Confessions of a stripper Chapter 9
Nothing beats World of Warhammer
He’s a first timer, he’s never had a lap dance or even been to a lap dancing club. I reckon he’s probably a virgin.
He’s a student at the local university and has just turned nineteen. Late night discussions in his union bar has led him to think that he needs to go to a titty bar to have a good time, so he’s dragged along a couple of his maths class mates who both look as uncomfortable as him.
I sort of feel sorry for them, you know they’d prefer to be playing World of Warcraft online. Instead they think this is what they should be doing for a nineteenth birthday but they’re hating every second of it.
Their ideal girl is some kind of female pandaren who leads them to Stonecairn Lake and falls in love with their geeky nature, but instead I’m sat in front of them – small chested, deeply tanned, adorned with false eyelashes and hair extensions persuading them to pay me.
I choose the birthday boy, skinny, scared and wearing an oversized jumper. He’s like many young nerdy boys I’ve encountered. He judges me as much as I judge him. He thinks that I have no GCSE’s and a horrendous drug habit. I’m the type of girl his mother warned him about. I remind him of the girls who used to bully him in English class, throwing paper aeroplanes at his head and calling him a nerd.
He’s hard to talk to, very pretentious and is afraid I can’t understand the his advanced vocabulary. I’m am I think stripper on crack so I guess I’m struggling to understand him.
I fail to tell him that I have more education qualifications that him, that I went to a red brick university rather than a polytechnic like him (yep, five years on, I’m still snobby about it) and decline to inform him that we probably would have been friends in school considering I indeed was called a geek (ha, look at me now all the horrible girls who shouted ‘geek’ when I read out aloud in class).
After a boring conversation of trying to understand his academic language (phew, inconspicuous is a hard word isn’t it?) He accepts a dance. I think he’s frightened that if he says no I’ll get my meat head boyfriend to stab him. (FYI I don’t have a meat head boyfriend, quite the opposite actually).
He only agrees if his two mates will come with two girls as well. Eh? He’s in strip club for his birthday and will only get a dance if his friends do? Does he do everything with them? Do they have synchronised wank routines? I never understand why men are scared to go for lap dances on their own? Why the hell would anyone want to see their best mate with a hard on, looking aroused? In a strip club this is quite possibly the gayest thing anyone can do. We all get up to walk to the booths.
Gary puts his scrawny hand into this wallet and pulls out the two remaining ten pound notes. He hands them over reluctantly. I explain the rules and spread his boney legs.
As soon as I take my bra off he has a boner already. Definite virgin. I wonder if these are the first set of tits he’s seen in real life.
After the dance Gary moans that it didn’t seem like long enough. I informed him we danced for more than one track and he can stay for longer if he’s willing to pay. He shakes his head and they leave the booths. They won’t be back, they only came so they could tick it off the ‘stuff to do when you’re at university’ found in their welcome pack when they arrived at the halls of residence.
We know that will be their first and last time in a strip club. They leave quickly, World of Warcraft awaits…