I follow an older man from the bar and join him.

He’s called Paul. A few of his golfing friends are in the club so he’s been dragged along. He tells me he never comes to places like this and feels quite uncomfortable. Rather than walking away (it’s pretty obvious he won’t have a dance) I continue to sit with him.


After all there’s no one else to talk to and he’s sharing his champagne. We chat about his job – something to do with construction . Although we have nothing in common – he’s 44 and likes golf – he’s nice, really nice actually. As much as I could sit with him all night, I have to earn some money. He slips me £50,

‘pop back later if you’re free and we can have another chat’.

As I get up to leave his two friends come back from the dance booths. One of them yells ‘Paul you puff, have you not had a dance yet?’ and roughly hands me three twenty pound notes and whispers ‘drag him away!’. He’s shaking his head in protest.


I don’t want to give the money back but he’s defiantly refusing to follow me, he whispers that he feels bad on Susan, his wife. I reassure him that this is normal; a lot of customers agree having a dance feels like ‘cheating’. But does it?


If a man comes into a club every fortnight and gets a couple of lap dances at the end of a drunken night with his mates, is that different to someone who comes in regularly and spends hundreds of pounds?



If the customer was richer, the money becomes relative to how much they spend versus how much they earn. How about a man who comes in and repeatedly spends a large sum of money on the same girl every month. Would his wife think it was strange that he’s spending a Friday night (and about a grand) with a twenty one year old stripper or consider it an act of infidelity?


Dancers aren’t responsible for other people’s relationships, however we understand our jobs can be the reason for arguments about wandering eyes, or even break ups about being unfaithful.



I guess that’s why dancers are not always well liked by women. We are paid to act sexual towards someone else’s boyfriend whilst they often see the brunt of it –

‘sorry love, can’t afford to take you to Nando’s today, I paid a girl to dance naked for me last night then went home and wanked over it whilst you were sleeping’.


It’s a situation to make you get your g string in a twist.


When a man thinks about having sex with another woman, is that nearly as wrong as cheating? So surely having a dance, and playing out sexual thoughts in his head is the same. But why get another girl to spend hours with you, when you could be home with your partner?


That’s where it get’s murky. Maybe customers are using strip clubs as something more than sexual titillation. Paul is rambling on about how he feels bad on Susan; she’s at home whilst he’s out partying with his friends. I explain I’m not offering to go home with him, or anything further than a strip tease and that he should calm down.


I leave frustrated and spend the next hour hustling for dances and any free drinks, just a usual Wednesday night. I glance over and Paul is gone from his chair. Maybe he’s smoking, or at the bar – but wait, he’s coming out of the booth! He’s finally had a naked girl grind on him, oh well done Paul!



I ask him what happened and he looks embarrassed, guilty even. I notice a fresh bottle of champagne has been opened so I brashly display my empty glass until one of the golfing champs fills me up. Paul checks his phone,

‘Susan hasn’t called thank goodness’.

Geez enough with Susan. The innocent ‘my poor wife’ act worked before but now he’s had a pairs of tits in face, he really needs to lighten up. After more talking about his golfing antics he starts to become energetic.


‘Tell me about this VIP option….’

He pays for an hour and I take him upstairs. The room is littered with girls bending over for beady eyed men. We carry on chatting like before without his friends leering in the background. ‘Lottie, do you mind if you dance for me?’ I’m shocked, the little devil isn’t interested my wonderful banter but just wants to see my chebs.


I oblige, after all it’s my job.