Coming Back on My Worst Behavior

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At the end of my champagne room,  I see the total $691.25. I get nervous when he says, “How much should I tip you?” Honestly $100 is a decent tip but now I’ve looked at his tab as a friend and not as a employee. Even an employee would try to butter him up for more money but I left it up to his discretion. NEVER AGAIN.  Don’t ever worry about taking all their money. The goal is to take all the money! If you don’t, the next stripper will. These customers ain’t loyal to us hoes! They didn’t walk into the club looking for commitment. Mothafuckas never loved us!!

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For the first time in my short dancing career, I think i started experiencing the “Heroes” mentality. In a previous blog, I identified the three types of strippers. A Hero stripper thinks she’s mentally strong but she is weak because she uses her job to save everyone. In her relationship she is saving her boyfriend. I don’t have any boyfriend, which is worse because now I’m trying to save the customer! Lately, I have been trying to save the good guys because I want to prove that I’m such a great person on the inside (or I strive to be). But proving this isn’t why I get paid. They can already see that through how I carry myself. I don’t want to feel  a manipulative, deceitful, or arrogant. Those three traits, are part of what it takes to be a good stripper. You have to sell yourself in being every man’s fantasy.

Last week, a frequent customer that I enjoy expressed to me his dilemma with another stripper. She was playing with his emotions, and his money daily. As he kept talking, I realized he was so much like myself before my “trauma” changed me a few years back. Personal feelings started to surface and I just hated being there. I hated seeing him yearn for something real, even though he knew deep down inside it was a fantasy. I looked him in the eye, and said “I just want you to be happy.” I read somewhere, there are a lot of challenges in life, happiness shouldn’t be one of them. Of course, I proceeded to get that check from him but not using those three qualities above. And yesterday, I see him with his beautiful dilemma, playing with fire again. We speak briefly. He tells me he’s not falling back into her trap and that he has a lot of money to blow. And then he goes to the stage and throws it, as if to prove his last statement. I’m angry at first. But then I realize, I can’t save him, and that it was silly of me to even try. I walk past him, and make my way to the bar. I think he can enjoy his night without a conscience of the truth lingering close I take a couple shots, ask the guy next to me to pay for it, and walk away, suave and with a smile. Just thinking,  like the song, how these men never want to hear us, how I must remember these mothafuckas never loved us. Fuck what you heard. Come Monday, I’m coming back on my worst behavior. The game doesn’t run me. And only real hustlers run the club. I taking my spot back.

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