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...
Every lapdancer can be categorised as a ‘bored stripper’ at some point in their life – or even a shift.
You’ve all seen them – groups of bored looking girls grouped around the bar, the dark corners, the edges of the club – waiting patiently for customers to come along. The bored stripper will be staring into space, playing with her hair, twiddling with the straw in her glass, staring with glassy eyes at the stage where, perhaps, another bored stripper stands slowly swinging her hips.
Watching a bored stripper on stage is depressingly painful to watch. If she looks like she is waiting for a bus, occasionally pulling off an item of clothing – just tugging it down if she can get away with it – the bare minimum to get her tits out – then she’s bored. A bored stripper on stage will also move with the least effort possible – akin to a stripper sloth, perhaps with a half-hearted twirl thrown in to stop her dying of boredom.
The bored stripper watching is in a state of half-sleep. She’s hibernating, one eye on the door, like a snake in it’s hole. She’s all coiled up, waiting to pounce, but there is no-one there, just an empty club with booming music reverberating round the empty seats.
Bored strippers have been known to wait for two, three hours a night, especially right now, the slow, slloooooww evenings of August, as everyone is either a) on holiday or b) don’t want to sit in the dark looking at girls when they can ogle at them for free in the park. This is the month when there may be more girls than customers for the majority of the evening – or worse, the whole night. This is the month when the doors get cobwebs, tumbleweed rolls across the empty floor, and the glasses get polished over and over by the equally bored barman. All the conversations have been had twice this week already, and the gossip only lasts till nine, ten o’clock, so the dancers fall mute and stare into space, daydreaming of VIP.
It’s easy to spot a bored stripper – the problem is that as soon as she spots you, she isn’t bored anymore. She turns into the predatory stripper, and you my friend, are her prey as soon as you step through the door.