Train Driver gives me a ride


Well whilst the streets of London resemble a ghost-town, and all the tourist cash gets spent at MacDonalds, at least the vilified public transport workers are spending their bonuses wisely.

Every time I read that somebody, somewhere in London is getting paid a bonus, I smile and think ‘Good for you.  Now make sure you spend it wisely – contribute to London’s economy – flash your cash on strippers.’

Bonuses for London workers this year;

  • Bankers (always)
  • Tube drivers
  • Bus drivers
  • All the people round silicon roundabout.

For the past million years, the English media has been moaning about bonuses but frankly I’m not an account and couldn’t give a flying f**k.   If I could devise my own wage scale I’d probably give myself a second home too.  Unfortunately, I’m self-employed, so my earnings are down to hard graft and a little bit of luck.  But whilst I don’r get a bonus, I get plenty spent on me.  Whoop!

It must be part of the human condition that as soon as you get given an extra bit of money, you go and spend it frivolously on having a good time.  Shopping spree’s, snazzy cars, sloshed-up weekenders or girls, girls, girls!  Thank god that somebody got a bonus this year.  Like the public transport workers who were so worried about being ‘overloaded’ by the Olympics.  (Yeah, I was worried about being overloaded too – but I’ve spent more shoe leather on getting home and back than dancing for any Olympic visitors or, guttingly, athletes.)

I had a great time in VIP with a tube driver last night, a big smiley fat guy with a shiny shaved head and a great way with his hands.  Boy could those big paws move fast around my console! Now there’s no touching at my club, just like the rest of London,  but visitors don’t always seem to care too much for the legislation.  Most punters try and get away with a little feel here and there, a quick squeeze when you lean over, a slap on the bottom when you bend over – you get the jist – but this driver was something else!  He was pinching, grabbing, begging for a little suck – please just for a minute – a second – please! 

I told the naughty driver off, channelling my fat controller side to his randy Percy, but his hands were too fast.  His fingers flew and when he wasn’t distracting me with funny chat about how all this was MY FAULT because I had such beautiful breasts (yeah, like lack of self control is ever the woman’s fault), he did make me laugh throughout the whole hour of VIP – even though I spent 99% of it batting him off…..

About author


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...

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