My regular -- the one who used to sweep my off the VIP for hours at a time and pay the equivalent of my rent in a single evening -- has returned. I haven't seen him since January, when he e-mailed me to say that he was dating a lady and wouldn't be seeing me for a while. On Wednesday he e-mailed again: the lady in question had called things off, and would I be available some time in the near future?
I experienced a mild cringe. I mean, the misfortune of others being my fortune once again, and whatnot. Then again, how many women could you call you up after a dead silence of several weeks who would be not only delighted to hear from you but more than willing to get naked at the drop of a hat, no questions asked? The stripper/customer relationship is a beautiful one when everybody trusts the rules.
I exerted myself to give him the time of his life. For what he's paying me, I provide the full treatment: anticipation-stoking e-mail throughout the week, favorite outfit (he likes me in dresses as opposed to more "stripper" stuff), hours of scintilating conversation on a variety of light-hearted topics, and some very, very sexy dancing. It was a lovely evening. I'd forgotten how much I like the guy.
He does show some propensity to become dangerously attached to me, but for right now I'm not too worried. I think he more or less understands the parameters of the situation. I also take some reassurance from the fact that he comes to see another dancer at the club -- the Satanist's room-mate, Slayde. Somehow I figure him having another favorite stripper should insulate his feelings for me from being too serious. I also like the fact that he's still actively pursuing real-life romantic interests via flirting with girls on Match.com. This seems healthy, and I'm all for it, although sooner or later it will presumably take him out of my orbit once more. As much as I'd like him to keep coming to the club and giving me crazy sums of money a few times a week for the rest of my dancing career, I'd feel some guilt if things really did work out that way. He's a sweet, sweet man and some girl should scoop him up and make him her goofy, World-of-Warcraft-playing own.
But for now, he's mine, and that's probably OK for all parties involved. After all, outside the club he's a socially inhibited, recently-dumped guy. Inside the club, he's a socially inhibited, recently dumped guy with naked girl straddling his thighs. The difference is simple, but -- don't you agree? -- profound.