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Support you local stripper
Support you local stripper
There's a lot of really bad press that strippers get. I read the other day about some middle aged fool in London who gave a stripper £100K and sued to get it back. The legal system supported him. I wouldn't have. I spent years in heartbroken exile where the only game in town was to go to the strip club. It was a heady combination of music, late night drinks and the battle of the sexes writ large. Some strippers are like the French Foreign Legion of the sex war. I was in the Intelligence Corps. I spent my time as a double agent, supporting the girls and the punters depending who I was speaking to. I watched and listened and learned, like a war correspondent. This was not duplicity it was surviving in a hip hop jungle where everyone thought they had game. Truth is, just like this site, it was full of communication mismatches, and maybe built on them. If you walked into the club as a mug, you walked out as a mug, but hundreds of pounds lighter. Truth is many of the girls were beautiful, had intimacy issues, and would tell you about them if they trusted you, and it wasn't that hard to win trust. One word, respect.
They'd tell how their mother was an alcoholic if you could take your eyes off their tits for 15 minutes. Many were single mothers and several were multiple abortion girls carrying a lot of guilt. Lesbianism was a support mechanism much more than a male fantasy. The intimacy issues got tougher in that work because they detatched from their own arousal a lot, which would naturally occur when they were basically masturbating in front of you and having their nipples sucked. Only very rarely did a girl stop because she was getting too wet grinding her crotch against mine or my knee and was on the brink and only a handful of times did I feel one reach orgasm. They all thought they would get out before their stash of cash was robbed by other girls and their vicious bouncer boyfriends, or that a great guy would walk in and see through it, they'd fall head over heels in love with him, and ideally he'd be an accountant who could launder her cash, and it would be Shirley MacLaine in Sweet Charity updated.
Some wanted to be midwives, some wanted to have their own florists or nail bars, one said their earliest memory was when their little brother was born. Very occasionally some were students or had degrees, but a lot lied about that. Undoubtedly some did drugs or booze till the drugs didn't work, they just made it worse, as the song says. Some were on 12 step rehab programs and were evangelical about that. There were a lot of confused Catholic girls fighting for their own freedom and with madonna and whore issues to work out. Undoubtedly some girls were up for hire it was not so much a matter of price but their getting away with it, for that is the invisible stripper-to-whore line they worried over themselves. Even those who did cross the line mainly did it if the guy had spent more time than money on her. The money would be his idea and was the price of mutual discretion. Very occasionally you'd find girls who were more hookers than dancers and they'd proposition. The strange thing was they tended not to stay around long and preferred hard core to tease and went back to their way of life, sometimes chased there by non-line crossing girls and management. Generally though few guys actually had the stamina or lifestyle, never mind the money, to last the pace with one when the night was over, when she just had to go to the Casino after that, when she doesn't go to sleep till 8am, rise till 4 pm and starts at 9pm. Truth was not many had active sex lives with anyone outside their circle: bar men, bouncers, ponces who sponged off them, or other girls. Regular guys would want them to stop, but the attention was too great a fix to give up. One guy telling you what to do or a hundred people telling you you're sex on legs; you know how she'll decide.
Outside the club they often had employment alibis; call centres were popular, if unlikely, because of the crazy hours and that they couldn't be contacted there. A few go into porn but nothing like the graduation in the States, because porn here is not sub Hollywood glamour, it's a £500 fee and a camcorder, over in a day and rerun on crappy soft core adult channels for five years. Some didn't class it as porn if it was girl-girl only. Some had low self esteem and they worried they were educationally unfit for much else in the real world and were providing for their kids and themselves as best they could. They'd tell you if you'd listen, they'd beg for a chance as a real woman, they'd make sure their daughters tried at school and her sons stayed out of strip clubs. To be married happily would be moksha, satori, redemption and nirvana rolled into one. Some met and married within weeks.
Undoubtedly there were great nights and good times and nights where no one came in except a man and his metaphorical dog. I supported my local strippers a few years ago in the face of Eastern European beauties who swamped the clubs and were deadly serious about making hard currency and sending it back as fast as possible, with little social skills, with model pouts, and sulking disdain. But this period gave me one of the most touching exchanges of my life with any woman.
A new glitzy club had opened in violent, tough, sentimental, but sexually puritan Glasgow in 1999. One of my stripper pals told me she was going down for the opening and she got me a ticket. This was a girl I'd never slept with, but we talked. She was about 19 and had short blond hair, a voluptuous figure, a lop sided smile like my own, and clear blue eyes that anyone would fall for. It was down to mysterious chemistry or God knows what that we ended up feeling tender towards each other. Soon she refused to dance for me or even to take money for her time just chatting. She would send me to other girls and then wait for me to come back to sit with her, like Yoko with Lennon and May Pang I thought. Somehow she was mothering me. I loved and dated and dined with the Star of the Club, but so did she, so did everyone, so did the chief criminal prosecutor, the local football hero, the local lottery millionaire, and guys who looked like Armani models who got free dances, and the married owner of the club. To my amazement the uberstripper actually paid for an ordinary guy to go on holiday with her to the pre Tsunami Maldives, and she'd only met him in the club that week. That's how lonely she really was. He even cheated on her on holiday (kept man syndrome). My 19 year old and I talked about how she was raised by her grandparents because her parents had split, how we both loved Dr Zhivago and thought the old couple's affection for each other in that movie when faced with death was enormously moving.I bought her the video one day. She told me how her favourite book was Memoirs of a Geisha, and she read Zola's Nana when I told her I thought she'd like it. She told how she was in love with the uberstripper who I was in love with too, but the barman was her man, he was only the second or third guy she'd slept with. She let him get her pregnant; she moved in her final three months to taking the entrance cash, quietly reading in a booth. She got stripper thin again in 6 weeks of giving birth, and married him, with a reception that was a who's who of UK strippers.
Anyway, she gave me a ticket for the opening and I kind of dragged myself along, because Glasgow is not really a lovers' city, despite its attempt to rebrand itself because the bones of St Valentine are here apparently.
The thing was, when I walked in she gave me a huge sincere kiss of recognition on both cheeks and hugged me. She said the Glasgow girls didn't want outsiders and she was feeling a bit vulnerable. She was delighted that I'd come. She sat with me till one of the boss girls wanted her to circulate. But here's the thing. Rod Stewart arrived in the club in mid break up with Rachel Hunter- Stacey's mom. He'd done a concert in Glasgow that night . All the other girls left everyone to chase uninterested Rod. My girl sat at my side and wouldn't move. She said: " What do I want with him, he doesn't know a thing about me, and you do".
I saw her recently in Loaded's vote for the 100 sexiest dancers in the UK. She's six years older, her face has got more character now, maybe a little wisdom even, and she looked happy.
Support your local strippers. They can give you a lot more than a choreographed sexy lap dance. But if that's all you want, then remember to try to support your own woman. She'll probably stand by you against rock stars and zillionaires if you support her. If we guys truly knew why, we would we'd weep with joy and humility for days on end. This loyalty doesn't always happen of course. That's sad but you know, zillions of sperm chasing one egg that she carries and cares for, for the rest of her life. What would you do ? Especially when all around there are people, punters all, who can't value or respect who she is and would use her as a means to an end like some door mat, if they could, after dragging her off an illusory pedestal she didn't really want to be installed on. She'll tell you, anyone can be great, because anyone can serve.
11/15/2005 3:21 pm
Strange but true I once worked in a strip club towards the end of my truly decadent days of debauchery and excess. And as your post says there are people behind the image..|
Tala, Wizard of The Kingdom of BooBoBia, DEITY,
11/16/2005 5:52 pm
Thanks for sharing that.|
It must have taken you ages to put all that together
My bloggs are pathetic in comparrison (cant spell sorry)
Love silky xxxxxxxxxxx
11/18/2005 7:15 am
You're very kind and much too self deprecating. You get my vote as candidate for the mayor of Blogville!
11/21/2005 1:19 pm
Bob.. Thankyou babes for your kindness|
Im smiling now