Welcome to Stripping in Detroit (Or, How I met Fifi the French Poodle and Other Stories)


(Based on excerpts from my journal on 3.17.2004)

My first night at CLUB X (we will call it), I met the bikers who were passing through the city.  One of whom proclaimed that my tat (which is Arabic for “peace and freedom”) said “come to our hotel room.” (I didn’t, but the idea that I “might” could have increased my income.  So I played off of it.  Hey, I was hustler.  It was my job).   As the newbie dancer, I had a task to complete.  Call it an initiation, if you will.  I was told to raffle off myself, basically.  I went around to each table, asking for donations.  Whoever’s name was drawn, would be awarded with the experience of getting to pour chocolate sauce and whipped cream on my body as I laid on the stage.  I laid there, wondering if the whole experience was degrading, or cool, or just kinda weird.  I wasn’t sure.  Then, I went into the glass encased shower on the top of the stage to rinse off as sexily as possible.  This is how I met the bikers.  They were writing silly comments on the outside shower in the steam.

One of the bikers’ friend’s (a seemingly straight-laced guy whom was out of place among them), told me his wife had died- but “not to worry about it because it was awhile ago.” However, his friend, who paid for a lap dance from me for him, told me the widower needed to “get out more and talk to women.”  The friend also informed me that the wife had died four months ago.

With this knowledge, I took the new widower to the VIP room.  This was a room upstairs with black leather couches arranged in a living-room type setting, complete with a glass-top coffee table.  This is where customers could receive a more private (read: more expensive) dance than on the floor.  However, it felt safe, as all the dancers took their customers there simultaneously, while the DJ nearby watched out for the dancers.    Before the dance, the guy told me he hadn’t touched a woman in four months.  This was simultaneously weird and sad and sweet.  I tried to give him a lighter, softer dance.

Then there was Fifi.  The French poodle.  He was actually a sixty-something lawyer who paid me to bounce up and down on his lap as well as dominate him.  I was his Mistress, or Princess Jade (Jade was my stage name here in Detroit).  He was my slave, or Fifi; or rather, Mistress Jade’s slave, I should say, since I feel like I took on a new persona in the club (especially with Fifi!). He offered to pay me $100 to take me shopping as well as wanted me to watch “domination videos” with him (neither of which I took him up on). I met him and danced for him the first night on the job; little did I know at the time he would become one of my repeat customers.  Maybe mostly because the other dancers thought he was weird (kinda true); or rather, what he wanted during the dance-the domme stuff-was weird.  Personally, I would rather domme someone (and get paid) than have an over-touchy customer who tried to rip me off.  Basically, I didn’t think domination was weird!!!!!!!!!!!!!  (However, privately I giggled about the Fifi part).

Although, I learned that all of this was just a taste of things to come…


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