Baby’s First Lap Dance Ever: First Night Stripping Pt. 1

*** hey I’m on vacation so slightly shorter stories this week and next week ***

I told my parents before I was officially hired as a stripper because I wanted to hurt them. It was a brash decision, so in return they made a brash decision to cut me out of their phone plan. I only realized they had done it after trying to order dinner during a doldrum at the club. It wasn’t the first time they had cut my line. When I was growing up, my parents were constantly finding privileges to revoke given the slightest misstep, so I wasn’t surprised when I opened Grubhub and learned I had no network connection. I didn’t know how I would get home after work, considering I lived far from the club, and Baltimore transit stops running sometime after 2 a.m. I also had no intention of taking transit with whatever cash I might be carrying after my shift. I now had the additional job of finding a ride and figuring out cell service on top of my already daunting new occupation. Fantastic.

Before the audition, I had made a Forever 21 run and picked up my stripper outfit. Singular. Just one for the whole night. I didn’t know strippers wore multiple outfits every night, and in all honesty, at that moment I could only afford the single outfit. I’d also spent hours online reading FAQ’s on stripperweb.com especially the safety tips. One tip in particular jumped out at me:

Bring a lock.

Be vigilant: you are a woman alone at night with money.

I didn’t know where my lock had gone, so I was going to freestyle my own security. Baltimore is already one of the most dangerous cities in the United States-- the added danger of being alone with money after 2 a.m. had me extra jittery. The other thing that I hadn’t even considered prior is the experience of being a visible sex worker. When I got into my Uber, my driver was excitedly chatty, asking me about my life and feelings about Baltimore. I had hoped my destination was simply listed as an address, because I wasn’t ready to come out in front of this guy before even getting the job. We pulled up in front of the strip club and he continued to one building down. I don’t think he realized I was there for the club, and I wasn’t looking to clarify. I thanked him, grabbed my stripper bag, and hopped out.

I arrived later than I’d hoped. It was a little after 6:30 p.m. and I was afraid they wouldn't take me, but the bouncer let me in and directed me to John, the manager. John is a white man with blonde hair and a swirly hard part, harkening to a style that screams “wigger mob”. He looked at me with a hardness like he had no investment in whether I lived or died which oddly enough, came as a relief.

He gave me two songs and told me to go up.

John: We’re a full nude club, so by the second song panties off.

I got on stage and started my set, trying to pace myself and not drop too quickly into a bouncing split so I wouldn't pull a muscle again. It all happened so quickly, and for an empty club. What they don’t tell you is that many auditions take place during off hours when the club is empty aside from employees. I’d imagined a room of people watching me bumble around, but even John seemed disinterested as he filled something out on a clipboard. I was so consumed with the moment that I forgot to take off my panties. I considered taking them down just to show that I had it in me, but John had already decided to hire me. He asked for my ID, which I fumbled to him, frazzled. Only John and the bouncer knew my real name.

Well, also me. I knew my real name.

I repeated in my head “Alana Madonna Rihanna, Alana Madonna Rihanna, Alana Madonna Rihanna” so I could remember who I was when they called my name for the stage. In the chaotic hours of a busy weekend, I couldn’t imagine how I might be able to decipher my name in the midst of blasting club music and calls for other dancers. I felt anxiety bubbling in my belly.

To my surprise, I met my first customer almost immediately: a man from Spain who was only visiting until Saturday, today is Thursday. He didn’t speak much English and I didn’t speak Spanish very well but I knew enough to get along and asked him if he wanted a dance.

Me: Que tu quieres? Quieres bailar?

I knew I was speaking so poorly it sounded rude, but I was making an effort, and he didn’t seem to mind.

Him: Si

I led him upstairs to one of the singles booths and began My First Lap Dance Ever. It was a disaster. I had modeled it after the ones I had watched earlier that day on YouTube with titles like “giving your boyfriend a lap dance” and “5 sexy lap dance moves” with shitty acoustic guitar muzak in the background.

Unlike me, it was not his first rodeo. He knew what he had come for. He immediately started touching me, which surprised me because all of the information I had received prior indicated that he shouldn’t be allowed to touch me. Isn’t the rule that the stripper touches you and not vice versa? But I let him touch me. I let him grab my ass and breasts. I pushed his hand away when he swiped at my pussy because it was the second day of my period and I was bleeding heavily. I grinded on his jeans and worried I was going to have a Superbad moment with me leaving a giant menstrual spot on his crotch. I pictured red skid marks. He wanted me to get naked so I offered him a private room. A fifteen minute suite costs $200, so I didn’t expect him to go for it, but to my surprise he had money to burn. He’s about my parents’ age, on the shorter side, and has a bit of a gut. He bought the room with cash and after a quick nod to the bouncer, they shut us away. I set a timer on my phone and took off my clothes. I rubbed my body against his as he persistently attempted to poke his finger into my pussy as I swat his hands away. He kissed my back when I was turned away from him. He told me I was “bonita,'' and gestured to ask if I’ll suck his dick. He thought I was going to fuck him.

Me: No!

I thought I had been abundantly clear but apparently I hadn’t said it with enough gravity for a predator like him to get the picture. I didn’t want to lose money or get a bad reputation on my first night so I gave him the full fifteen minutes even though he’d violated too many rules too many times. Near the end he started unzipping his pants, reaching for his dick, at which point I stopped dancing and gestured that I wouldn’t continue until he zipped up again. Maybe it was desperation, or maybe it was a phantom sound, but I thought for a second I heard my name called for the stage rotation. I poked my head out of the booth and asked if the private room bouncer could check with the DJ for me. I gave the Spaniard a few extra seconds of time with his face buried in my tits, his tongue lapping out for my nipples, and then led him back downstairs while I tried to get away to talk to other people.