by Lacey Lane
Perhaps the most unusual routine I ever saw involved a large trained rat. Shelly, as limber a person as I’ve seen, contorted her body in all different ways, while the rat scurried from one limb to another, over her boobs, across her back, onto her head, down her butt, and never once did it touch the ground. It was really outrageous and guys went wild. Something about a woman and a rodent, I guess.
Another solid self-marketing ploy was the dirty joke. I always made sure I knew at least one really good joke involving sex, one that I could tell without fail. Many times, this was the perfect icebreaker that conveyed I was not only playful in a provocative way, but that I had a sense of humor, too. Fun girls made more money than bump-on-a-log girls no matter what they looked like.
Bouncers were also great allies in the quest to make big money. When I was comfortable at a club, I took the doormen aside, separately, and gave them a few bucks, letting them know there was more where that came from if they recommended my lap-dance services to potential big-shot customers. Any guys arriving in limos or mega-dollar sports cars, I wanted them to ask for me by name. In these situations, $10 or $20 every now and then went a long way.
Most clubs in the country have what is referred to as a “Touch and Go” policy: If a customer touches a dancer, it’s time for him to go. However, dancers routinely initiate contact with the customers and no one would say boo about it. It’s a double standard for sure, but it’s a mandate that exists for the strippers’ protection. The no-touch policy also applies to the VIP Room, but in those private confines each dancer decides exactly what she’s going to allow—and for how much she’ll allow it.
One of my best tricks for hooking a big fish is the 10 second massage. If I was looking for a VIP Room prospect, I would come up behind a guy and give him a tantalizing neck or shoulder rub for about 10 seconds, then quickly move on to another guy, usually someone he was seated with or near. The idea was to spawn a bidding war of sorts, to get one of them to jump first at the chance to lock up my services. Sometimes, guys didn’t really even want the dance, but it came down to a pissing contest, some kind of machismo thing, which no red-blooded American male wants to lose, especially in the company of women and his peers.
All the successful dancers rely on a battery of tricks and gimmicks to boost their earnings. Don’t get me wrong, straight-out sex appeal is a powerful weapon in the stripping business and many girls use their bodies and looks and nothing more to earn a decent living. But from my experience, the girls who use their brains first and foremost go home each night with the boo-coo bucks. Ask any of the older dancers who still bring home the bacon and I’m sure they’ll agree. Beauty only lasts so long, especially with the rigors of the topless profession. Intelligence, on the other hand, is there for the duration. So if you’ve got the smarts, you might as well put them to good use.
Unfortunately, a host of strippers out there have the brainpower of daffodils. This is not a slight to the women of the profession by any means: Just as many women working in the myriad of other jobs are severely lacking in the intelligence department. For these dancers, their bodies are not just their best props—they’re their only props.
In most cases, when the word “stripper” is first uttered, images of a sculpted, toned, big-breasted woman with the sexuality of a porn star are what come to mind. In many of the hotter strip clubs, it’s not far from the truth. However, you needn’t look like Kristy Swanson or Pamela Anderson to break the bank while working as a topless dancer. Sure, it doesn’t hurt, and women blessed with smoking looks and killer bodies obviously have an advantage in a skin palace, but only when it comes to customers looking for exactly that kind of woman.
Contrary to popular belief, not all men desire the centerfold-quality sexpot: long flowing hair, large firm breasts with diamond-hard nipples, no waist, and legs that go on until Tuesday … That’s the Hollywood version of the perfect stripper. In the real world I’ve seen nights where women with more rolls than a Jewish bakery made twice or three times as much as the sexiest girls in the place. Tastes vary—in food, cars, clothes, lifestyles, and especially in what a customer is looking for in a stripper. While certain clubs are known for the “quality” of their dancers—Scores in Manhattan is a prime example, where rumor has it you need to be a 91⁄2, minimum, on the 1 to 10 scale to get a job—other clubs employ a more diverse coterie of dancers, an all-shapes-and-sizes smorgasbord of tits and ass.
It’s for those reasons that I laugh when I see a program like Jerry Springer or Jenny Jones, when the topic is: “You’re Too Nasty To Be A Stripper” or something to that effect. On those programs, the scene is usually a bunch of obese women in thongs shaking like jello molds in an earthquake while the audience is booing and hissing. If a woman (or a man, for that matter) has it in mind that she (or he) can make some coin by dropping trou and shaking ass, regardless of how big or unsightly it may be, I say more power to her. There’s no strip club rule I’m aware of that states: Only goddesses need apply. During my years as a topless dancer, I met countless women you’ll never see on any looks-driven reality dating shows, all of whom made upwards of $50,000 a year courtesy of their lack of inhibition. As a society, we tend to chastise people we’re uncomfortable with when we should be applauding them for having the courage to simply be themselves. In the case of a so-called “unsightly stripper,” there’s no gun to your head. All you have to do is look away.
On the other hand, for the women who are in fantastic shape or strive for physical perfection, they have their work cut out for them. Eating right, working out, getting the proper amount of rest, they’re all part of the regimen. Working in the topless dancing industry, with its late hours, physical demands, and constant exposure to booze and cigarettes (and for some, drugs), can play havoc with a desire to stay fit. This is a subject on which I can definitely speak from experience. Having always been concerned about my body and appearance (especially when I was stripping), I went on dieting binges all the time, thinking I needed to drop weight to look my best. Other times, I finished work and, despite my exhaustion, donned a sweatsuit and went on some marathon run, trying to shed a few extra pounds, even if I was already at an optimum weight for my frame. Other girls spend hours in the gym, pushing their bodies to the limits, then starve themselves of some much-needed nourishment. It wasn’t uncommon to see a dancer pass out in the dressing room after a few hours of work.
Many girls turn to laxatives and appetite suppressants and/or controlled substances (like coke or speed) to keep their weight in check, even if they never had a problem with it prior to becoming a stripper. They subscribe to the “better bodies through science” mindset, even though they’re doing considerably more harm than good. Although bulimia is a nasty word in the strip club dressing room, one that’s often whispered, but not spoken aloud, I can’t begin to tell you how many times I heard girls gagging and vomiting in the bathroom stalls after they’d eaten.
Just like television and the movies, stripping is an image-obsessed profession. For some dancers, same as the entertainers on the small and big screens, perfection is an attainable condition. And whatever can’t be achieved solo can be bestowed upon them with the help of a qualified physician.
For instance, a big night of tips in the VIP Room might translate into bigger breasts (via implants) the following week. The purchase of a few new outfits could be postponed in favor of collagen injections in the lips. Or a new nose and some liposuction can be financed instead of a new car. I knew girls who got into stripping to eliminate their debt, only to find themselves pouring every cent they earn into their bodies. One dancer, a beautiful girl with a body to match, went through four different breast augmentations, and four different cup sizes, in the span of two years. When last we spoke, I think she was a double-F and considering going larger. That’s taking “hooked on phonics” to a whole new level! By comparison, my self-esteem issues were minor.
In case you’re wondering, I’m all in favor of cosmetic surgery. I myself had my breas
ts enlarged and am delighted with the results. Although it was something I never considered doing while I was dancing, or in the years preceding, there came a point in time when I believed it would balance out my figure and enhance my overall physical appearance. So, when the timing—and my finances—were right, I went ahead and did it. It’s all a matter of personal choice, but I bring it up because, in the exotic entertainment industry, it’s not a mandatory requirement. Being beautiful means many things to many different people. For some, it’s the kind of woman you’d find modeling a skimpy bikini in Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit issue; for others, it’s the kind of woman making her third trip through the buffet line. That’s what’s so great about the topless profession: It takes all types. And anyone, with the right attitude, can be successful.
Regulars
Every now and then some big-shot celebrity or super wealthy businessman visits a strip club and throws cash around like it’s Monopoly money. You hear about it happening all the time—Scores in New York City and the now defunct Gold Club in Atlanta, two clubs I never worked at—were always in the news, almost always because someone looking for a few extra bucks squealed to the tabloids. Just ask Charlie Sheen or Patrick Ewing. They were on the receiving end of the gossip stick on more than one occasion. Personally, I think it’s a shame. I believe anyone who visits a strip club, whether it’s a prudish bikini bar or a full-bore nudie joint, deserves his anonymity. Of course, managers and owners don’t seem to mind. Any PR is good PR, or so the saying goes, and attention in the news almost always results in more customers. But having said that, depending on high rollers and big spenders for your income is not a wise course of action. The real key to making good money consistently is by developing a solid stable of regulars.
Chances are, if you treat a customer well and show him a good time, he’ll come back. Again and again and again. Repeat business is a major aspect of the topless industry and the dancers absolutely depend on it.
One of the smartest things I ever did was set up a voicemail service, which I used strictly for my regular customers. I would never even think of giving out my home phone number—not with all the crazy shit that goes on this world, especially in the sex industry—but there was no harm in providing them with my phone-service number. Coupled with the fact that I used an alias when I danced, I felt relatively safe. If a real nutcase wanted to get to me, no fake phone number or pseudonym would stop him anyway.
The idea was to stay in touch with my regulars and keep them coming in on a steady basis. After their initial call to my phone-service, I’d call them back every so often at the numbers they provided, hoping like hell I got an answering machine and not the actual person. It was much easier to leave seductive messages, dropping hints of possibility (if they were good to me), rather than talk to them directly. On those occasions when one of my regulars picked up the phone, I kept the conversation short and sweet, telling him I was late for a hair appointment or an exercise class or a waxing—whatever it took to end the call quickly but politely. I also made sure never to promise anything. I was asked out on numerous dates—for drinks, dinner, and even trips (from overnights to multi-week vacations)—but I never accepted. “I’d love to but I just can’t right now” was a standard response that I (and many of the other strippers) relied upon. Bob and weave, duck and cover … You had to be like a prizefighter, a successful prizefighter, to refuse the offer cordially, while keeping the relationship open.
Often, I tried to set appointments, staggering guys who paid me well, so good money for the night’s work was pretty much guaranteed. For example, I’d call one guy and tell him to come to the club on Friday at eight o’clock, and that I was only going to be working for a few hours. He’d be there like clockwork at 8, ready to go. I’d spend time with him for two hours or so—dancing, talking, whatever he wanted—then I’d walk him to the door, encouraging him to go home and get a good night’s sleep or make love to his wife or fly to the moon. Whatever! Basically, I just wanted him out of there. The reason: I had another appointment with another regular, anywhere from 15 to 30 minutes after the previous one. Not that there was a problem having two regulars (or more) see each other or know about the other—we were just entertaining these guys, after all, not dating them—but it always helped to convey a sense of loyalty, especially if you wanted them to tip—and keep on tipping—you big. Not only that, but the less time a regular spent in the club when he wasn’t with you, the more money he would have to lavish on you. After all, you were the one he came to see in the first place.
I remember one time when I was with one of my regulars, a guy from whom I usually made between $400 and $500 a night. On this occasion, a well-known porn star was performing in the club as a featured entertainer and she was auctioning off some prop from her most recent film—I think it was a piece of lingerie she wore in a really wild sex scene. Anyway, the bidding was up to $300 and climbing and my guy was leading the pack, throwing up his hand whenever someone outbid him. I was a bit peeved and tried to gently discourage him, offering to give him one of my sexy outfits for free. I knew that if he bought the item, he’d have nothing left. Sure enough, despite my efforts to convince him otherwise, he won the lingerie—spending something like $450 in the process—and only had $50 left for me. You can’t win ’em all.
After about two years in the biz, I got smart and tried to make deals with one or two other dancers I thought I could trust. We agreed to take care of each other’s regulars on the nights that they came in and we didn’t. So if I was off one night and one of my top customers showed up, Candy made it a point to treat him right—assuming one of her regulars wasn’t there—then gave me a percentage of the money she made. On her nights off, I did the same for her. Of course, this system wasn’t foolproof—dancers could easily lie about their take and customers weren’t about to fess up about what they spent on another dancer. I certainly wasn’t about to ask them. But at least it was an attempt to profit from relationships that had already been cultivated. The key was finding other dancers you could trust—a tall order in the topless biz when money entered into the equation. During my seven year stripping stint, I made this arrangement with only five girls. And of those five, I was pretty sure two of them were skimming from our original deal. It wasn’t something I could prove—can you imagine seeing that case on “The People’s Court”?—but my gut instincts were usually spot-on and I just had that feeling that I was being gypped. Needless to say, I terminated our agreement.
I worked at approximately 15 different clubs over the years. Often, I’d zip off to another city (in many cases, in an entirely different state) to dance for the weekend, just to keep things interesting and keep my mind fresh. Finding the happening clubs in other cities was a piece of cake; the g-string grapevine is long and widespread. Usually, at least one stripper has the full scoop on good clubs in neighboring cities and states, and is willing to share the information.
I found I grew bored easily when I spent too much time in the same environment and the variety helped me to enjoy the work. Sure, it was the same work, just different scenery, but the challenge of new fish to land added to the game. Sometimes I’d go with another dancer or two—to share the expenses or just for the old safety-in-numbers ploy—but more often I’d go by myself. At one point, I had a Rolodex filled with regulars and a full calendar of appointments—30 days solid—in three different states. I took a three-week much-needed vacation after that month. And that’s another one of the benefits … Once a stripper has demonstrated to a club owner or manager that she’ll bank the bucks whenever she works, 99 times out of 100 there’ll be a spot for her in the rotation when she returns from a spur-of-the-moment vacation, regardless of how long she’s gone.
There’s a downside to dealing with regulars, however. Eventually, that extremely profitable relationship you worked so hard to build comes to an end. Let’s face it, a man will only shower you with so much money before he starts wanting more than your company in return. (And who can blam
e him?) Sadly, that’s the nature of the beast. Stripping is all about the art of the tease and sooner or later, customers simply grow tired of getting teased. Granted, it takes some customers many months—and countless thousands of dollars—to get it through their thick heads that you’ll never treat them to anything more than a look at your naked flesh. But they’ll keep that dream alive, hoping someday you’ll just cave in and actually go home with them. The key is not to push them away. Let them try and try and try until they just give up. With some, it’s a long (and expensive) journey. However, on occasion dancers actually do buy into the “sugar daddy” or “kept woman” scenario, continuing the relationship with their oh-so-beneficial customers beyond the sanctity of the strip club. However, of all the stripper customer relationships I’ve heard about, just about all of them ended quickly. And badly.
For instance, when one dancer’s benefactor found out she was allowing her real boyfriend to spend most nights in an apartment he paid for, he had the electricity, cable, and telephone shut off within a matter of hours. And then there was the dancer who returned to her provided condo—only to find the wife of her provider ready and waiting for her. Apparently, the wife had found the key to their little love nest and, while Ms. Thing was out getting her nails done, the furious spouse tore all the stripper’s clothes to shreds. The guilty husband convinced the dancer not to press charges for property damage by paying her a pretty penny. Still, replacing her entire wardrobe—including some incredible outfits she had picked up in Europe during a brief modeling stint—was a devastating experience.
