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...
But when I went home I felt miffed. Really miffed. Why? I had made good money and had a great night, but….. I was originally sitting with the boss guy, and he told me to go sit with his friend as he walked in. In the cab on the way home, I was in agonies as to what had been wrong about me to be palmed off so. Was it my hair?
Too fat,too slim, too small, too tall?
Was it because I wasn’t cool, or pretty, or sexy enough?
My tits were too big?
I compared myself to the girls he kept sitting with him. Several were part of that elusive cool crowd I’ve spoken about in previous posts. It was his first time at the club, but is it that obvious that I am an outsider? In my drunken state I went over my perceived failings as a lapdancer. That I was a crap hustler.
Thankfully, the next morning I had slept and sobered up. Drinking my first cup of tea of the day, I went over last night. I figured it out.
It wasn’t me. It wasn’t my hair. It was my outfit. It just didn’t fit the bill. I realised with glaring accuracy that all the girls he kept were wearing black stockings and underwear, like they had just stepped from an Agent Provacteur boudoir. I, on the other hand, was wearing a garish novelty stripper costume. Men like consistency in their harem – he wanted to look at varying shades of the same classy girls.
I’m glad I figured out that personal crisis. There is no point in going into work as a lapdancer if you don’t feel good enough about yourself.