A Good Stripper’s Secrets

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People ask me all the time what makes me such a good stripper.  I get this question especially from other dancers, usually the young, eighteen to twenty one year olds who have just begun their journey through stripperhood.  They think I have this big secret to success in the trade that makes me so good at it.

The truth is, I really don’t.  And for the record, I don’t make what they think I do.  I struggle to earn enough money to cover my living expenses, utilities, childcare costs, and filling-up-the-fridge-costs just like everyone else does.  Sometimes I go to work and I make $900.  But before you quit your day job to take up stripping, remember that there also times when I go to work and leave with $4. (Yes, four dollars.)  But overall, I do pretty well.

So what is it that makes me a good stripper?  It’s not doing extras in the darkened booths where couch dances and champagne rooms take place.  That’s a personal rule I do not break.  There are some very basic, simple things that make me good at what I do.  Things like: making eye contact, dressing classy, being friendly and articulate, and clearly enjoying the job.  These are basics and this method works.

No one likes dancers who are pushy or dancers who go up to customers and complain about their fucked up lives or their rent that’s due tomorrow, or wait, no, yesterday.  No one wants to pay some stripper’s fines or help her bail her baby-daddy out of jail.  Even if my bills are due tomorrow and I have zero dollars toward them, the customers sitting at the bar will never know it.  I go to work, I socialize, I have a good time, and hopefully I make a lot of money, and go home.  But there’s more.

The other reason why I’m probably a very good stripper is because sometimes I just have no boundaries. I do my best work with clients who are quirky and unusual.   You could even say that “fetish play” is my niche.  I will not think twice about putting my bra on a man and calling him “princess”, all while describing in detail all the household chores I’d force him to do for me in my house.

Whatever kind of strange fetish you’re into, bring it on.  If you’re into being dominated, I’ve got a whip and a pair of handcuffs in my locker.  If you want me to put on some white knee highs and pretend I’m a naughty little cheerleader, sure thing.  I’ll call you “Daddy” too, if that’s what gets you going.  You want me to massage your chest with my bare feet while you caress them ever so softly?  My pleasure.

Foot fetish guys are a stripper’s wet dream.  What’s that?  You’re going to pay me $250 to sit in a dark room with you while you rub my aching feet?  No need to ask me twice!

There was this one guy who used to like me to treat him like total shit.  He wanted me to tell him he was an undeserving, sissy piece of shit.  He liked it when I’d rattle off all the chores I’d make him do at my house.  His favorite was when I’d describe in detail how he would have to get on his hands and knees and scrub my bath tub.  I told him I would shove the handle of my mop straight up his rear end if he fucked up or missed a spot.

I’m good at this job because nothing phases me and there is little that repulses me.  That’s why I say I’m like a doctor.  A fantasy doctor.  “Tell me what you like.”  To me it’s all fun and games and I think guys like this because it’s apparent that I’m having fun with them.  I never laugh at them or make them feel like freaks of nature.  It is a confidential and mutual experience.  (I know, I know…  Confidential…  Not exactly so since I’m sharing it here, but keep in mind that I change names and identifying details to protect those involved.)

There is a man who frequents the club I work at.  He’s been coming for years.  He has a thing about piggy back rides.  He would call the bar multiple times and ask if he could get a piggy back ride.  Then he would come in and ask me, the bartender at the time, to appoint him a dancer who would give him a piggy back ride.  I would always look around and try to choose a girl with a strong enough bone structure to hold him, because this man wanted a real piggy back ride.  I set him up with a tall, pretty, blonde girl one night.  She was in great shape but had a large enough frame and was willing to do it.  I watched her struggle with this man on her back for two or three songs.  For the entire time, this man was smiling like a kid at a carnival.

I believe that no one should live in shame of who they are.  We are all human.  No two of us are exactly the same.  I don’t think that I’m better than anyone else and I don’t think anyone else is better than me.  I’m just a person like everyone else.

Years ago, back when Gay Marriage was a huge political debate in the United States, someone asked me how I felt about it.  I had just come up from the champagne room.  “I think gay marriage is awesome” was my response.  I took a few more licks of the pink lollipop I was enjoying.  He asked why.  Why do I think gay marriage is awesome?  Because I stand for everything that comes with being different and being who you are.  After all, who am I to judge?  I tease with lollipops on stage.  I role play naughty nurse and hot for teacher fantasies for a living.  “For fuck’s sake!”  I said.  “I just peed down the collar of some guy’s satin dress shirt for money!  Who am I to tell gay people they can’t get married?”

Think about a world without lesbians.  That would be absolutely horrible.  Of course gay marriage should be legal and I’m very glad that the day has finally come where all people who love each other can join in legal matrimony.  I hope this is always the case.  I also hope that if a man likes to dress in women’s clothing and sniff undergarments in the company of his wife, girlfriend, or local fantasy counselor (aka stripper)…. that he may do so proudly and without an ounce of shame!

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