the time comes find a dancer you're friendly with and discuss it. As I said before it's lots of fun. And it doesn't mean you're a hard core lesbian or anything- just a girl having a little fun. Anyway, not every club has girl-girl shows. Again, I don't know where she worked, but we couldn't touch each other too much at our club, no sex of any kind on the floor no matter who it was with. - Do you have the same choreographed dance you do all the time, or do you have different styles of dance for different songs?
It's pretty free flowing, I move from one routine to the next at will. It would get pretty boring if I did the same thing every night. You just go with the music. A good DJ helps. Yep. - Do you do lap dancing? And if you do, do you find it demeaning, or would you say it's a good way to make more money? I don't lap dance (that and touching aren't allowed at my club) I think I prefer it that way. A lot of girls think they'll make more money working at a club that allows lap dances but that's generally not the case. Some girls prefer it though- in some ways it's easier. Dancers at "gown" clubs have to stay in better shape. A guy won't buy a dance from a chubby girl if she's not going to bump-and-grind. It's a question of personal preference, if you find lap dancing demeaning then don't do it. I have always made money off lap dancing. Again not sure where she works, even in champagne rooms you generally are dancing. So I don't see how you can get by without it. I would love to know where she works. Maybe all nude where they do pedestal dances, which are dances right in front of customer but not "in" his lap.
- I'm 5'10... do you think I should wear the 4 inch heels, or do you think I'd be too tall?
Go for the 4 inch. The main purpose of heels is to flatten your stomach and lengthen your legs, the height thing doesn't really matter. If you're worried, a two piece dress or thigh high stockings will make you look shorter. Just avoid standing next to the really small girls. I was once dancing on stage with a beautiful dancer about your size but the difference in our height made us both look bad. I looked like a midget and she looked like a giant. Something to keep in mind... Even the 6 footers at my club wore 6 inches. It is part of the deal ...just do it. - I would like to become a stripper and heard something about a "house fee" (something about the strippers having to pay to strip? not sure) I was wondering if you could let me know what that is exactly?
Most clubs charge a house fee. Dancers love to complain about this but few of them understand the economics behind it. House fee covers the cost of dressing rooms, security, make-up artist etc. At my club house fee it's $75 a night. Some clubs go as low as $20. At a club with a higher house fee you will definitely be making more money so don't use house fee amount as a criteria for choosing a club. You should expect house fee to work out to between 10 and 20 percent of your nightly earnings. Calculate it at the end of a month:
If in 1 month at 3 nights a week you made $6000.
Paid out $50 per night in house fees. ($600)
That means your only paying 10%. I consider up to 20% fair. If it were to go higher then that for at least 2 months I'd think about changing clubs. Don't understand the economics? It is the only job that you have to pay to work. We don't get hourly wages, insurance, workers comp, nada, AND we have to pay..I always thought that sucked and was bullshit. - As far as tanning goes, should I go for nude, topless, or wear what I would wear to work so I can get the same lines. I know that having a tan looks better, I am just wondering what to tan.
I rarely tan, maybe once every month or 2 during the winter. Club lighting generally smoothes out the tone of your skin. All the cigarette smoke in the club is hell on your skin, it's like smoking two packs a day. I've seen girls who've been dancing for 6 years who have faces like a shoe. The last thing I want to do is dump more UV light on it, it will make me look a little better now but how will I look later? Keep in mind that the black lights at the club are UV as well and you're under them all night long. So I keep it to a minimum. I tan very little, with my work thong on and a towel over my face. (This actually looks okay because your face is generally darker then your body anyway) That way I hope to minimize the damage. Yep...wish I would have tanned less. - I am a 29 year old black female who is looking to break into stripping. Your web page was extremely up front and interesting. You don't talk much about minorities though. I was hoping to get a clear picture about the financial breakdown of the different minorities
When I first started I really expected ethnicity to play a larger part in dancing. Believe it or not it seems to be remarkable small. Whether they choose to admit it or not men like woman period. And they like them in all shapes, sizes and colors. The only thing that really takes getting used to is that the men tend to be somewhat tactless. I get a lot of bowing or guys trying to talk to me in Japanese or making take-out jokes. Seeee, they can be assholes! At first I got really pissed, after a while I realized that most of these guys were actually decent guys but had never talked to an Asian women before and were unsure of how to act and what to say. Many of your customers will not be Black. It's important to understand that they may not have the same background as you. Some of their comments may seem insulting. Like Asians, most people only know about Black people from what they've seen on TV. So the short story is, expect some awkwardness on the part of customers not of your ethnicity. Try to be understanding but also don't be afraid gently correct them. Tactless is one thing abuse is another.
As far as earning differential I'd rather not comment too much on this. Too many girls blame their lack of earnings on things like implants verses natural, blond versus brunette, tall versus short etc. This is neither accurate nor constructive. The determining factor in earnings in a gown club is attitude and conversational skills.Yep! Yep Yep! If I just got off the boat from Korea and barely understood English or was born and raised in BedStuy and had a thick Brooklyn accent, a well heeled Wall street executive is not going to be able to comfortable interacting with me. No interaction, no money.
Another thing that is common is people of your own ethnicity feeling they can take liberties with you because "they're your people". Asian guys are always trying bargain with me on table dances or trying to grope me because they think I'm Asian so it's okay Seeeee, even in a no touching club you get touched and customers can be jerks. It can also be a problem if I choose to sit with white or black customers instead of a group of Asians. A lot of people have strong 'anti-mixing" sentiment. This can be a problem. - I just turned 16 and am think of becoming a dancer. Will any clubs hire me?
I started dancing when I was 18. Nowhere in the US is it legal for you to dance under that age- even if you're able to your parents could go to jail for neglect. In Canada you can start dancing at 16 but I really wouldn't suggest it. Keep in mind dancing is a means to an end- it makes a lousy career. Amen! When I was in high school many of my friends had part time jobs to save for college. I think that their studies suffered because of it. I was able to devote all my time to studying as much as I could. When I was 18 and graduated high school I had been accepted to some very good colleges. I started dancing that summer. So when spring came and college started most of my high school friends were starving their way through community college; I had plenty of money and could afford to go to a very good school and even afford to hire private tutors for difficult subjects. This is really what dancing is great for. It enables a girl to earn a good living while in college without having to worry about loans or anything. I hate to sound like a typical grownup but my advice is to put all your effort into school. That way when you graduate you'll have the grades and the source of income to go to law, medical school etc.
If you have any specific questions that are not answered in the FAQ you can try Emailing me. Please keep in mind I dance, go to school and run several other Websites. There is a good chance I will not have the time to answer. There are a few questions I cannot, or will not answer:
Any question already answered on the site or asking "Can you tell me anything more?"
I cannot help you with advice on how to dance for your partner. This site is for women looking to dance for a living,
I also will not answer Emails asking for information on how to dance- I already addressed this issue on the site.
I don't know anything about male exotic dancing- if you're a guy I can't help you.
Questions along the line of "Am I too (insert one: overweight, fat, scarred, tattooed, short, tall etc). to be a dancer?" I cannot tell you, different clubs hire different looking girls of different ages. I don't know what the criteria for your local clubs are. There is an easy way to figure out if you will be hired- go audition. If you don't have the self confidence to go audition then you'll be better off not dancing. Dancing, like many other trades has physical requirements. I might want to be a firefighter but at 5 feet tall I wouldn't be a very good one. If you are overweight, or age has given your face a good deal of character that does not mean you are not beautiful, that just means that you are not going to do very well as a dancer. It may not be fair but it is reality. I know this seems harsh but often women who would just not be happy or successful as dancers email me expecting unrealistic answers to their questions. When they don't get them they get very angry and take it out on me. No being suitable for dancing is not a personality flaw and nothing to get upset about.
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