Sassy by name, Sassy by nature, I write to explode the myths which surround the lapdancing profession - standing up for the clubs, the girls and the customers. Its not always drinking champagne and playing with my tits - it can be hassle, hustling and hangovers. At heart I'm just a regular twenty-something posh cockney living in London who likes taking her clothes off...
After a spate of ‘How to….’s” last month, as I explored the dating scene and lapdancing, I feel it’s time to dish the dirt again on what has been happening in my booths this week. I’ve decided that it would be fun to highlight my best – and potentially the worst – lapdances I take part in as a weekly series. Hell, why not?
So look out for the label’s; ‘best lapdance’ and ‘worst lapdance’, which should begin to appear on my label cloud on the sidebar. Unfortunately I don’t seem to have a search feature on my blogger, and can’t be asked to install one right now, if one even exists, as I’m too tired and hungover after a hard night’s graft.
And you’ll never guess what happened….
“Best Lapdance of the week! Award” goes to Josh, an American suit that chose to celebrate his last night in London with me and a Czech girl. He win’s hands down because he had such a good body.
You could just about make out the thick muscles in his biceps that strained ever so slightly against the fabric of his well cut designer suit, but I gave him a squeeze just to make sure. Yep, those were some muscles alright, I smiled as he flexed them for the benefit of the cooing strippers around him.
He was HOT, and RICH, and HE KNEW IT!!!
I jumped for joy when he picked me to dance for him as it was a) a total confidence boost and b) made all the other girls jealous.
Actually he picked two of us girls to play with him as he was a greedy, fun loving sod – but I love threesomes and the three of us practically skipped towards the lapdance area.
He drawled oodles of compliments about the Czech girls flat stomach and my jiggling bottom in a sensual American accent for a couple of songs, but it was when some American Rock came on that he really came into his element.
As Def Leppard called for some sugar to be poured on him, Josh leapt up and began to thrust his crotch with a rocker’s rhythm.
Whilst Def began to get hot, sticky and sweet, Josh began to under the buttons on his shirt, one by one, in time to the pounding drum beat.
Us two girls screamed like schoolgirls, ostensibly to make Josh feel like a real life rockstar, but there was passion behind my screams, because Josh revealed something very, very tasty under his suit.
A tanned and rippling six pack with just about the right amount of soft chest hair that called out for me to sink my fingers into.
So I did.
Well, we had to check out his chest didn’t we?
“No touching the dancers allowed!” Josh joked, and we giggled right back.