Okay, so after a couple more weeks at Turbulence, it just wasn’t my thing.  I didn’t like the crowd.  I didn’t like the music and I definitely didn’t like the manager.  And the tips I was bringing in just wasn’t enough to make up for it.  To recoup my losses, I doubled down on my stripping.  I was still bartending at The Rainbow Room, so that was enough to placate me in breaking up the monotony.

Getting into the club on time was extremely important to me.  On time for me meant between 7 and 8 p.m.  We didn’t have huge late fees until much later, but I liked to break myself in with the tail end of the day shift.  Sometimes you can make an easy $300 early on because the men who are still there are tired of seeing the girls from day shift.  A fresh face can be gold during a shift change.  This evening proved a little different.

I got there at my usual time, only to learn of a night shift meeting.  Alright, fine.  I was perturbed because this disrupted my flow, but…whatever.  I made sure I was ready before the meeting started.  That way, I could dart out quickly once it was over and still have a bit of a head start.

The meeting started just as others.  What goes into a strip club meeting?  What in the world could management have to say to a bunch of women standing around half-naked?  It depends.  Sometimes there’s a rash of nipple-sucking going on that needs to be put in check.  In the words of our GM: why in the world would you let a stranger suck on your nipples?  That’s disgusting!  I’m not a complete innocent in this.  In fact, I deserved what happen to me:

I was dancing very close to the guy, grazing my nipple across his forehead, right in front of his eyes, which were glued to every movement my breasts made.  He was going to walk out cross-eyed, I swear.  I thought I was being cute and teasing: like I’m supposed to be.  So when I leaned particularly close – his face practically buried between my bosom – I swished my torso slowly from side to side.  And that bastard latched on to my nipple like a starving newborn.  I was caught completely off guard.  I looked down to see the top of his head and his lips suckling my teet.  He was relishing it.  I was disgusted, but I couldn’t yank away because I feared that his teeth would instinctively clamp down and then hell would’ve broken loose.  So I waited, praying that he would just let go once he realized I had stopped moving.  No such luck.  I pulled slowly, indicating that I was moving away.  He moved with me.  Damn.  I had to put my hands on his face and tilt his head up to look at me.  I quietly mouthed the words, let go.  He didn’t.  I pulled harder and he finally released his mouth, inhaling suddenly like he was coming up for air.  That wasn’t the only time in my stripper life where my breast ended up in someone’s mouth: but it was one of the most memorable.

As the GM droned on, I let this memory linger in my mind…a hint of a grin playing on my lips.  Then the subject switched to a dress code when entering the building.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I get the idea: some girls walked in with house slippers, tattered sweatpants, rollers in their hair, no make-up and a cigarette dangling out of their mouth.  Who’d want to dance with that?  Sure, they go through a miraculous makeover in the dressing room, emerging as beautiful butterflies.  The girls coming through the front door are supposed to be the coming attraction, so when a girl comes through the door looking like a hot mess – it has the possibility of clearing the main floor very quickly.  The next order of business turns out to be the finale.  The GM gets this goofy grin on his face, blushes a bright shade of pink (which was difficult since he seemed to live in a tanning bed) and finally lets us in on the great news.

We have a new night manager.  Awesome, someone else to mesh with, get comfortable with…test the waters with.  I wasn’t too concerned about it.  I know how to get along with management.  There are rules for a reason and I have no problem following them.  Someone has to do the dirty job.  I’ll always remember the words of my high school cheerleading coach: No one likes a good leader.

Especially when it turns out to be the bitch who dumped you in a parking lot, threatening to kick your ass and doesn’t even have the decency to apologize for it.  I was floored when Jen entered the dressing room.  In fact, the whole room was silent.  Everyone looked at me.  No one moved as I started packing my shit.