I walked into the little dive bar on a Wednesday afternoon. The place was virtually empty except for two, middle aged, balding men drinking cheap beer. I also noticed a heavy set brunette sitting on the other side drinking wine. I walked up to the bar tender and asked to speak to her manager. She pointed to the woman drinking wine.
“Hi, my name is Ember.” I said while reaching out to shake her hand.
She grabbed it and introduced herself.
“I’m Coral. How may I help you.”
“I’m looking for a job.” I replied.
“What a you wearing under your dress.” she asked.
“Thong panties and a leopard print bra.”
“Perfect. You see that door? That’s the changing room. I want you to go wait in there. When the next song comes on, follow the stairs onto the stage and strip down to your bra and panties.”
So I did.
I waited for the next song, bottled up all my courage and took my perfect, 5’8″, 125lb, natural C cup, 21 year old self onto that splintering stage. I had never spun on a pole before, and it showed. I got up there and danced like I was in a Madonna music video, only without any rhythem. I had never been to a strip club before, I had no idea how to act sexy. I was young, neieve and akward but I was really hot.
I needed extra cash so I took the job.
This wasn’t a normal strip club. This was more of a burlesque club. It was classy for a dump. I never had to do a lap dance. Not until the big clubs in Las Vegas anyway (that’s another story). My wages were earned in the form of a weekly paycheck, $1 bill tips thrown on the stage and the Taco Bell one cheap customer used to bestow upon me on a regular basis.
So I did what any cocaine infused, neon-red extention wearing, hopeful little slut would do. I found the nearest stripper store and bought myself a new wardrobe. My favorite piece being a sheer, blue, sequenced bikini that resembled dental floss more than anything else. I bought several pairs of eight inch heels. Black ones, red ones, clear ones… Etc.
Then in saw it.
It sparkled as it mechanically turned. It was a jewelry case, only there were no earrings inside. Displayed, in all their glory, there they were, pasties, in all shapes and colors! I asked the clerk to open the glass and I excitedly chose several perfect pairs of nipple covers. I bought silver, sequined stars, black leather circles, you name it! They even came with their own little tubes of eyelash glue to hold them on.
At check out the clerk asked me if I wanted to purchase Spirit Gum. That was strange! I didn’t need any fucking gum. Was she trying to tell me that I had bad breath? She was just trying to up-sale me I suppose. I made my purchase and got ready for my big night.
The bar was crowded as I made my way in. I went into the dressing room and carefully chose my pasties. I picked the black leather pair. I applied the glue and stuck them onto my little strawberries. Then I put on a pair of vinal short-shorts and a matching top that resembled a belt. Once dressed I clocked in and headed up to the bar. I ordered two, double grey hounds and slammed them back to back.
Then it was time. My first, real striptease.
As the song of my choice began playing I made my way up to the tiny stage. I climbed the stairs and opened the curtain, shaking.
“Focus!” I yelled at myself. I was dreaming of easy money (though I probably never made more than $120 a night at that dump). I saw dollar signs. Plus I was buzzed. I could do this!
I clanked my half drunk, 8″ stiletto wabbling, whore self across the splintering stage and over to the rusty pole. I gave it all I had. I grabbed onto that sucker and started gyrating. The crowd loved this. I slowly removed my belt of a top and swung it around before dropping it onto the filthy floor. Men were putting dollar bills on the stage. So I got on all fours and crawled over to retrieve the beginnings of my fortune.
That’s when it happened!
PLOOP!
My right pasty popped off and into the crowd! I covered my exposed milk jug with my hand. One helpful, overly excited, sweaty pig of a customer picked it up and handed it back to me, he grabbed my hand a little as I took it from him. Ewwwwww. I scurried back stage and glued it on as fast as I could. I still had two more songs left in my set after all. Once it was secured I climbed back on stage. My second song was starting. I was gaining confidence. I was a pro. I smiled widely and began spinning circles on the pole. The crowd was cheering, they liked this! The more I bounced the louder they got.
That’s when I noticed it.
Both pasty’s were missing in action.
The crowd wasn’t cheering because of my fabulous dance moves, they were excited that I was naked from the waist up.
The music stopped.
“Get off the fucking stage, Ember! Get your tit’s in check! Farrah, you are up!”
It was Coral, she was pissed.
I put my arm over my tata’s collected my top and tips and walked off stage. Farrah bumped me on her way up.
“Skank!” she whispered under her breath.
When I got into the dressing room, Storm, a thirty-something, chubby blonde dressed as a gypsy took pity on me. You see the state has very strick laws on the type of nudity that can be shown at bars and I just unintentionally crossed the line. I could have caused the bar to be heavily fined or worse, shut down.
“Ember, what do you have holding your pasties on?” she asked me.
“The glue they came with!” I exclaimed.
“Honey, you need to purchase a glue called, ‘Spirit Gum’. That shit they come with doesn’t hold, as you have noticed.” she lectured. Then she handed me a tube of her own.
“Use this tonight and then tomorrow go buy some.”
DOPE!
That’s what the clerk at the stripper store was trying to tell me!
Thus began my entrance into the land of burlesque stripping.
Donut likes strippers.
It's not my fault. 
As you can tell,I followed link here. I truly admire your courage to get out there and dance wow. Your blog is f#cking cool as shit
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Thanks MyIpad!!!!!
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Jefferson will suffice
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