The Lonely Divorcee and his Money


A lot of men that come into my club are lonely.  But I’m yet to work out whether I feel sorry for them or that they somehow deserve it for bringing it on themselves, or both.

My main customer last night, who I talked about in the previous post, told me that he was lonely after being divorced for 18 months.  He had met his wife when he was just 17 and married her at 22.  She was the only woman he’d ever been with and she divorced him.  It’s pretty sad really.  I asked what the single scene was like.

“Awful” he said.  “At my age any single woman is single for a reason.  They’re all completely batty and any of them who have been married previously have too much baggage.”

He told me what a lovely, kind generous man he was.  Of course I agreed with him but there was something about him I didn’t entirely trust.  Perhaps it was this confusion:

How can a guy first say he doesn’t want you to take your clothes off because he feels it’s disrespectful to you (in a strip club) but then openly tell you how much he wants you? Or that he want to snog your face off? In a way that he would never say to any other woman he’d just met? And then tell you that he would pay you double what he paid you tonight just to have breakfast with him?  Because you’re too good to be a stripper.  That’s £400 for breakfast.

I honestly don’t get it.  It’s desperation beyond anything I can understand.  I even asked him, I couldn’t help myself:

“But wouldn’t you think, if you’re paying me for it, that I’d only be there for the money?”

He said yes but it’d only be the same as what we were doing now at the club.  He told me I was only there with him because he was paying (not enough).

“Would you believe me,” I asked, “if I told you I’m not motivated by money?”

“Yes” he said. “I know you’re not.”

I don’t think he really did.  I think not being motivated my money is just as confusing to people like him as buying a woman’s time outside of work is to someone like me.

“But the other girls are”, he said.  “They’d just grab it without a second thought.  But you wouldn’t, you’d spend it wisely like on shoes or a dress or put it in the bank.”  I don’t know whether he meant shoes for work or shoes in general.

I still don’t think he got it.  Yes that is what I do with money when I have it but how much I have doesn’t bother me.  As long as I have enough to get by I really don’t care.  There are far more amazing things in this world than money, far more valuable things.  Money itself is cold and empty.  It’s how you earn and spend it that makes it valuable.  And to me earning £400 for having breakfast with a confused lonely man is worth less than having breakfast with a nice lonely man for free.

I asked what money meant to him.

“Profit and loss” he said.  Numbers.

I really don’t think paying for someone’s company can cure loneliness.  It’s just a temporary fix, like a recreational drug.  I am there to entertain not to try and cure people.


Dodgy Deals

Ok I’m a bit annoyed about last night.  The main thing is that although I earned enough money to pay my rent for a whole month I was underpaid for my time.

I had a customer last night who paid for I think 3 fifteen minute VIPs and 2 half hour VIPs.  A fifteen minute VIP is meant to cost £60, despite three minutes costing £10 so logically fifteen minutes should be £50 (£10 x 5).

Therefore the customer should have paid £60 per fifteen minutes and £120 per half an hour.  However because of the girl at the paying booth (who is very nice and I do like her) he ended up only paying £50 per fifteen minutes and £100 per half an hour.  This was because he had already exchanged his money for twenty or so cards that he distributed amongst his work customers to spend on whomever they pleased.  He himself had a stack of these cards and because the girl in the booth told him they were worth three minutes each he ended up thinking he could pay less for VIPs.  And she agreed, letting him off! Without consulting me! And so of course because he got away with it the first time he wouldn’t agree to give me what I deserved when I asked for it.  Even though I earned £309 last night you could say I was greedy wanting more but I’m not.  I simply believe that if a customer thinks I am worth a VIP then he should pay the same rate that any other customer should, and I should be paid for my time the same way the other girls are.

So the first lesson to be learned here is not to say that those temporary cards are worth three minutes each, they are worth £10 each.  And also not to say that each £10 is worth three minutes because it’s not when it gets to VIP.  Simply say the cost of each length of dance independently.

The second lesson is to not allow the person in the paying booth to influence your customer’s decision on either how long they’re going with you for or how much they’re going to pay for it.


P.S just worked out this guy probable owed about £70 more than what he payed, which is £49 to me.

Grrrrrrrrr I am not letting this happening again.

(But to end positively it was my best night yet)


Football Strippernomics

Football (or soccer to my American friends) is easily the best loved sport in this country.  Men (and some ladies) are devoted to it.  It’s like a religious obsession, as best summed up in this video.  It’s the common ground that binds them all together.  In fact I’ve always been kind of jealous of men in this way because they have that perfect ice breaker question that most women don’t:

“Did you see the game last night?”

I still don’t entirely get football but I realise that I don’t have to like it to appreciate how influential it’s likely to be on my earnings.  We’re at the start of the new season and it’s the perfect time for me to learn.  Fortunately for me I live with two of the biggest football fanatics I’ve ever met.  In fact it was my house mate who first pointed this out to me:

“Imagine… Football is huge in this city.  There’ll be matches on most weekends and there’ll be fans who will want to go out and party afterwards.  Especially if they win they’ll be in such high spirits they’ll be like ‘aw yeah let’s go to a strip club lads!’ and so on.  Plus loads of businessmen go on executive trips to the big games so they’ll be out splashing the cash too.”

So what am I going to do?

1. Make sure I’m at work on the nights of the major matches.  The BBC’s fixtures tables say when and where all the games are.

2. Do my reading and research before these nights so I’m clued up on what’s going on.

3. Be prepared for the likely possibility of encountering drunken idiots.

4. Make lotsa moneeyyyy 🙂

and have fun doing it.

Viva la football!


The American and the Mare

I say ‘mare’ because this woman was:

1. A silly mare (an idiot)

2. A nightmare


3. Apparently aspires to be mayor of this city (god forbid)

I met her at work the other night.  She was with a customer-to-be of mine, an American.  Four of them (2 men, 2 women) had come together to the club.  One of the men pointed me over to this American friend of his.  Naturally I went over to say hello.  The other female invited me to take her place on the sofa next to Mr American, who was sat in the middle with the Mare on the other side.  As I sat down I saw her lean over and almost glare at me.

At first I thought they might be a couple and asked if they were together.

“No!” laughed Mr American. “We’re just friends.”

Never the less I thought it best to engage with this woman, to put her at ease at least, and not look like I was simply there to prey on men.

“I hope to run for mayor in a few years” she told me.  “In fact I’m kind of here for research because I want to change places like this.”

“Oh really?” I asked.  “How so?”

“I want to change the way you girls do your ‘services’” – making inverted commas in the air with her fingers – “for your ‘customers’” – and again –

I did not like her tone.  Or the way she was looking at me.  Like a bit of dirt.  I felt a surge of rage and indignation boil up inside me.

“What exactly are you trying to imply here?” I retorted.

“Oh no” She back tracked.   “I’m just saying… I think you should be paid like any other job.  And have better working conditions.”  The judgemental air had gone and was now replaced with something worse: patronisation.

Part of me really wanted to argue her (and I’m not even the arguing type) but I swallowed back my anger.  I knew there was no point.  I had to prove that I was as intelligent and civilised as she thought she was.  Instead I asked her what party she was associated with and told her how wise I thought she was when she said she was running as an independent, and how nice it was to hear that someone wanted to fight for my working rights (despite not having a clue about them).

It worked.  I had her almost smiling by the time Mr American interrupted to take me for a dance.

I was gone with him for maybe half an hour.  He was nice, I liked him.

“Your friend is very passionate” I told him.  “Perhaps she should have a dance to see what it’s really like here.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea!” He smiled.

But surprise, surprise.  Once we’d returned, she had gone.

“She said it wasn’t really her kind of place” said Mr American’s friend.

Maybe not, I thought.  But she could have at least taken the time to try and understand it (understand me) before running around campaigning for change.

“Jealousy” said one of the girls in the changing room when I told her about it.  “That’s all it is.  Jealousy.”



Stripping without stripping?

The other night I had a customer in the VIP for a total of half an hour without even taking my clothes off! Amazing!

He was a really nice and interesting guy and we had a great laugh.  I started chatting to him on the floor after running away from a stupid drunk (more on him in another post).

“Hi can I talk to you?” I asked, sitting down next to him on the back of a sofa.

“Of course you can!” He laughed.

I told him about the silly man I was running away from which he found amusing.  I asked him about his night and what he’d been up to.  It’s always a good sign when your customer is animated and enthusiastic towards you.  It’s nice too.  I do enjoy a good chat whether they’re giving me money or not.

He told me he was an editor of TV shows – pretty cool! He’d worked on The Only Way Is Essex (which, for non-British readers, is “a British BAFTA Award-winning structured reality television show based in Essex” an English county infamous for its orange skinned, fakery obsessed inhabitants).


The cast, who are apparently all really up themselves.

I told him about one of my friends is also a professional editor and then somehow conversation turned to travel where we again had quite a bit in common.

After about ten minutes I asked for his name and if he’d like to go for a dance.

“I’m quite enjoying the conversation really but I understand you have to make money”.

I love people like this.  They get it.

“Well I don’t have to dance.  We can go sit down and continue our conversation somewhere more comfortable.”

I proposed half an hour but he chose to do fifteen minutes to start to see how it went.  I made sure we went in a VIP room as sometimes fifteen minuters only go to the normal booths which aren’t so great for talking.  So we went and sat down.

“So, Mark. Tell me, how has working on The Only Way Is Essex influenced your perception of Essex culture?” ha ha

After the fifteen minutes was up he decided to go for another fifteen.  Yay! I said he could pay after (it was on card).  I decided I trusted him not to do a runner and I didn’t want to kill the flow.  Plus people don’t like it when you don’t trust them so that would also kill our connection.

So yeah I had a great time.  People normally prefer to talk about themselves but he seemed more interested in hearing about me than most people, so the conversation was about 50-50.  You have to judge it really: who the customer wants to talk about and how to steer the conversation one way or the other.

I have to say that for me, someone who used to be painfully shy, knowing that I can now talk and entertain someone, without taking my clothes off, so well that they will pay £120 for it (and buy me a drink) is a huge confidence booster.



The Chundering Cage Fighter

He was actually quite hot until the puking.  When I was chatting to him on the floor he was telling me all about his marshal arts and cage fighting and showed me a load of pictures on his phone.  It was pretty cool.  When I asked if he’d like a dance he pulled the whole “maybe” thing despite clearly fancying the shit out of me (not being vain here, just honest.  He was all over me for god’s sake!).  I said ok I’ll have to leave you then, to which he changed his mind (that seems to work quite well).  He didn’t seem that drunk…

Anyway, I took him to the booths and was about half way through the dance, and thankfully not that close to him, when he suddenly covered his mouth with his hand, threw himself over the edge of the sofa and CHUNDERED EVERYWHERE.

He wasn’t the only one that night either.  Later on I was going for another dance when I passed a man clinging on to one of the other girls for dear life with puke all down the side of his trousers.  Gross.


My Trophy


This was given to me on Friday night by an 18 year old guy.  I’d gone to the bar to get a straw when I spotted him.

“You going to Hawaii?” I asked.

“Yeah, tomorrow” He joked.

“Awesome, can I come?”

“Of course!”

He told me he was out for his mate’s 18th birthday and they’d just got back from Malia where he’s got his nipple pierced, which he showed me.  Personally I hate nipple piercings, they make me cringe, but I joked with him trying to make him think I might have one too; a kind of you show me yours, I’ll show you mine game.

He came for a dance with me which was really fun as I got to play with the wreath (and he guessed correctly in the end that I’d been joking about the piercing after teasing him so much).  At the end of the dance he said he’d very much like another but it was sadly out of his budget.  Fair enough.  So instead he said I could keep the wreath and promised that next time he’d take me to Hawaii.