Reply-To: "e.a.o." <edwaIIoIs@hotmaiI.com>
From: "e.a.o." <edwaIIoIs@hotmaiI.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.strip-clubs
Subject: ASSC AFTSD '03. A guy working in a strip club.
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Date: Tue, 2 Dec 2003 05:53:48 -0800
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Working at a strip club can seriously suck for a guy. There are of course
benefits. Like getting to stare at all the hot chicks every day without
having to give them money. And you even get paid to look at them. But the
sucky parts really suck.

Like dealing with drunks. And assholes. And cheapskates. And dancer
politics. And management politics. And coworker politics.

I worked in a strip club (that I shall not name here) for about 8 months. My
working there started out from coming in there as a customer. I knew the
owner's father from about 15 years back, and chatted with him occasionally.
One day I was hanging out for a few hours and I guess they were shorthanded
for the next days schedule, because I found myself being assessed by a group
of employees. "Why don't you work here?" It was the owner. He wasn't asking
me if I wanted to. I think he was trying to figure why I was there so much
without working there. Anyway, I ended up filling out a few forms and was
scheduled to work the next evening. I had a full-time day job, so it was
just as a lark that I did it.

I started by serving non-alcoholic drinks from behind the bar and monitoring
the security cameras that are in all of the VIP areas. I was pretty good at
selling drinks. They told me at the end of the day that I had sold more
beverages than any other person had in the club's history. I got the feeling
the previous "bartenders" hadn't been trying very hard. Not that I had to
work very hard. It was pretty easy.

After a while, I started working the door.  That wasn't quite as fun. This
club had money-management practices out of the stone age. There was no cash
register. Just a bank bag and a podium. I was constantly in fear of someone
noticing how much money I had to have been holding on any given Friday or
Saturday night inbetween safe-drops. The problem was that besides collecting
$10 from each person entering the club, the money paid for Private Dances
was held by the doorman until after the dance had been performed, at which
point the dancer was given her cut (she got $25 out of the $35). So in the
bankers bag, I've got the proceeds from the door, the club's cut from
Private Dances, and uncollected money for dancers. I had to keep about $200
in change and  whatever the dancers were owed. So if dancers were slow in
collecting (if they got it from me, they'd have to keep track of it for the
rest of their shifts and risk other dancers stealing it) I could have
between $400 and $800 in the bag. I was careful when making change, making
sure people couldn't see how much I was carrying-- which wasn't easy
considering the setup: I've got up to four lines vying for my attention
(actually, it was just a crowd of people surrounding the podium): Customers
coming in, customer wanting their hands stamped so they can get drunk in the
parking lot and come back in, dancers with customers wanting dances, and
dancers who wanted to collect money after performing dances. It was a joke.
There was no security for the person performing the job. It was about 15
feet inside the club. The podium was facing out from a wall near the
entrance and could be surrounded on three sides. And no one had any
patience. Everyone wanted what they wanted RIGHT THEN. Thankfully, no one
ever tried to rob me.

And to keep track of what money was for whom was no easy task. I had two
sheets of paper. One to keep track of customers' money, and one to keep
track of dancers' money. The dancers' sheet had each dancer's name down the
left hand side. Across it were places for hash-marks in two rows per dancer.
A mark in the top row meant a customer had paid for a dance. A corresponding
mark below it mean the dancer had collected her cut. I had to keep very
close watch on that sheet, because if a mark in a dancer's top row was added
without a customer paying for a dance, that dancer would still be owed $25.
If a dancer was paid and I neglected to add the bottom mark, she could come
up again and be paid twice. And because of the rapid transactions that
occurred on busier nights at busier hours, it was very difficult indeed to
keep track of everything. It was more common that there would be too much
money in the bag, which was preferable to too little.

After a while, I started familiarizing myself with the equipment in the DJ
booth, wanting to get away from the door. There were two guys who were DJs
there. One was good at it, but didn't really care. And the other THOUGHT he
was good at it and sucked. I guess part of the reason I wanted to work as DJ
was to get that guy away from the microphone. I did start working as DJ a
few hours a week. That had its own sucky elements. Primarily, dealing with
the dancers who wanted specific songs played for them on stage. Imagine a
rotation of, say, 14 dancers. Each dances to 2 songs on stage. Each song is
on a separate CD. So the DJ was expected by the dancers to manage up to 28
CDs simultaneously, playing the exact right track (in the correct order,
naturally) for each dancer. With each dancer swapping the CDs each time she
danced on stage.

I swear, these dancers were so spoiled and used to getting their way with
other male employees in the club. I was the only guy working there who had
another full-time job, so I wasn't working there for the paycheck
necessarily. It was nice pocket money. But to the others, they were not only
dependent on the paycheck, but on tip-outs from dancers. The club had no
tip-out policy, but some of the dancers did so, but it was mostly as a way
of controlling the DJ and doorman. The sucky DJ I mentioned would bend over
backward for the dancers for the tips he got. I don't like being controlled
like that and wouldn't let them tell me how to do my job. As a result, I
didn't get a lot of tips from them.

There were some nice people I worked with there. The environment was just so
damned mentally-unhealthy that it was hard to feel like a real person. Only
once did I make the mistake of falling for one of the dancers. We had a lot
in common and we had similar wacky senses of humor. I guess the mistake was
thinking that she felt the same for me. But it turned out she was dating one
of her customers, which, interestingly enough, the club didn't have a rule
against.

Only once while working at the club did I have sex with a dancer. And that
was just a blowjob she gave me after driving her home. But she was "mostly"
gay and wouldn't permit me to touch her. She said she liked to swallow cum
and occasionally gave head to guys. It was a very unsexy sex act.

I came close to having sex with another dancer once in the club's VIP room.
It was her first day and she had never given a dance and confided in me that
she was worried that guys wouldn't ask her for dances. So I paid her for
one. The club didn't permit any patron-to-dancer contact. Dancer-to-patron
contact was permitted, as long as the dancer didn't get within six inches of
the patron's crotch, the dancer's crotch stayed at least six inches from any
part of the customer's body, and her nipples didn't come in contact with the
customer. I asked her if she knew the rules and she said she did. When she
started dancing, she was obviously very new to lap dances. She was trying to
be sexy and wasn't paying attention to the contact. I pointed out to her
that her crotch was against my leg and her knee was pressed against my
crotch. She remarked that it would be nearly impossible to maintain the
proper distances at all times. I suggested a few moves that she could employ
to entertain men without breaking the rules. She tried another move of her
own and her knee ended up against my crotch again. When I pointed this out
to her, she pressed it more firmly there and whispered, "I like breaking the
rules." Boi-oi-oing. After the dance ended, I congratulated her on her
technique but warned against breaking the rules with customers. I pointed
out the security cameras. Toward the end of the night, we chatted briefly.
She hadn't yet developed the nerve to approach the customers and had only
had a couple of dances over the last several hours. I suggesed she dance for
me again. She seemed excited at the idea. My shift was over, so I was free
to do so. Being familiar with the security camera set-up, I knew how to
temporarily disable any one of the cameras in the VIP rooms. Just before the
dance, I disabled the camera in the room we were going into, which was a
single-dance room. Basically, we were all alone. I asked her if she had ever
had anyone dance for her. She said no, and I said I'd dance for her. I had
done this before for other dancers, who were quite thrilled (even though I'm
pretty average looking and not buff) to have a guy put on a show for them.
So I started doing my best impression of an exotic dancer, stripping out of
my clothes. Her eyes were locked on my pecker as I exposed it. I was feeling
very bold. I dropped down on my knees in front of her where she was sitting
on the room's sole loveseat sofa. I played around running my hands up and
down her legs, playing with her lingerie short-shorts. She did nothing to
indicate she didn't like what I was doing. I slid my fingers under the
legband and pulled them aside, exposing her pussy. Again, she just kept
watching what I was doing. Throwing all caution to the wind, I leaned
forward and went down on her, licking her pussy energetically. And, believe
me, she had a beautiful pussy. After a short bit of that, I came up and
danced some more, standing over her while wiggling my cock in front of her
face. Guys, if you ever get such a chance, I highly recommend the
experience. Anyhow, I suggested she dance for me next. She started by
getting naked and stood on the sofa, one foot on either side of my legs. And
without a word, she pushed her pussy right back into my face. We commenced
to some energetic contact, up to but not including penetration. And this
girl was seriously cute. Anyway.

Okay. That part didn't suck.

But I stand firm on my belief that for a guy working there, a strip club can
really suck.