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...
I love my job, i really do……
but there are certain things, and certain nights, that really really get on my tits
like customers with haliotosis
like the security guys that become managers
like the skinnier girls
like the commission for just breathing, let alone taking my clothes off
like the ones that don’t spend money on my hard – yes hrad – put the hours in work
like the ones that argue about the money like it should be a gift
like the times i can’t have pudding because i have to watch my weight
or my skin
or my hair
or whatever piece of crap people fancy today
Today I span around the pole about a million times, then just when i was leaving for the changing room, some dumb idiot of a girl didn’t hold the door open and it slammed into mine and our managers face. Yes. Very dumb.
But she didn’t even say sorry, she just walked.
And it didn’t hit the manager, just me. Right in the bridge. Big red lump.
Great, thats another few days of sitting at home unpaid for me then…..
and no, I don’t have savings, I don’t earn more than you, and I’m not blessed…
I get it when I can, I spend it when I can, and it infringes on every physical and emotional part of my being….
why do I do it?
Hell I dunno, why do you do your job, huh?