Casual Details: More Baby Stripper Stories

***Special editing thanks to Ari, who has dedicated themself to helping make my book a reality. They helped me so much with this story and others, and I could not be more grateful.***

I placed an order for a red fishnet body stocking to wear over my sea foam blue bra and thong set. My first night had been a revelation. I knew what strippers wore theoretically, but when it came time to dress myself, I realized I didn’t know jack. What was my stripper aesthetic? Was I a lacy high femme dancer? A neon raver dancer? A black strappy leather dancer? Was my angle being cute and sweet, or was I destined to be a sexy man-eating vixen? I was just a ‘lil baby, how could I know? A few days later my new outfit arrived. Excited by the arrival of my new gear I decided to show up for an early shift even though I was a little wary after the slowness of my first week. I was the first girl on the floor. The bartender was occupied with opening procedures. We had at least an hour before any real customers would come in. I sat around and played on my phone trying to keep warm as the AC blast.

The first guy who entered the club was a square-looking white man in his mid 50’s. He sat down with a stern expression on his face as he sipped a can of Coors. The other dancers gradually made their way out to the floor only to plop down on the couches and scroll through their phones. Nobody was paying any attention to him, and maybe I should have taken that as an indicator. The stage was vacant. Instead of our DJ controlling the music, a manager had flipped on a Spotify playlist with the volume turned down low. We were “open,” but we weren’t Open.

Finally the manager came down and decided it was time to put us to work. He announced that one of us needed to start dancing, or else. I was the first on the floor, so naturally I was the first called up. I took the stage, and the Coors-sipping white man came over and sat by the far pole. I didn’t expect him to interact, so I decided to use my set to stretch. I smiled courteously at him.

Me: Hello

Arthur: Hi

I decided to workshop some tricks for him, and in turn he tipped me, occasionally commenting things like “bravo” and “very nice.”

Arthur: You have a very nice body. What are you, a gymnast?

Me: No, but I always wanted to be.

Average White Man Arthur seemed interested in me, so after I finished my stage set, I went over and sat beside him. He had been in the Air Force. He lived in Connecticut. He enjoyed scuba diving in the Florida Keys. He had a diving certification.

Arthur: What’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done in a pool?

Me: Oh, I’m not too crazy. I don’t have any cool stories.

Him: I got outta the Air Force and started giving private scuba lessons. I was giving a lesson to two girls, early twenties. I left them alone to grab an extra tank, and while I was gone, they dove to the bottom of the pool. At first I had no idea where they went, but then I walked to the pool edge of the pool and saw them. One of ‘em had taken her tank off and was blowing bubbles up between the other girl’s legs. The girl getting the bubble massage spread her legs and she was writhing, like she was really getting into it. The girls swam up to the ladder and kept playing. All I could do was watch until the girl getting the bubbles came so hard that she had to come up for air. Then the other girl came up and they were giggling, looking at me.

Bullshit. He did not buy a lap dance.

I got on stage again a bit later. Two couples entered and sat in the back. An fat man in his 60’s came and sat on the couch in front of me. Another couple sat at the bar. I spent my set practicing tricks, trying to give a good show and move more slowly. Slow is sexy. Fast is a spastic accident waiting to happen. That time I did a pretty clean job, and the women from the group of couples came up and gave me a few dollars. A group of women came up and asked if I could do the thing where I flip upside down under the balcony bar. I did it and in turn they praised me for my athleticism. I got off stage and gave the fat man a go. He was playing a game on his phone before I sat down, but his battery was dying and he was angry about it. He liked me, but was waiting for Orion.

I went to the bar where I was approached by one of the women from the group of couples. She asked me how much a table dance was, and I realized I didn’t know. I had to ask around. I’d watched other dancers do their own particular table dances, but now that it was my turn, I had the sudden revelation that the tables were actually quite small. I was clumsy and kept losing my footing. Additionally, my feet kept slipping out of my shoes because the vinyl had stretched. I didn’t know what to do about the situation other than push on and smile. To their credit, the couples were gracious. They had traveled to Baltimore from the county just to visit The Ritz. The women were teachers, the men were firefighters.

Afterwards I went to the bar and met another couple, Lisa and Marcus. I spent a while flirting with Marcus after he bought me a cherry vodka shot. He was a promoter planning to get a Deadpool tattoo in the near future. He had a crucified Jesus with tears of blood tattooed on his back. On his left bicep he had an Immaculate Heart tattoo. It seemed like an externalization of an internal conflict-- being here and loving Jesus this much, but maybe it was his kink. Marcus didn’t want a lap dance but he wanted to take me out for dinner and “get to know me outside of here.” He wanted me to know that he wasn’t with Lisa. They had dated before but it was over because they annoyed each other and were better friends, and to be frank, Marcus hadn’t had a girlfriend in several years. I left because drinking with Marcus wasn’t paying my bills.

Next I sat down in a booth between two men: one white, one black. The white one was Juan Carlos from Colombia. The black one was Alex from New Orleans. I picked Alex, although I wanted to keep my options open in case Alex turned out to be a dead end. Luckily, Alex was ready to pay to play. Alex and Marcus were taking graduate classes at the Naval Academy and had about a week left before break. I led Alex upstairs for the first dance of my night. I buried his face between my breasts; let his head dip into the crook of my neck; guided his hands around my body; and held eye contact. I moved in close enough to kiss without kissing. He bought another dance. I got glitter on his eyebrows. At the end he told me he’d pulled a T-Pain:

Alex: On God, I can’t believe it. I’m in love with a stripper.

It felt simultaneously flattering and burdensome. I slipped away from Alex and mosied over to an Indian man in his early sixties. We had trouble communicating so I cut to the chase and asked if he wanted a dance. He brushed me off, saying that he had just gotten one, however he might want one in fifteen minutes. I began to leave, but he stopped me

Rav: Wait! Don’t go. Let’s now.

I gave him a single dance. It felt like it was over as soon as it began.

A bit later I took a seat beside a white man who looked like an overgrown frat boy. He had a face like Superman and a hardened beer belly. I asked if I could sit beside him at the stage. He invited me to sit closer, and began admiring my body in my fishnet dress. The level of success I found wearing the dress truly surprised me.

Superman: I would give your feet 9.75 out of 10, which is essentially a perfect 10. I hope that’s not weird.

Me: You’re fine.

I told him I was going on in two songs.

Superman: I want to see you naked.

Me: I’d love to show you.

Superman: Is this a full nude club?

Me: I’ll be naked by the third song.

I stepped on stage, feeling like a beautiful piece of sushi on a conveyor belt hoping to be picked, showing off its colors and freshness. I was a bit sloppy. Two middle aged black men sat in front of me. They kept tipping and tipping, enjoying the show. Usually I talk to black men first, but this time I returned to Potbelly Superman. As I was collecting my tips, Potbelly Superman threw a hundred dollars on the stage. I blew him a kiss and pressed my hands together in a thankful gesture.

I returned to my seat beside him and he plied me, asking what my plans were for later that night. He wanted to know if I was going out to party. He was staying at a hotel nearby. He wanted to know what it would take for me to come with him after. He lingered and promised he would buy me a drink. I ordered a sugar free vodka redbull. The waiter brought me a vodka cranberry. I drank it anyway. I asked Potbelly Superman if he wanted a dance. He admitted he usually didn't do that, and proceeded to distance himself from me, telling me his friend was trying to leave. He suggested I work at Goddess, another strip club in the area, because the tips were better and he knew the management. It’s funny how men lightly tell you to leave your job on a whim, as if it’s that simple and frictionless an endeavor.

I said goodbye and scooted a seat over to try my luck with the two black black men sitting at the end of the stage. They appreciated my athleticism and seemed content not to tip the other dancers if they weren't into their dancing style. Cinna was up after me. She gets a lot of shit as an older black dancer. I nudged Potbelly Superman to tip her to, and thankfully he did.

The rest of the night sped by. For the first three hours there were only a handful of strippers. By the end of the night I had to wait an hour between dances.

I met an art school graduate turned electrician. Initially he seemed entirely unremarkable until I asked him about his travels. He had been to many more places than me, which is somewhat unusual. I’ve traveled a lot considering my age, but he topped me. He asked to take me for a lap dance, and I should have taken him up on it, but I said I was on the stage soon and I didn't want to miss my spot. He decided he didn't want to wait for me and he found a skinny white stripper for a dance. I was pissed after performing my set for an array of broke people sitting by the stage hardly tipping. While I stewed over the missed opportunity, I encountered Matthew, an accountant who was “obsessed” with me and wanted to pay me for just five minutes of my time. He put his arm behind my back. He was sitting with his two friends, a man and a woman. The woman was very friendly and tipsy. It was the first time she had been in a strip club and she was having the time of her life. Her boyfriend had a long very luxurious dark brown braid behind his back. Matthew wanted to know about me, if I had siblings, how old I was. Matthew began pitching himself to me. He was very good with parents because he knows how to talk about financial security and “American values,” and he knew my parents would love him-- will love him. He stuffed dollars into my dress as we talked. He seemed very aroused by the gesture of briefly caressing my thigh via the conduit of dollar deposit. He bought a single dance and afterward he and his friends left.

Stage tips never picked up, and the last dance was hardly a finale. After I finished with Matthew, I returned downstairs to find a bachelor party had taken over the corner couches. I sat next to Greg, a Natty Boh drinking white man with dark curly hair who immediately gave me a hard time.

Greg: You don't like me hahaha! You're just saying that because you have to hahaha! How old are you? No really you can tell me hahaha.

He bought two lap dances from me. The first time was just us breaking the ice and him licking my nipples. He went from prodding me with banter to dedicated nipple licking silence. He’s a handsome guy, who spiritually reminded me of my first ex boyfriend. During the second dance I teased him for his silence. To my surprise he seemed a little hurt and offended by my gentle cajoling, but he checked himself and shook off the sensitivity. He was game for being teased having given me such a hard time prior.

Greg: I wish this was going somewhere, but I’m not stupid. You don’t actually like me hahaha. You’re just here working and I’m just some guy. I wish we’d met outside of here. I feel like you’re a fun person. But anyway, let me just shut up and give you my money hahaha.

A group of white people who had come all the way down from Pennsylvania because their girlfriend, Tristan, had never been to a strip club before and Steve had been here many times and could not recommend us more. They did not buy a dance, although they asked Tristan and her boyfriend who was also in the group if they wanted a couple’s dance. They did not.

I went up when the DJ announced last call. I hadn't taken a break all evening. My whole body hurt, and I could hardly catch my breath. It was an unsatisfying end to an unsatisfying night.

I split a Lyft ride home with a redhead who I’d initially thought was on a lot of drugs. She had a gaunt face and a long, limp, pale noodle body. Her ass was mostly nonexistant, and what was there was deflated, like a half empty bean bag chair. She kept saying she felt like she knew me from somewhere else. I told her I did not recognize her and I did not know Seth. I was grateful when I got home. I poured out the money from my bag and cradled it in my arms like a newborn.