Last night was my first night dancing at my new club -- my first night-time shift ever, in fact. It was quite different. There were a lot of "holy shit" moments -- like when I realized the three hot girls I saw when I first walked in the dressing room were not the three hottest girls. The whole place was filled to the brim with fine-ass model-quality mamas. I'm hoping three quarters of them are alcoholic bitches who can't string two sentences together, or else I am sunk. These gals can dance, too -- just another factor making me feel like a baby duck surrounded by gazelles.
There were A LOT of dancers, too. At one point there were fifty names on the dance board in the DJ booth. Fortunately, the club actually got crowded, something a dayshift slacker stripper like me has rarely seen before. Also fortunately, the gents seemed pretty set on buying dances, even if they didn't necessarily want to buy them from me; none of that "I'm just here for lunch" crap that you get on the day shift. ("Seriously? Because there's a Wendy's just down the street, bud.") Selling was easy, once you could find that guy who's attention you had caught. Now, catching a guy's attention in a crowd of beautiful, half-naked women, that's another story. I picked the guys sitting alone, and did an abbreviated version of my normal sit-and-talk hustle. Quality of customer is a distinct improvement -- most are respectful and sane, and won't freak out if you happen to use an eigth grade-level word, as long as you follow up with a giggle.
I was flustered, intimidated, and terrified, for the most part. And then sole started to come off one of my shoes and flop around, making balancing a feat of super-human agility. But for all my bitching, it wasn't a bad night for a new girl. I made about what I'd make on a slightly-worse-than-average day shift back at the old club. And don't forget, it was $10 dance night. So I think once I get the hang of things, I could do well here.
I also found the girls quite friendly -- like, they would smile at you after bumping into you, instead of snarl. And they were, uh, quite friendly in other ways as well. I was sitting with a customer early in the night when a girl sitting with someone else a table away crawled over the back of her chair yelling, "Kiss me!" I leaned over to give her a peck but she had her lips open and her tongue out. Like Rain Man said, "wet."
This same girl later came to one of my stage with a fiver and said her customer (different guy this time) would tip me if I'd show her some action. We rubbed out faces on each other's boobs, $5 changed hands, and everyone was smiliing. I figured hitting on other girls and getting the gents all riled up over the promise of girl-girl action is this girl's hustle. And a fine hustle it is. So I was still sorta surprised when she came up to me in the dressing room at the end of the night when we were all changing and started running her hands over the portion of my dress -- "soooooo soooooft" -- that happened to be covering my ass. Meanwhile, two barely-legal types were tongue-kissing by the lockers while everyone giggled. "You know they're watching you on the cameras," someone said.
"They wanna see my pussy?" said the blonde one. "Here's my pussy!" And she bends over, presenting her unpantied posterior to the corner of the room where, presumably, management has installed its secret camera. Everybody starts drunkenly singing Lords of Acid: "I wanna see your pussy, show it to me"...then they all get dressed and drive home. God bless Mama. God bless Papa. And God, please don't let me be rear-ended by a drunken stripper going 95 mph down the highway at 3 am on a Tuesday. Amen.