Stripper Chit-Chat I

Excerpts of long conversation at Flashdancers one night:

STRIPPER: You look nice. Did you go somewhere tonight?

ME: No. I had to be in court this morning.

STRIPPER: Oh. Are you in trouble?

* * * *

ME: So the last time I saw you, you were coming off some heavy Xing.

STRIPPER: That's funny. I am now, too.

ME [taking this as a cue, over the next several minutes, to put my arm around her, place my hand high up on her thigh inside the slit in her dress, etc.]: Hmmmmm. So either this is an amazing coincidence, or I can conclude statistically that you're always coming off of E.

STRIPPER: Your analysis would be flawed. There are always outliers.

* * * *

STRIPPER: Do you know the joke about strippers and lawyers?

ME: No.

STRIPPER: I don't think I'm going to tell you.

ME: You're not?

STRIPPER: OK. What's the difference between a lawyer and a stripper?

ME: I don't know. [I can see what's coming]

STRIPPER: A lawyer WILL fuck you for money.

ME: That hasn't been my experience, actually.

STRIPPER: I'm not trying to insult you. I'm sure YOU don't.

ME: Umm, that isn't what I'm saying . . . .

[This doesn't appear to be a case where subtlety seems to be working.]
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THE SCENE: The back back room of an unnamed strip club.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE: Me ("ME") and an extremely attractive Australian blond, much better-looking than the general run of the strippers they usually get in that place -- certainly a 7.75 (P), maybe even an 8 (P) ("HER").

She's naked. I'm mostly clothed, although in much disarray. The middle finger of my right hand is inserted securely in her pussy. She has her hand stroking my shaft, through my pants.

ME: So did you do sex work in Melbourne?

HER: What do you mean by sex work?

ME: You know. This. Other stuff.

HER: What I do isn't sex work.

ME [inserting my finger deeper and stroking more rhythmically]: We must have different definitions in mind.

HER [stroking me harder]: You would call what EVERYBODY does sex work. Wouldn't you say modelling isn't sex work? How could you draw that line?

ME [starting to stroke more softly now, and right on target]: I think if you're just trying to stimulate one particular person, that's sex work. And I think if ALL you're trying to do is stimulate people -- without doing something else, like selling a product or telling a story -- that's sex work, too.

HER [grabbing me just by the tip and doing a sort of swirling pincer motion with her fingers]: I don't agree with you. Let's not talk about it. Let's not fight.
It is pathetic in the extreme to try to build yourself up by establishing your intellectual superiority over semi-educated sex workers.

Pathetic, however, is my middle name.


[A stripper saunters over to my table and plops herself in my lap. She's very very cute. Not beautiful -- cute.

[She begins a standard-issue rap that centers on repeated references to how nice my smile is and how customers often complain that she's too energetic and likes to grind too much. She's able to stretch this out for a surprisingly long time -- she doesn't know that I'm waiting for someone else. I'm getting bored, though.

[The DJ announces a new set of stage dancers. One of them is called Ophelia.]

"Good name," I say.


"Good name. Ophelia."

"What's good?"

"Like in Hamlet."

"What's Hamlet?"

"It's a play. Ophelia's the hero's girlfriend. She kills herself after he accidentally kills her father."

"Sounds great.

"Your smile is so nice."
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This was with a very attractive black mainstream stripper who called herself Princess. (Not the one on the lockdown circuit.)

She's from Oakland and then lived in LA. And she doesn't like New York AT ALL.

PRINCESS: There are no cheap places to eat in New York.

ME: Are you kidding? New York is like the great cheap place capital of America.

PRINCESS: Yeah, where?

ME: Every pizza place.

PRINCESS: Ewwww. Too greasy.

ME: Chinatown.

PRINCESS: Too greasy.

ME: The Mexican places in the Garment District and Sunset Park.

PRINCESS: Too much fatty meat.

ME: The latin places in Jackson Heights.

PRINCESS: I said, too much fatty meat.

ME: Yeah, well what do you like?

PRINCESS: I don't like fatty meat. I eat fish or chicken.

ME: It's not my fault that you don't like the kinds of cheap food we have here. You're just missing fish tacos.

PRINCESS: That's right! And you know what? There's nothing that isn't just as good with chicken in it as with meat.

ME: You know what? People like you are the reason you can't get good collard greens in any restaurant in New York anymore. They all use fucking smoked turkey instead of ham hocks. Who wants collard greens with turkey?

PRINCESS: You can make good collard greens with turkey instead of ham hocks.

ME: Yeah? How?

PRINCESS: Well, first you rub the pan with some fatback . . . .


PRINCESS: Because people don't want to know you put pork in it. It's too fatty.

ME: You know, Princess, you think just like a stripper.

ME: Hi.

STRIPPER (picking up my book): Is this your book?

ME: Yeah.

STRIPPER: Is it good?

ME (honestly): No. It's terrible.

STRIPPER: I'm reading a good book.

ME: Oh, what?

STRIPPER: The Rape of Nanking. [pause] Wanna dance?
These are two excerpts from a long conversation that took place during a long string of high-contact lap dances at one of the incarnations of the old Studio 90. Remember, everything reported below was said while she was giving, and I was receiving, a high-mileage lap dance.

ME: So what do you do in real life?

DANCER: I work in the design department at Manic Panic.

ME: So you work with Tish and Snooky.

DANCER: You know Tish and Snooky?

ME: Sure. I used to see them all the time when they sang with the Sick Fucks.

DANCER: You're very cultured for a lawyer.

* * * *

DANCER: I'm working on a paper about infant infibulation in Africa. I campaign against it actively.

ME: I have problems with that. It seems pretty Eurocentric. You can't just march into some alien culture you don't fully understand and tell them they have to change one thing that they've been doing for centuries because it offends your sensibilities. And before you try to force people to change one aspect of their culture, you'd better make sure you have a complete understanding of their culture as a whole, so you know what all the ramifications are.

DANCER: Are you crazy? Infibulation is like female slavery! There couldn't be any *possible* justification for it. And do you know what it *does* to women?

ME: No. What?

STRIPPER: Their abdomens become distended, because urine builds up inside that can't get out because they're bound up. Sometimes they burst. Sometimes they just die.

ME: So what's it like to work with Tish and Snooky?
Here's another one from the old S90.

A "dancer" is gyrating on my lap, her ass grinding deep into my crotch. I'm reaching beneath her skirt, groping. My face moves all over her uncovered chest.

She's telling me about the new business she's trying to start. She's about to get her New York State massage license, and she's trying to start a legitimate massage business.

"Most of the guys I see expect me to give them a hand job," she complains. "It's insulting."

"You just don't understand guys," I say. "We all expect hand jobs from everybody, all the time.

"When I leave my building in the morning, I look at the doorman and think, why isn't he giving me a hand job?

"I get on the train and there's the motorman. 'Where's my hand job?,' I think.

"When I get to my office, I nod to the security guy in the lobby. But you know what I'm thinking."

"Hand job," she says.

"So it isn't you. It's us. Don't be insulted."
WAITRESS: Would you like a drink, please?

ME: I'll have a Manhattan.

WAITRESS: Can you say that a little louder?

ME: I'll have a Manhattan.

WAITRESS: Is that a drink?

[Between order and delivery, I'm joined by a stripper. The drink arrives.]

STRIPPER: Is that a Cosmopolitan?

ME: No, it is not a Cosmopolitan.

STRIPPER: Can I taste it?

ME: Sure.

STRIPPER [takes a sip]: Eeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwww.
Same stripper, four months later.

[Our drinks have arrived. She's having a Cosmopolitan. I'm having a Manhattan.]

HER: The bartender put olives in your Manhattan.

ME: I know.

HER: Want to trade? Would you like my cherry?

ME: I hope you're very grateful for what I'm not saying right now.

[Second round. She's switched to a Vodka Martini.]

ME: At least you're drinking something real.

HER: Thank you.

ME: Although my contempt for Vodka Martinis is boundless.

HER: Well, my contempt for gin is boundless.

ME: What's the matter? Don't like liquor that has some flavor?

HER: When I was 16, my boyfriend and I broke into his parents' bar and drank a bottle of gin. It was the grossest thing I've ever put in my mouth.

ME: I think I should get a medal for the forebearance I'm showing tonight.
This stripper I'm talking to has a history of periodically getting sick of stripping and just cutting out for a few months in the middle of a night. So now she's back. She said the bouncers at her club had started a pool on how long she'd last this time.

She reflects on how easy it is to get rehired in her club:

HER: There's this girl they recently rehired who had been fired. You know why? For pissing on a customer. Not one who asked for it; she just pissed on the guy. Right in the middle of a bottle. And you know what? Once they rehired her, she did it again. The bouncers had to run down to the Champagne Room and stop the guy from punching her.

ME: That's the best metaphor for life I've heard recently. You can never get a stripper to piss on you when you want it.

What's her stage name, anyway? Incontinentia?

HER: No, Urethra.
And of course, the greatest single thing ever said to me by a stripper:

"From now on, I'll be thinking of you whenever I don't have an orgasm."
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We're sitting chatting at a table in a club. "Paint It Black" comes over the loudspeakers.

STRIPPER: I love this song.

ME: How did you come by a taste for old Rolling Stones records?

STRIPPER: My parents.

ME: I was afraid you were going to say that.


Subject to blackouts
Originally posted by justlooking
And of course, the greatest single thing ever said to me by a stripper:

"From now on, I'll be thinking of you whenever I don't have an orgasm."
i think, i just found my all-time new favorite from you too... :)
Originally posted by justlooking
And of course, the greatest single thing ever said to me by a stripper:

"From now on, I'll be thinking of you whenever I don't have an orgasm."
That is great. From now on, whenever I don't have an orgasm, I'll be thinking of you too...
This is great. Now there are TWO women out there who'll be thinking of me when they don't come.

(It's a good thing my wife doesn't post here.)
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my orgasm fantasy...

I know whom I think about when thinking of the possibility of an intoxicatingly good orgasm experienced on various levels of mind, body, and soul. With the prospect of leaving me fully satiated and sucking my thumb curled up in a fetal position. Unfortunately, for fear of having this post deleted, I cannot mention the person in question- but she does know who she is….

Oh Lord I am on a mission!!!!…