Tips for the house and for the use of my body

Rose came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist as she gave me a peck on the cheek.

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’m good! How’s it been today?”

“Slow, but not bad.”

“What time did you get here?”

“Around 3, but I spent a while on the patio just zoning out on my phone. Suddenly, I snapped out of it and realized an hour had passed,” she chuckled.

I took off my shirt and stood sorting through my bag of lingerie, deciding which set to wear. The dressing room was empty aside from the two of us. The corners of Rose’s eyes crinkled as she smiled at me, chewing her lip as she thought.

“Do you want some lip balm?”

“Are my lips dry? I always forget to moisturize.”

She pulled a tube of lip balm from her bag and applied it as I continued, trying not to stare at her lips.

“I do too,” I said, checking my reflection in the mirror.

My jeans had left little indentations up my thighs and around my belly. I felt insecure, looking at myself in the little bra and panties I’d brought. Even though I’ve worn lingerie occupationally for years, I’ve never felt secure seeing myself scantily clad. You’d think that at this point I might have learned to love my body, whether it be from practice, seeing myself this way so many times, or from the validation I get from strangers affirming that my body is valuable. But none of it sticks. I pucker my lips in disapproval. Rose stares at me, grinning.

“You look gorgeous,” she says.

I felt my face tingle as a warm blush crawled over my ears.

“Thank you.”

I wanted to say it back to her, but I know that’s not how compliments are meant to work. Still, I wanted to because she is gorgeous. She’s like a cross between Megan Markle and Rosario Dawson, but petite and more of a stoner. She wears real stilettos to dance because she says it’s easier for her than Pleasers, which seems impossible to me, but she moves so gracefully when she’s on stage that I have to believe her. Rose is at the club every day, usually working double shifts. I don’t know how she does it, but I do know why. She’s trying to leave the industry once she turns thirty, and like me, she’s only a year away from her end date. It’s hard not to feel the same pressure to leave at thirty that she does. It’s a lot easier to tell customers that you’re in your twenties. They tell you that you’re young and have time to make a decision. Not so when you hit thirty or god forbid, forty. I’ve taken to telling new customers that I’m twenty-five. It’s neither too old, nor too young. It doesn’t prompt much of a conversation, just a nod as I continue on to list the dance prices. I don’t know what Rose says to her customers or if it comes up at all.

Sometimes I wonder what kinds of conversations other dancers have with clients. How do other strippers make their sale? What are their strategies? Do they come out with their menu of extras or do they negotiate their upsales in the booth? I personally don’t advertise my extras because I’m afraid of self-incrimination (***my super incriminating blog aside***). You never know who might be an undercover cop, and explicitly saying “if you pay me x, I’ll give you y” is enough to catch several charges. But I also know many strippers who make no secret of what’s on the menu.

I know Rose fucks, and if I’m honest, it’s something I love about her. I’m a whore looking for another whore: someone who understands what it’s like to watch the blinking red light of the camera pointed at you while you try to discreetly roll a condom onto a flagging boner. That’s something sex workers don’t talk about enough: the struggle of safe sex and erectile dysfunction. I know there are “female” condoms, made for those of us with holes to fill, but when you’re dealing with mushy dicks that are aroused and yet playdough in hand, no amount of help can stiffen them enough to penetrate even the loosest vagina. No shame to mushy dicks. To me it’s primarily a logistical problem. Clients want sex and yet may not have the structural integrity to enjoy Penis in Vagina sex. They expect us to be miracle workers, and yet I cannot walk on water (yet). I cannot make the dead rise from their graves, but lord know, I try.

A man with a boyish face came in wearing a polo shirt, clearly fresh off from work. I watched him waste Kylie’s time. Kylie is like mid-forties Barbie: blonde hair, blue eyes, a warm symmetrical smile, giant fake tits, and an impressively narrow waist. She’s usually on her way out when I arrive for my shift, packing her giant duffle full as she transitions from lingerie clad stripper to mother and girlfriend. She is not out to anyone in her immediate family, which is honestly an impressive feat considering she works at the club all day nearly every day. Her boyfriend thinks she’s an eldercare nurse, and perhaps this isn’t far from the truth. She does work with the elderly. We all do, in this business. Kylie is a sweetheart. I love working alongside older strippers. They bring experience and stability in contrast to some of the younger dancers who can be a bit chaotic, for example whippets girl who huffs a whole box of whippets to get amped for her shift.

I’d considered approaching the boyish man first, but wanted to give Kylie a shot, since my Sugar Daddy was coming by later and it was nearly the end of her shift. There are enough customers for all of us to eat most of the time, but around Xmas, there are nights when only a handful of us leave with anything. Day shifts have been particularly rough this month.

I watched Kylie return to her seat at the bar. She hadn’t made the sale, and she’d wasted fifteen minutes talking to the man.

“Ugh! I had a feeling he was the time waster from yesterday, but I didn’t have my glasses on, so I wasn’t sure.”

“That’s so annoying, I’m sorry.”

“I just wish he’d told me before I wasted my time. I’m not gonna take it personally! Just tell me,” Kylie shook her head, exasperated.

It didn’t seem to bode well, but I decided I’d shoot my shot since I didn’t have anything better to do. I promised myself I’d make it quick. It’s best to waste no more than five minutes before asking for a dance. The chances don’t get better if you linger. People tend to know immediately whether or not it’s a “yes” or “no,” and it’s best not to get too intimate before making your pitch. I casually wandered over to the man and squatted down beside him as I introduced myself.

“Hi there, what’s your name?”

“Lucas. Pleasure to meet you…?”

“Selena. Nice to meet you,” I took his hand, “Can I sit on you?”

Lucas blushed and scooted his seat out to give me space to sit on his lap. I rubbed his thigh, checking his pocket for keys or other hard objects, then sat in his lap.

“You have a good day?” I asked.

I went through my usual questions:

Did you work today? Yes.

What kind of work do you do? IT.

You live here or are you visiting for work? Visiting, I get flown out everywhere for my company.

Where do you live? Detroit, but I’m not from there.

I could have asked more questions, but I wasn’t interested in the answers. He was a middle income tech guy who could probably afford a Skybox, maybe half an hour tops, and that was all I needed to know.

“Can I take you for a dance?”

“I think you could convince me. What are the prices?”

I listed them out as he squinted, considering his options.

“Do the dances come with any extras?”

“They could.”

“How would that work?”

“Well, I don’t really like to talk about specifics out here, but…” I looked around, checking to make sure we were out of earshot of other customers, “The better you tip, the more we can do. I’m comfortable with pretty much anything but sex.”

“A blow job?”

“I don’t do that either.”

I don’t have anything against blow jobs, but they feel too intimate to be a customer thing. Oral is for the ones I love, vaginal sex is for anybody who can afford it, and it was clear Lucas could not afford it.

“Selena on deck!” the DJ called out.

“That’s you isn’t it?” Lucas asked.

“Yeah. They want me to dance on stage.”

“Why don’t you do that and I’ll tip you, and then after we can go for that dance?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Lucas was one of three customers present at that moment. It’s remarkable how much of the time strip clubs spend empty, and yet an empty club does not always equate to bad money. I got on stage and left with a bucket of ones. Lucas had stood beside the stage, mesmerized as he handed me his cash.

“Are you up for a thirty minute room?” Lucas asked as I left the stage.

“Of course.”

I took him to the dance area and watched the color leave his face as the floater informed him there was a 10% surcharge on all card payments. The following screen suggested various tip amounts.

“And this is a tip for me and the manager, whatever you’re comfortable with. No pressure, but of course we appreciate it and will do our best to take care of you.”

This screen makes me furious. Why should managers or floaters get a tip for me selling a dance? Earlier on, before I knew what this request was about, I mistook it for a dancer tip. It makes sense that credit transactions should allow for tips for dancers, but I was flabbergasted to learn that they were not soliciting tips for me. They were soliciting tips for the house and for the use of my body on top of the tip they expected from me at the end of the night. I pulled Lucas close and whispered in his ear.

“Don’t tip them. It’s bullshit.”

I could see him waffling, cornered by this transaction. The entire situation was rude. Him declining to participate would be logical, but it was clear the circumstances were manipulated to make customers feel obligated to tip.

“Uh, not today. Sorry.” Lucas apologized.

“No problem! Just had to ask!” Axel said with feigned chipperness, “All of the booths are open, so choose whichever you’d like.”

We settled on the middle booth. I stripped down, and sprawled across his lap. His body was so slight beneath mine. A smile spread across his face as he kept his hands at his sides, frozen in place. I knew I would have to gently put him at ease. Intimacy can be scary and intimidating, especially with a stranger you’ve only just met. I like shy customers. I like the ones that freeze and get tongue tied. Too many clients act too entitled to our bodies. I like the ones that approach us with reverence and amazement, because it’s what we deserve.

I spent a while rotating through my handful of lap dance positions as Lucas moaned quietly beneath me. I kept feeling for any sign of an erection, but all I could find were balls. Lots of boners are small or soft, but his was particularly elusive.

“Um, can we do extras now?” he asked.

I was actually curious as to how this would work. I didn’t mind the concept, but I felt like I was playing a bizarre game of Where’s Waldo? Was there a penis in there? Lucas unzipped his pants and reached into his boxers. I don’t have any problem with micropenises. There is nothing wrong with genitalia of various sizes, shapes, colors, and functionality, however it is consistently interesting learning what people have going on below the belt. Lucas pulled out what I thought was a flaccid, uncut micropenis.

“I almost came earlier when you were grinding on me, but I made myself hold back.”

What he presented did not scream “I almost came,” but I didn’t want to judge. I’ve experienced very unexpected permutations of arousal, and it was evident this would be one.

“Go slow, I’m really close.”

I took hold of his little, flaccid penis and followed his directions. I wanted to rush things along. Time is money and quick pops are great for business, but I also didn’t want to wrap too early. It’s sketchy leaving a long dance before the floater calls time. It makes what’s happening plainly evident, and while I’m sure my bosses know what I’m doing, I like to pretend that I’m discreet. As I continued, I realized his penis was actually growing. What had started off as nothing was shapeshifting before my eyes into a pretty regular sized penis. I was stunned, baffled by what I was witnessing. He’d been on the precipice of coming without any evidence of an erection, and yet suddenly with a few strokes there was a penis to speak of? I didn’t understand it, but I was happy for him. While I don’t care about size, society certainly does. I was happy for his normalcy. I finished him off, and he tipped me for the favor.

Hand jobs can be satisfying to give. Some people get grossed out by cum, I don’t really mind it most of the time. I like bringing people over the edge and seeing how they orgasm. Some people are loud and expressive. Others are so subtle, I don’t realize it’s over until they politely whisper “thank you”. Some people don’t even ejaculate. The erotic world is full of mystery and intrigue.

I passed Rose in the hallway as I left the thirty minute room. She smiled and kissed my cheek before leading a customer to the back. It’s gotten harder not to think about her lately. We take turns watching each other from across the club. I stop everything when she’s on stage to see her perform. She hurries over to me when I arrive. We hold eye contact for too long. I try to play it off like it’s just a friendly glance and not me being a shy queer, trying not to get caught up while clearly being caught up.