7 Things that happened to me on Saturday Night

  1. A man asked me in all seriousness for a blow job. I smiled. “Sorry sir, but as much as I’d love to give you a blow job, it’s not a customer service we provide.”
  2. I danced for a man from Kenya. He told me he’d pursue me as a girlfriend if he lived here. Thank God he doesn’t.
  3. I met a stag party with a furry red cup which, they explained to me, was representative of a post child birth vagina. “Something to look forward to in the years of marriage to come?” I asked.The brother was diabetic but had a six pack and was running a marathon soon. He was a right smooth talker. I told him it was me who was meant to be chatting up him. He then said I should ask his dad for a dance. “Isn’t that a bit weird??”His dad didn’t dance but we had good banter. He said he’d told his daughter that she should be a stripper instead of “earning buttons” being a beautician. Unusual fatherly advice, that.
  4. When you ask a guy for a dance, sometimes they’ll say, “Yeah, I’ll come find you later.” They never do. One man I spoke to around twelve said he needed a break before his next dance. He asked if I could come back at half past. “Have faith” he said. “Rubbish”, I thought.I waited and watched as another girl tried. I went to the changing room for a quick break when Lisa the manager came in and said he was waiting for me as it was now half past. I couldn’t believe it! What a nice man.
  5. I’ve decided I don’t like the Irish, despite being part Irish myself. They think they can push you into getting more. They love wasting your time.
  6. Drunken idiot doing the usual: “you’re too beautiful to be working here”. Over and over again. He spent £30.
  7. I met a guy who sells gym memberships. We were talking about body building. I asked what he thought of really muscly women. “I love it” he said. He pulled out his iPhone and showed me his background image: a woman pulling up her t-shirt to reveal a raging six pack. Wow. I was not expecting that.
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Customer of the Week: The Grumpy Stag

Strip clubs naturally attract a lot of stag parties. This is where a groom to be, or ‘stag’, is taken out by his mates and given one last taunting sniff of freedom before he’s chained to the same woman for the rest of his life.

One stag I spoke to on Saturday night really made me laugh. He was pretty drunk and a bit miserable looking when I approached him. His mate told me I could take him for a dance if I livened him up. I asked him the usual questions – “What are you up to tonight?”, etcetera. When I asked him what he did, he looked at me and slurred:

“What do I do? I’ll tell you… I dig holes in the ground. And I fill them up with concrete… It’s fucking shit.”

I’d never seen anyone so drunkenly angry about their job. It was so unexpected – I wanted to laugh! Unfortunately, his worsened mood meant he wouldn’t take me dancing no matter how much sympathy I showed. Somehow, in his intoxicated state, he claimed that he couldn’t take me because he still felt bad about accidentally head-butting his friend the night before. It’s probably just as well.

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