Some snapshots of club life:
Here’s an unexpected side effect of this job: currency qualms. When spending the money I make (as opposed to depositing it into an ATM) I often have a difficult time squelching the urge to warn people when I hand it over, particularly the singles.
“You’re gonna wanna wash your hands after handling this money,” I always wanna tell people. “It’s probably been in my butt.”
I think I figured out where the term “filthy lucre” comes from.
Wednesday night I met a guy who told me he’s the reason Netflix streams like butter. He wanted me to choke him while dancing for him, so I did. It freaked me out a little, but far be it from me to kink shame the nerds.
He then wanted to choke ME, but I politely declined. Not my kink, boys and girls.
On a Latex and Lace Saturday night, a retired Spectrum News anchor came in. He was short and bubbly and earnest and adorable and one of the few clients I actually wish would come back to see me.
I introduced him to Buttery Nipples, and that made him decide he wanted an ACTUAL buttery nipple. The kitchen graciously provided free butter, and then he bought a BUNCH of dances.
Really, come back and see me, Ben darling, you scoundrel. I’ll get the butter all melty for you.
Monday night was the evening of the lesbians. We had not one, but TWO in the club, and without them, I would not have made any money at all.
We women are VERY used to being given a free pass in most things sexual. Consequently, women tend to be MUCH more aggressive at the club than men, I’ve learned.
BITCH, DO NOT TRY TO FINGER-FUCK ME IF YOU HAVE LONG, POINTY FINGERNAILS. JESUS.
On the other hand, I bet the deejay was loving his life that night. The ladies give him QUITE THE SHOW. I haven’t washed my ass since.
Kidding. Totally kidding.
But seriously, though. The deejay gave me four songs instead of the usual Monday night three. If you weren’t there (and you weren’t), sorry for your loss.
Come see me sometime!
And bring your hot girlfriends