Samantha C. Ross - Sunshine: The Diary of a Lap Dancer

CONTENTS

13 January

I punched a guy in the face last night. Violent of me? Yes. But theres only so much groping a girl can take, so I look upon it as aggravated assault.

I know the dirty old bastard wasnt visually impaired, as he had no difficulty in lunging for more than a handful. Like many men in the lap-dance room before him, hed ignored the huge sign: no touching the girls. Honestly, some people have such little restraint when faced with a jiggling pair of breasts.

The bouncers in the far corner were too busy to intervenethey were discussing important matters such as a forward tackle and where to locate the best buffet. They were quite satisfied that Id handled the situation and that the pervert had made a speedy exit, without them having to lift a finger.

Though the bouncers at this club are sadly lacking in observational skills, they are most certainly capable of reducing most menand all groping customersto a crimson stain on the ground.

And rest assured, in a strip club the customer is never right. Place your paws on a girl in a non-touching club and you can expect a backhand from the dancer, or to be escorted from the premises by a heavy-handed security guard. In most cases, nobody bothers to call the police. Yes, its illegal to smack someone, and yes, touching a dancer is a criminal offencehowever, the cops dont want the hassle, so theyre usually happy for the club to deal with these frequent incidents. Unless someone commits a serious sexual violation, we dancers are hardened enough to see wandering hands as pesky workplace hazards.

Theres no law against verbally insulting a danceronly against verbal abuse that entails a threat. But if you utter the word cellulite in a strip club, youll be out on your arse quicker than you can say ruptured testicle.

When the bouncers come to our defence, though, I suspect its less about protecting us than it is about their enthusiasm for bloodletting. Not surprisingly, the security here dont like us dancers much; if I made twenty bucks an hour compared to a hundred bucks per fifteen minutes, I wouldnt like me much either. In fact, ninety per cent of the staff in strip clubsmanagers, bar staff, DJs and bouncersare rather sour towards strippers. And the club I grace at present is no exception.

As an exotic danceror, without splitting hairs, a stripperI travel frequently. Most of us do. From city to city, country to continent, we chase the cash, leaving when it becomes spasmodic or when we hit our boredom threshold. The money can go up and down depending on the time of the year and which part of the hemisphere were in. And once weve spent too much time in one club, it shows. An unenthusiastic stripper is about as likely to make money as Taylor Swift is to remain secretive about a relationship.

Ive started this year in Darwin, a city perched at the top end of Australia with metal-melting temperatures and a dedication to excessive drinking on New Years Evehence the late diary entry. One of the things a stripper can do, with admirable gusto, is party as though a zombie apocalypse will wipe us all out tomorrow.

I know that many people wonder why I take my clothes off for a living. They have lots of other questions too. Is a stripper a type of sex worker? Do we have boyfriends, normal ones? And why the hell am I in a place like Darwin?

Its true that the life of a stripper is full of melodrama. I hope my sanity remains intact in the year ahead, but Ill no doubt lose a little along the way regardless of how I like to think of myself as Sunshine the Philostripper.

HIGHLIGHT: Am finally able to write without alcohol poisoning shaking the pen.

DOWNSIDE: Ruined my manicure when I punched that dirty old bastard.

17 January

Darwin, though not exactly Melbourne, London or LA, does have a certain backward charm, and presents a more pliant and gullible style of customer than jaded big-city patrons.

Example? After a relatively slow start at the club tonight, with only a few hundred-dollar dances to show for it, I luckily wound up talking to a weathered old electrician. Who would have guessed at the wad of hundreds in his wallet? Methats who, because I saw them.

A good rule to bear in mind when patronising a strip club is never to show a stripper how much money you have while ordering a drink at the bar.

The below information is how a stripper operates at work. Or how I do, at least.

Once Id spotted at least a grand in his wallet, my talent for manipulation kicked into overdrive. I began as I usually do: I set upon making him feel like the most intelligent man in the world, with the most interesting careerdespite the fact that he screws in light bulbs for a living. Really? An electrician?! Whats the most fascinating thing that ever happened to you on the job? Have you ever been electrocuted?!

I allowed him to tell me a longwinded tale while I calculated how much money I was likely to entice out of him. Another rule to remember is that people love talking about themselves; let a customer tell you his life story, and he becomes putty in your hands.

After that, I began phase two: I switched to making him feel like a king. Do you have your own business? I bet you do! A man like you doesnt look like hed work for just anybody. (A fair assumption, based on the cash he was carrying.) Oh, wait! I laid it on thick. Let me guess, you probably have a government contract. You seem smart enough to land the big jobs. Once Id inflated his ego, I went in for the kill. Why dont you and I spend some time together in the back room?

This, you see, hinted at a private, darkened space. Little did he know, another ten customers would be in there spending alone time with the stripper of their choice in one large room. But by then it would be too late for him to back out, and nor would he want to, with all that naked flesh on display.

Id really like to do a naked dancejust for you, I added, to imply how special he was.

This worked a treat. Now that the electrician thought I was attracted to him, he handed over a hundred dollars for a lap dance. I then hustled him out of a further two hundred bucks. How did I accomplish this feat? Simple: I asked if hed like to extend the dance. But its all in the way you ask. It might not work every time, but my method has a track record of success. Always end a lap dance while sitting naked on the floor while staring up at your customer with big, beseeching eyes; that way, you appear less calculating and more vulnerable while suggesting he part with extra money. And unless hes gay, what man can say no to a naked woman sitting on the floor at dick-level?

These days, both the spiel with which I enticed the electrician into the lap-dance room and my carefully orchestrated routine are second nature to me. Back when the big bucks first started rolling in, I sometimes felt a little ashamed over bleeding a customer dry, especially those susceptible to a lap dance or ten. Some patrons leave without a centnot even a cab-fare home. But my guilt faded as I realised that nobody forces them to pay to see my vagina. They arent coming to a strip club for guitar lessons.

Plenty of strippers, namely those new to the industry, have professed feeling the same remorse for draining a mans wallet. I feel so bad, Sunshine! He was so nice, but I took every dollar he had.