Planet Penis Strikes Again!

Working at strip clubs, it never ceases to amaze me what can be construed as an invitation. Leaning forward and looking into a guy’s eyes is obviously asking for a kiss. To me, it’s trying to engage with my customer.

Holding onto your own g-string and snapping it against your own thigh is a beacon for a guy to grab it and try and pull it down.  To me, that just means I’m 7 minutes and 49 seconds in my 10 minute routine.

Bending over can only be sign language for ‘I’ve been a very naughty girl, please old man, discipline me and slap my arse.’

Apparently merely walking past a man – particularly those of Indian descent here in Melbourne – out on the floor can be a request to have his hand gently cup your ass and slide up towards your cha cha. No, no, sorry you fucking idiot. I’m just making my way from the toilet to the bar. Hopefully you caught some residual urine and faecal matter when you tried to casually violate me while I was passing through.

Is behaviour like this really acceptable on Planet Penis? I guess it must be very confusing. This having a penis business. When you’re being sent messages from two places at the same time there will, no doubt, be mix ups. Culture, manners, empathy, compassion, upbringing all seem to get flicked to the wayside on Planet Penis.

They just don’t understand the concept of a service that has been purchased. Melbourne is also rife with illiteracy as few men seem able to decipher the letters that spell out “Touching is illegal in Victoria”, or “Do Not Touch or Harrass the Dancers.”

Having said all that, the men aren’t all to blame. Personally I’m not into letting guys touch me past my calves. There are some girls that don’t mind it, and that’s fine. As for the girls who don’t even seek the privacy of a room when they are letting men grope them, grinding on cocks, biting and licking ears (thank you to that special lady dancing across from me on Monday night) for an extra how-ever-many-dollars, can all you please change clubs and move to Kittens. You know, the strip club with the brothel license?

We need to help each other AND help those poor stupid people from Planet Penis. They don’t really know any better. It’s us ladies that need to set them straight. Bring back the strip tease and down with the strip would you like a side of my saliva and a hand job with that?

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The F Word

As offensive as the word ‘fat’ is to the average girl, so too is the word ‘free’ to a stripper.

Upon offering one’s services as a tres exoticus perfectus dancer to a guy, there is almost nothing more annoying than any one of the following replies in which the ‘f’ word is used; ‘Is it free?’, ‘Only if it’s free’, ‘Do I get it for free cause I’m young and good looking?’, ‘It should be free for girls though….’. Like hell.

Are you fucking serious?

When I go to work, I like to get paid. And as I’ve never, in my whole 6 years of dancing met anyone who works in a charity, I’m pretty sure you all do too. And I don’t care if it’s your birthday. What the hell did you get me for mine? They often have some weird, smug expression on their face, as though pleased to have thought of it first. Except the girls. They usually mean it.

‘Is it free?’, as a response to the offer of a lapdance, can only be surpassed in annoyingness by ‘Where’s the dance floor?’, or maybe ‘Why don’t you pay me, and I’ll give you a lapdance?’

Would it be asking too much to have the ‘f’ word outlawed in the club?

Credit where credit is due though, over the years I have met a few people who work for/with charities in some way, shape or form. They have ALL been dancers, none of them customers! It’s possible that this is a reflection of the demographic we see, or it could just be that there are lot’s of kind hearted ladies of the night out there.