Stripping, fact and fiction revealed through the memoir’s of a Sin-dustry newbie…..

Stripping, Is it an art-form, or just a

        skanky way to make money?

stripper

I met Jazmina and Chloe back in 2007, Jazmina a.k.a Jazzy was a tall slender girl about 25 years old, long dark pin straight hair, olive complected and beautiful by all accounts. Chloe was a larger, much curvier gal, with fiery red hair, blue eyes, pale complexion, and a bra size to match her unbelievably bold and outrageous personality.

Jazmina mother of three beautiful little Jazzy look alike’s, had a long heart to heart with me about her life. Minus an alcoholic mom, and a few boyfriends from the wrong side she was from a fairly normal up-bringing.

Chloe was just a rebel from what I could tell, older than Jazzy by about 3 years, yet Jazzy had her in maturity by about 6. Chloe was adventurous, wild and intoxicatingly fun. Her curvy bodied “OH HELL NO” to some — was her — “$500.00” pay day to others….. Literally half a grand for a days worth of “work”.

Raising the question is it really work? How hard could it be to take your clothes off? Literally one piece at a time slowly walking around a pole while gyrating to the music picked and played for you? Where do boundaries exist? when are they crossed? Is it worth it? Why do it at all?

Questions that could only be answered years later, when I found myself in a predicament, similar to the one Jazzy had confided in me just 3 years prior. So to the phone I went. Dialing her number seemed not at all strange, almost welcoming……Like the answer to my problems — salvation even — could be just a “Hello- what’s up?” away. And just like that a stripper was born.

Arriving at the club that night knowing not what to expect but instead scared to death, I popped a little something for anxiety and thought to myself “am I really about to do this?” and truth be told I WAS……I had no choice….

The flashing neon sign of the club was actually more tasteful than I had remembered — not so cliche — or Amsterdam red light district-ish — “somewhat classy for a strip club” I thought to myself. After an hour of self-pep talks, and driving in and out of the lot, I finally parked, and got out. “You have had children in teaching hospitals — where it felt as though the entire maternity ward had seen, examined, and could on all probability thoroughly describe your nether regions in great detail if asked to”  I said out loud — to myself — this should be 1000 times easier than that.

This club was a step- up from the usual ones I had been to. I had spent many a night paying some half witted, over salined, bitchy broad to give a friend or friends newly 18 or 21 year old brother his first real taste of the XXX world. This particular place was no dive pig pen, or not-so-foxy- or lady at all. THERE WERE RULES……Strictly enforced rules….

A) No removal of bottoms.

B) Pasties — use them –or lose money

C) Lap-dances Definition: Not so much in the lap as much as a dance near , or around the lap area. Dancers hands may only be placed on recipiant’s shoulder’s or knees. There is to be no butt to crotch contact, dancer may not “grind” … Recipient may not touch — AT ALL — PERIOD.

D) When the shift is done the dancer MUST tip out the –

  • DJ — For playing the shit she wanted to dance to.
  • Bouncer’s — For protecting her ass.
  • Other Dancer’s — If they participated in any champagne room, or dual dances with one or more dancer’s
  • Floor manager — For running a tight ship
  • House — For being allowed the opportunity to shake your covered parts on one or even all three of their stages, then working their room in an attempt to gain more money, and also attracting the clientele to the club — to purchase overpriced drinks, and go home alone.

After the sign up card, which was very minimal to say the least — identification shown — and a quick “By the way your responsible for your own taxes” paper to sign, I was escorted to the changing room — before receiving the “grand tour”.

The dressing room was so overwhelming to me, a first timer / newbie. There were fake hair pieces on model heads strewn about the make-up clad counter tops. Mirrors galore, posing the question; Fun house, or nut house? The amount of glitter containing products also taking up residence on the counters was astonishing — sure fire way to get that  “night prowling ” husband in deep shit, as that is NOT easily washed off. Self tanning spray a.k.a oompa loompa spray was a staple — along with; hairspray /hair glue, fake nails, and pastie heaven — felt more like Barbie hell to me, but hey I was the newbie right?

One girl took me under her wing and “taught me the ropes” so to speak.

“What are your outfit choices?” she asked to which I replied a muffled: UMMMM!

“Outfits??? shit —  how could I forget something so vital?” “Oh yeah perhaps the freaking out over the getting naked thing, threw me off.”

Well now what? Sweetly and to my rescue she came with a strange looking bag of random, well I guess you could call them “parts” of clothing.

When I was done “getting ready”, I was at best a mish-mash of a patriotic hula-cowgirl-teachers assistant….Hmmm. well “here goes nothing” I thought. Standing behind the DJ booth I waited for my “name” to be called in rotation, I would dance one song on the main stage, one song on the satellite stage, and one more on the second satellite stage. “Wait what 3 songs, 3 stages?” If I was going to puke that would have been the time. But before vomit could enter my esophagus, the DJ announced loudly “And for the first time here at (insert club name here) please help us welcome (insert ridiculously cheesy any porn star-ish name possible here)……

Pole tricks

I had watched the 3 or 4 girls that had gone previously, and the pole seemed to be an acrobatic tool. “I’m flexible and acrobatic” I thought…..NOT SO….That pole is deviously challenging — and not at all a good idea to debut your lack of stage skill, or learning curve sexy skill components. As the first song played I gripped it, white knuckling the hell out of it , and praying those 6′ heels would not do me in. I swayed “not so sexily” to the rock song playing.  “Floor work….yes floor work” I thought to myself, ” how hard can it be to roll around and do acrobatic things in a seductive manner?” NOPE WRONG AGAIN……..knocking off peoples drinks, almost spiking “the ball” literally, and trying to gauge the amount of space in which to roll around…….HA!!!! — a fools errand at best –but I tried. Other than Mr. whiny-wet pants everyone seemed pretty nice, even throwing “pity bills” or at least that’s how it felt. After stage 2 and 3, my legs felt immobile, What the hell were these muscles, where did they come from, and why do they hate me? All relevant questions a newbie asks once they are un-able to move.

After realizing the catty nature of my next step in stripper-dom,, I really wanted to run and never come back…..These girls literally would have cut your grandma’s throat if it meant that they had a chance of scoring a lap-dance or two, from a mindless patron. It was absolute mayhem on the floor. But the newbie gets the attention or so I learned:

  • The regular clients want to see how far you will go.
  • Will you push boundaries or break rules?
  • Will you know what is and is not acceptable?
  • Will you play by the rules and rat them out if they slip you an extra $50.00 and an apology.
  • Are you willing to leave with them?
  • How desperate are you for cash?

It’s pretty stomach turning when you start to realize the mentality of some of these men, and women.

By night’s end I just wanted to go home, shower, and be done with a world I never thought — would actually take and blacken a piece of my soul — but it did. Question is will I come back tomorrow?  I guess you’ll have to come back to find out, and so will I……..    Your’s Truly: Sin-dustry

Written By: Heather Cornell

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Author: hereandsphere

Here and Sphere is an online journal of news, opinion, reviews, advice, & bits n' pieces of everything else - from HERE to SPHERE...... Co-founded by Michael Freedberg, a long-time Boston Phoenix journalist, and Heather Cornell, a South Coast Massachusetts columnist and editor.

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