He sees himself as a giant stud and suspends his disbelief that I don’t do this for anyone with a $100 bill despite the fact I have condoms at the ready. He sees himself as a giant stud who seduced the dancer in the the VIP. Don’t believe me? You allow the customer to tell himself that strippers aren’t hookers, that he wasn’t paying for sex, he was paying for dances. You and I, Stripper Sister, have a symbiotic relationship. He has a mental hang-up about paying for sex directly, but if the sex is free and he pays for lap dances he can hack his psyche and let the good times roll. I can hear you now: “Where’s the fantasy in that?” The fantasy is that the customer is deluding himself that he is special because a stripper fucked him in the VIP room. If you want to ply your craft and still turn a profit, sucking and fucking is going to be part of the deal, eventually.
I’ve been at this job long enough to know that the legendary monsoons of cash in the aughts-when girls could flash a titty and a smile and walk out with one large in their pockets-aren’t coming back. This recession settled in on the whole country and it’s not going away anytime soon. This is business, girl, and if you can’t wrap your head around what we-you and I-actually do for a living, it’s no problem of mine. Don’t take it personally if I ignore them. Thanks for the helpful suggestions in “ An Open Letter to the Extras Girl.” You know, for telling me how to do my job. Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny, consume you it will.-Yoda
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