Tales from Da Club #25

I LOVE MY JOB.

On Saturday, I dressed as a slutty butterfly, complete with lifesize wings, just for the hell of it.

You might ask me, “Circus, did something so obviously cheesy and gimmicky actually pay off?”

And I would have to tell you yes. Yes, it did.

Almost immediately, the daytime deejay asked if I would be interested in joining his club promotion company. Lord knows I don’t have enough jobs already; perhaps I’ll pick up a third. I’ll sleep when I’m old.

I got as much attention onstage as I normally do, which isn’t a heckuva lot, usually, but this time people tipped in 10s and 20s instead of ones.

A smoking hot redhead named Dagger even taught me a few new pole tricks. My entire right leg is now one giant bruise. Afterwards, we made out while simultaneously dancing for a client. WORTH IT.

I LOVE MY JOB.

On Saturday, I was standing at the corner of the poker table and the VIP section when a whole parade of men walked past me, all of them looking as though they’d stepped off the cover of Mormon GQ. They just kept coming until they nearly filled up the entire VIP section with bald heads, suit coats and khakis. It turned out they were practically the entire police force of a small town up north celebrating the impending wedding of one of their buddies, together with his five brothers, three uncles and one dad.

Good lord, that town has one pretty police force. I almost begged a couple of them to frisk me.

All of the available dancers immediately made a beeline for the bachelor, but Arwyn the Fierce Celtic Warrior got there first. She slithered around on his lap with the practiced air of a woman long used to battling men. And winning.

Arwyn mostly dances in private VIP rooms. This was a rare chance to watch her dance on the floor. I learned a few things watching her that night about human anatomy and how it can move.

She sent me over next. One of his buddies shoved a twenty in my hand, and I clambered aboard. “Congratulations!” I said.

“No way,” he said. “My life is OVER.” His very young, very handsome face bore a complicated mixture of misery and arousal, and he whispered things to me as I danced that only his future wife should have heard.

Why THE FUCK do people get married if they feel so reluctant about it? And why THE FUCK do people marry reluctant partners?

He spent the next hour buried under half-naked women while I squirmed my way across the incredibly tanned and toned VIP section. I felt sorry for the poor groom, but it was one hell of a glorious evening for me. Sometimes heaven and hell coexist in the same space.

After that, the VIP Manager snagged me, and I spent a very long time with a man who paid a lot of money just to lick my ears.

I LOVE MY JOB.

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