It was an OMG moment embedded in my wee brain forever. THIS is what a Las Vegas strip club is supposed to look like. If you took a gander at the video in my previous entry, you can appreciate the scene I walked into. There might as well have been Cheech Marin screaming at the top of his lungs: “Alright, come on in, pussy lovers! This is a pussy blowout!” My goodness, he was talking to me! Me! I love pussy! And there were so many on display. Well, not the actual pussy. Vegas is only topless, ladies and gentlemen. AND we had to wear two (yes, two!) pairs of thongs. Ow. Seriously, though, what amazed me was the number of beautiful women milling about. My jaw dropped further and further as each one passed. I was like a diabetic in a chocolate shop. I wish I could have that one, and that one! I don’t care if it kills me! This is the way to go!
And then reality hit me. I have to make money here? Next to them? And what’s more – how do I not spend it on them once I’ve made some? This was cruel. And quite unusual. I wanted to hump all of their legs. So I did what I felt was safest at the time. I sat and watched. Everything…from the stage shows to the table dances to the money changing hands as the confidence oozed out of my body. I could see my nervousness reflected in my friends’ eyes as well. Where to begin? They wandered and I kept watching. These women performed. I mean, really performed. It was soooooo sexy. They smiled, danced, winked…at me. I was enthralled. And then God called my friend’s name. The Vegas God: the DJ. I knew that I’d be right after her and that meant that I had to work. Nerves are supposed to be good for entertainers of any caliber in any industry. They keep you on your toes. Thankfully, I’m a true performer at heart, as are my traveling companions. Once we each got up there, the rest of the morning (remember that we were on the 2a – 7a shift) went fairly well.
The stage was huge. Really huge. With one pole that was a bit off-center. So, in this instance, it was important to be able to dance without gripping it for dear life. At our Tampa club, this proved no serious problem since the ceilings were lowered within hands reach. Here, the ceiling extended way, way up…as did the pole. It was really awesome. It felt like an actual show stage. Once I got out there, moved around, smiled – I barely noticed the money shower that came out of nowhere. I felt pretty, oh so pretty. Men in Vegas are generous. I’m not sure if it’s the liquor, the lights or the fact that they’re far away from their nagging wives – not really sure. But I was so appreciative of being appreciated for doing what I’ve always loved the most – performing. It was invigorating. I got off stage, gathered my money, freshened up and got to work. And it didn’t even feel like work. I started dancing for a gentleman on the end of a row of seats – and continued to dance my way all the way down the row. Without even asking. By the time I was done, I had to remember where I had started so I could find my clothes. It was great! And that was my first time feeling as if my trip to Vegas would actually be worth it.
But of course, my buddy had to outdo me. Two of us waited into the wee hours of the morning (we had to lift our feet for the cleaning lady to vacuum) while our third friend continued her sessions in the Champagne Room. It was mostly visible from the main floor and we could tell that she wasn’t even dancing – just running her mouth. Which was great for her; I’m not hating. But I was tired. My feet hadn’t ached like that in a long time. We waited patiently. Hour after hour: no joke. We didn’t leave until after 11:00 a.m. That’s a lot of money. I was happy for her.
We got back to the hotel and my happiness turned to pity. Sheer pity. Because her ‘man’ was there, waiting. It dawned on me that her money was soon to become his money. I can’t explain my disgust once I met him. The loud, obnoxious, controlling, manipulative, whiny man on the other end of her phone barely came up to my chest. He was a puny little runt of a man. He reminded me of a rat: a thieving, squeaking, dirty rat. I hated him as soon as I saw him. What was even more comical was that she towered over him. At the right angle, she could easily squash him with one foot. As I was getting into bed after my shower, I glanced over at the sleeping couple. It was just an odd scene. He looked like a little boy snuggling up to his mother. And that’s exactly how he behaved for the remainder of our trip — until I finally let him have it.