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An authentic journey into the provocative world of America’s strip clubs. |
| CLEAR HEELS BY ALISHA ADAMS CHAPTER ONE Everyone wants to know what really goes on in the Champagne Room. Hell, I wish every champagne room experience were the same so we girls would know what to expect. Girls in the business constantly defend themselves and claim adamantly that they didn’t have to do anything with the customer; they “only sat and chatted with the guy”. Don’t believe it! That was never my experience. I “worked” with every champagne customer I ever had. Talk was cheap and we were all sex workers. If you wanted to make money you had to entice the guy with sex. He had the privilege to “talk” sitting at the bar. In the very beginning I believed their bullshit and carried my naive ass right into my first champagne room believing we were just going to “talk”. My first champagne room customer’s name was Bob. No lie, for real - I swear, his name was really Bob. Bob Ordinary. He was a mail carrier. I knew this not because we “talked” so much, but because he came to the club in his postal blues. A typical aging white guy, white hair, and balding in the front, five feet ten inches, two hundred and forty pounds, chunky red cheeks, and the classic crimson enflamed rutted nose from consuming way too much alcohol. All of his extra weight was squeezed into his belly and his shirt was a size too small. The deal was that Bob has to buy a bottle of champagne for ten times its value in the liquor store and then he can enjoy a full hour with me in a more private and relaxed atmosphere, located in the skyway boxes up above and overlooking the stage action. “The Club” as I will refer to it, is located near Wall St., in the financial district of Manhattan. I worked the day shift, eleven am till seven pm. We accommodated the stuffed shirts of the New York Stock Exchange during their lunch hours, but especially after work. These guys killed time with us waiting for rush hour to pass. A little drink-drink and rub-rub before the stress of the crowded Long Island or New Jersey commute, and the dread of the same hum-drum Mrs. at home. The club was dim, covering cigarette burns, and liquor spills, on built-in benches covered with coarse cheap carpeting. At 10:30 am when I would arrive for my shift the overhead lights revealed nasty areas of stained experiences much like mine, but we all kept going back. I could not resist this place. No matter how weird or cheesy things got, I was hooked. Bob had a bevy of Champagne bottles and prices to choose from. The least expensive was a bottle of Moet Chandon for two hundred and seventy five dollars, which retailed in grocery stores for a meager twenty-five dollars. At the top of the list was a bottle of Dom Perignon for twelve hundred dollars. These prices excited a place inside me that yearned to be able to afford such luxuries. The price was also telling, damn there screaming to me, that there was more to it than “talking“. Why would someone require private “talk” time at these rates? I had only been stripping a week. On my first day I made one hundred and fifty-five dollars. More money than I had ever made in eight hours. The second day I made a hundred and fifty-five too, and for the following two days one fifty five was the magic number. I assume I shut down mentally, maybe unconscious self-sabotage, I couldn’t imagine making more than one fifty five and so I didn’t. When I met Bob it was four pm on a Friday afternoon, the club was picking up and I had made a hundred dollars (all singles) during lunch. I was sitting on one of those coarse carpeted benches when a bouncer came by quickly carrying a shiny silver champagne bucket and a three legged stand. I barely heard him over the loud music but he said, “I have a champagne room customer for you, his name is Bob. Follow me”. I was not entirely sure what that meant. I had seen other dancers and customers climb that spiral staircase with a waitress or bouncer. Up above you could see there were glass booths over-looking the club through smoky one way glass. I had not been up there myself. I quickly grabbed my lipstick purse and fumbled to collect my cigarettes and lighter. I left behind the well brand vodka and orange juice I had been sipping. The bartender gave it to me on the house, all dancers were allowed one free cheap drink per shift. I quickly followed behind him. At the top of the staircase there was a velvet rope distinguishing this chic champagne level from the economical beer drinkers below. The bouncer unlatched the rope and ushered me in front of him. I was extremely curious about this forbidden and very expensive adult play area. Heavy draperies aligned the right side for a long as I could see, about two hundred feet. I had no idea where the hell I was going so I stepped aside letting the bouncer take the lead. Seeming clumsy I think. He stopped at the second set of curtains. Petitioned off were what looked to be ten rooms overlooking the stage action, each were completely private. The bouncer opened the curtain and I stepped in. One foot inside the VIP room there was a big comfy three-person leather couch with a glass coffee table in front of it. Bob stood up from the couch. The bouncer stepped in and to my right, going around the couch, near the coffee table, to set up the champagne bucket, and the small glass ashtrays he had tucked in his penguin suit. I followed after him and met Bob between the couch and cocktail table with a huge smile and eagerness in my eyes. It was attractive in there. The floor to ceiling glass in front was thrilling. Looking down on the club arouse me. I was looking forward to the hour of extravagance and I smiled to myself. “Hi Bob” I was excited to see him as if I had known him forevere. “Hell-O there, Ms. Summer” he smiled big at me, I was not uneasy anymore. “Thank you so much for inviting me up here with you today. This is my first time in the VIP”! “Is that right”? I watched him look over my shoulder at the bouncer with a definite sly grin that I pretended not to notice. A brunette Barbie doll wearing a bunny outfit appeared. Black sheer stockings, low-cut leotard, and the highest high-heeled black pumps she could purchase. Her hair was long with lots of body and her makeup looked polished and brand new. “Hi Bob, good to see you! Did you have a good week?” “Oh Candy, I feel better than I did last Friday, and I am hoping Ms. Summer here can fix me up good, so I can smile all weekend”. He laughed and grinned at me. I smiled especially big back at him, and hoped I knew what that meant. It meant talking and sipping champagne, right? Bob ordered the Moet Chandon and the waitress and bouncer disappeared in a flash. Miniature speakers above our heads piped in the music from the club. We could hear one another but not our neighbors in the VIP’s on either side of us. “So sweetheart, tell Daddy what you want to do today”. I turned left to look in his eyes, they were a beautiful green, and I began praying that this would be an enjoyable experience. He looked back at me as if he could hear my thoughts. “Here let me get you started.” He reached into his front pocket and pulled out his wallet. It was plump with credit and business cards. The worn leather corners were losing their stitching. He unfolded it and plucked from the bill compartment two crisp one hundred dollar bills. Reaching down between us he slipped it into my g-string, pulling the side of my thong towards him, slightly revealing my pubic hair in the front. I reacted in impulse. I pressed my hand against the front of my g-string as to not continue to expose myself to him. Then I realized, he saw my pubic hair! True, but I have two hundred dollars! I think to myself; wow, that was easy ! I leaned into him and asked, “What does daddy have in mind”? “Well, come on, get up and dance for me, I love this song”. I slid off the leather couch and stood up in front of him, my knees resting against the sofa cushion between his legs. I was feeling uneasy again. I was always nervous at the start of a private dance. When you are attempting to arouse a man, a stranger, by taking off your clothes, it is intimidating at any reward. I learned early that eye contact essentially makes me less nervous. At least when he is looking in my eyes he is not looking at my small tits, or the scar on my ass I got from falling on a trash bag full of glass while roller skating when I was years six years old. Damn scar is right in the middle of my right butt cheek. Men never mentioned it. I was so insecure. My make up, my toes, the pimple on my chin. I was not magazine beautiful and I knew it and thought most other people knew it too. I placed my hands on Bob’s shoulders and teased him with my left breast, which is still in the bright blue bikini I changed into after the lunch rush. He looked exclusively at my tit area as if being hypnotized by the nipple. I secretly laugh. Slowly I twirled my body to the song, controlling his eyes with my body parts. His bottom lip fell unattached from his top one. He looked dazed. I was watching him, he was watching my tit. I noticed his tongue slowly lay across his bottom row of teeth. I grinned at his lustful hypnotic state and pulled back to greet his eyes with mine. He looked up at me and I stared deep into his eyes with my best sultry bedroom stare. The waitress interrupted my opening “act” by entering our secluded compartment to deliver our champagne and glasses for the hour. She passed him the black leather credit card slipcase and I sat down again beside him. He was not bashful to share the bill with me, the Moet champagne he ordered was indeed priced at two hundred and seventy five dollars and the “TIP” text had been highlighted with a neon yellow magic marker so that he would not miss it. Bob added a seventy-five dollar tip and totaled the bill to three hundred and fifty dollars, signing his name; grabbing his card and sliding the receipt case back to her. She took it without looking inside. She placed our napkins and champagne glasses on the cocktail table in front of us and held the white linen wrapped bottle in her left hand. She popped the top on the brown bottle and the cold air coming from the sparkling champagne inside made pretty ice smoke. I lifted my glass to her, and then a bit towards Bob. She leaned in giving Bob his filled glass and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you Bob. You two kids have fun. I will be back in a few to check on you, so be good.” She winked and left quickly. Taking with her the credit card holder and a seventy five dollar tip for doing what I considered to be bullshit. She did nothing. I was passively envious. Her job was over and mine had just begun. We were alone again, my attention turned back to Bob. He gestured for me to sit up on his lap. Now my tits were at his eye level. He started gently tickling my skin with a light finger touch from my knee up to my outer thigh. I raised my glass and drank down at least half my glass of champagne in one swallow. Bob put his ear right between my breasts and rested it there for a bit. It was not long before I had three glasses of champagne, and a buzz that made our little erotic skybox a sweltering-funky-smelling cubicle. It was too dark and too cozy, making me feel over-relaxed and tickled. Bluntly, I was getting surprisingly horny. Bob reached for my nipple and he was gentle. I did not mind, but I was not going to let it go any further than that. I stood up in front of him. He might need to cool off some, but instead he reached out for my g-string, and then he buried his face right in my crotch! He took a deep breathe, inhaling my crotch smell, and I presume finding it to his liking because he slipped his tongue out and completely wet my teeny tiny blue bikini, taking a gentle bite into my pelvic bone. I couldn’t believe it! I yelped, “Oh shit Bob! What are you doing”? He leaned all the way back on the couch and looked up at me, starving for me he said, “But I have something for you”. He reached in between the cushion and pulled out his wallet, out came two more hundred dollar bills and into my garter they went. I was immediately dizzy. I felt great from the champagne and stunned by how much “fun” I were having. I sat back down on the couch to the far corner and lifted my left leg up onto couch, resting my knee on the back cushion. Bob immediately dives down between my legs and begins to feast. His old man tongue was not all bad. I got a crazy head rush from all things combined. I laid my head back on the armrest of the couch and my brain and spirit in chorus lifted out of my body. It was not me anymore. On that day, in that moment, I was a rich girl. Hell I had five hundred dollars in my garter, and this man bought me Moet for just an hour of my time. My ego and my clitoris swelled. I closed my eyes and imagined that all was going to turn out great for me. All the excitement made me dizzy and I opened my eyes. Suddenly the bouncer’s suit and face came in to view. He was standing over my head. He was looking down on me and Bob with an extreme expression on his face. I jumped, shocked and scared, since I was busted. I pushed down and up on Bob’s shoulders so he would stop, but the bouncer touched my shoulder lightly and said, “Hey, it’s cool. I’m cool. This is the champagne room. I will come back in a few”. Oh my God, I was freaked out that he saw me. Bob pulled me close after the bouncer left and assured me that it was no big deal. “This is what goes on up here, all the girls do it”. I was nervous but I believed him. He told me that he had a great time and hoped I did too. He did not try to start again, and we had twelve minutes left in our hour. He did not pressure me; I felt at ease again. We half filled our glasses with the last of the Moet and we talked about his job, his wife, and his children, how he had moved to New York City from New Jersey, but yearned to retire in Florida, in a double wide trailer, with a hot sexy girl. We laughed and Bob surprisingly turned out to be a pleasant guy. He reached in his wallet and gave me another hundred dollars and told me he hoped I had a great weekend. He got up, put his wallet in his pants, stepped through those curtains, and I never saw that man ever again. I leaned back thinking about the six hundred dollars I had just made. I felt great and excited about the money and what I could do with it. I was drunk, extremely drunk. Either I passed out or I dozed off to sleep, but it was not long before the nameless bouncer was there shaking and waking me. He asked, “Are you ok”? “Yes, I’m ok”. “You look like you had a lot to drink. Would you like to take a shower”? Wow, Ok that woke me up. “Yes, a shower would be great”. I tried to seem perky. He helped me up and led me to a unisex bathroom on this same VIP level. He turned on the water for me and I took off my heels. “Jump in and I will find you a towel”. He said, I stepped into the warm shower and I began, through my bikini, to wash Bob and his memory from my body and my mind. I closed my eyes going through a series of crying and laughing and crying again. I was feeling some shame, but I had a ton of cash. The crying I think came from a place where I felt guilty that I did not feel repulsed and guilty. My eyes were shut. I let the water cleanse me. When I opened my eyes, the god-damned fucking bouncer was there again! This time the fucking guy is totally naked and in the damn shower with me. I am loud, “Hey, what the fuck are you doing”? He grabbed my arm tightly “Shhhhh! Shut the fuck up, come on, take care of me”. “What the fuck for”? “Look you Bitch, you made money and I saw what you were doing. Now make this easy on yourself and suck my cock. This way I will not have to say anything about what I saw you doing and you can keep coming back to your job here”. I was angry and confused. I didn’t know how things worked but I did not want to blow it for myself. Cold tile, and chicken-colored flesh, and thick chest hairs. I reluctantly got down on my knees and sucked him off. It was fucked up and disgusting. I gagged more than once. When he was finally done, he stepped out of the shower and I stayed there on my knees needing to vomit and so I did. I threw up until I was sober again. Warm champagne and cum bubbling down the drain. I turned the water to cool and showered to truly and completely wash away the day. I heard the music for evening roll call introducing the night time dancers, and I knew my Friday shift was finally over. I hurried out of the shower, put my heels back on, and found my way down to the basement dressing room to put on my street clothes and go home. In the dressing room the night manager called my name out. I looked up and he passed me an envelope. “What is this for”? I said while ripping it open. “Did u do a champagne room today”? “Yea”. “Well that’s your commission. It’s a fifty-fifty split”. Inside the envelope there was another one hundred and thirty dollars. I had made well over seven hundred dollars for the day. I put twenty dollars in my front pocket and a rubber band around the rest of my money and stuffed it down deep into my bag. I decided at that moment to forget Bob, and the bouncer, and so I did. After making seven hundred dollars in a single day I was completely hooked. Something happens to the psyche and you change. I felt prettier, smarter, glamorous, capable, and confident. I spent the weekend shopping. I bought so many things. I was what we call in the black community, “hood-rich”, meaning I had a few dollars, but no savings, and no intention to save. My mind began to figure, estimate, and calculate. My first week netted me more than twelve hundred dollars, tax free. The way I saw it, I believed, on the conservative side, that I would be making at least eight hundred dollars a week, every week, from now on. Tax free. That was a hell of a salary to me. I would be in a high rise apartment, living a high life, in no time at all. I smoked marijuana as often as possible therefore a twelve hundred dollar week guaranteed a hefty indulgent weed purchase. I also bought clothes, and makeup, perfume, handbags, bed linen, music, books and of course new gear for work. A pair of clear heels took my psyche from amateur to professional. Five inch heels made my legs look longer and gave the illusion that I was a lot slimmer than I really was. By Sunday at six pm the majority of shopping venues were closing and I had only forty dollars left. Easy come easy go. The easy come is what I was relying on now and I was prepared with a new wig, new dress, and my new clear heels. I spent Sunday night gazing at my many purchases, drinking wine, smoking weed, and wrapped up in my new linen. Monday morning I was up early, I loved having new things and I relished in the thought of shopping again next weekend. More than money I enjoyed the things you can do and buy with money. All other mornings I took the train to work, but on that day, I was a rich girl. I jumped in a cab and grinned to myself that New York is the big apple and I am finally getting a bite. Monday afternoons in a strip club is the slowest time of the week. Only real alcoholics and true sex addicts find their way through the doors before five pm. At lunch time I count eight customers in the building. Not a great crowd to have on all my new gear for. I went down to the basement dressing room to change, wanting to save my new outfit for a better crowd. Normally fifteen girls made up the day shift. It seemed twelve of them were in the dressing room. The place was full of women cackling and smoking cigarettes. The dressing room is supposed to be a dancer’s sanctuary. A black and red sign on the door leading down the stairs reads, EMPLOYESS ONLY. This is where the customers were whatever we wanted them to be. The girls ascended these steps to either brag or gripe. An overload of hairspray, fragrance, and boobs. Cigarettes, champagne glasses, and stuffed garter belts. Tan lines, cell phones, and blond hair. The dressing room was a drama within a drama. Money, drugs, or gossip were always on the lips of dancers. Normally there are piles of crumbled dollar bills, often under lighted mirrors on dressing tables, in front of an array of topless beauties. Many smoked and sipped while counting their loot earned during a three song stage set or from multiple dances with their “regular“, or maybe even what they made while “chatting“ with a guy in the champagne room. Cash scenarios were every where but since its Monday afternoon, no piles were being counted. I was a loner in this scene. I did not have a single friend. I was not a shy person but these girls were not easy to get to know. These strippers were not friendly and were extremely self absorbed. Women in general have a hard time getting along. Combine beautiful women, competition, money, alcohol, and admiring males, and you have a recipe for fire! I wanted friends, these girls were so glamorous, yet tough, and I was in awe of the prettiest ones. I always felt inadequate. My boobs were a small B cup and my butt was not round and firm. I had a slim body but many of the girls were toned and had perfectly flat stomachs. I went to my locker unnoticed. I was invisible. I was not a threat to them. Fourteen to the right, all the way around to the left to two, and right again to twenty-one and I was in my locker. Most of the girls used combination locks so they would not have to keep up with a key. Thank God for common sense or I would have stumbled around in the dark trying to figure out simple basic things. The girl who introduced me to this work was six months pregnant. She brought me to this club and helped me get the interview, but failed to teach me anything about the business. I pulled out my nap sack and sat down at a makeup table. I lit a cigarette and pretended to be unaffected by my loner status. I pretended that I liked it that way, but I honestly yearned for a friendly female face to approach and offer me a sisterly feeling I could cling to. I knew I needed advice and training but in this business it was dog eat dog, and no one was going to offer or show me shit. I would have to learn it all on my own. You see, the less I knew: the more they made. I pulled out my makeup bag trying to busy myself and stay invisible. I spent twenty minutes applying and reapplying makeup looking straight ahead into my mirror while ease-dropping on their conversations. No one used their real name, there was a Sasha, Candy, and an Alexis talking closest to me. Alexis was bragging about her boyfriend’s modeling career and how he would be auditioning for Calvin Klein later in the week. Sasha stroked Alexis’ ego and asked why she wasn’t modeling too. She said, “The only way I would ever get on a cover of a magazine is if I spread the magazines out on my bed and laid on top of them!” They all laughed outrageously. Two other girls were talking low together at the next mirrored table. “So if you are: what are you going to do?” she tried to talk in a whisper but I heard her. “I don’t know, I am not sure he even wants this” said the other chick. Abortion time is what I was thinking to myself but I looked straight ahead intensely applying my 3rd coat of mascara. I listened as girls asked each other if they saw so-and-so lately or if they had smelled the new latest cologne. The conversations were so shallow that I wondered why I even wanted to be a part of it. I thought about ordering food to be delivered as many of the dancers did but I was not familiar with the area and had no one to ask. The only person outside of customers that I spoke with was the bartender. Certainly she would know who delivers. I quickly changed back into my teeny tiny blue bikini and a white waist wrap that concealed my butt. I left on my clear heals and headed back upstairs. Planted firmly at the far end of the bar I ordered a double vodka and orange juice. When the bartender came back I paid for a single, gave her a two dollar tip and asked her if she had any delivery menus. She tossed me a huge folder with fifty million different menus, I was relieved. There was enough papers in there to keep me busy till I was totally famished. I slowly sipped my drink and browsed menus for thirty minutes. Time was dragging: the hands on the clock were barely moving. As I familiarized myself with the lunch specials I kept reminding myself that I made only thirty five dollars since eleven am and after buying a drink I better be conservative in what I ordered. The bartender came back and asked if I knew what I wanted, telling me that she would order it for me, and I must pay her, because delivery guys are not allowed past the front door area. I quickly chose a turkey sandwich, gave her eleven dollars and let her take the menus. I sat at the bar now with less than twenty bucks in my garter. I glanced around wondering if there is a guy here now that I can make a few bucks off of. When the club is empty like this it is hard to approach a guy. I always felt as if everyone was watching me. I stayed in my seat and gazed at the television screens above the bar. The televisions were tuned to CNN and ESPN but no sounds came from them. I read the ticker tape that ran across the bottom of the screens. The time was two forty pm. My eyes dropped from the television and I suddenly noticed the bouncer from Friday was behind the bar. My eyes dropped from him immediately but he saw me. I could feel his eyes on me. I was frozen solid. Starring at the melting ice in my glass since all of my double vodka was gone. I had not thought of him all weekend. My brain had erased his memory as if our episode never happened. I felt his eyes on me so I looked back up to the televisions as if I had not noticed him. I could barely breathe and my empty stomach began to knot up. I saw preferentially him leave from behind the bar. I exhaled hard as I dropped my head; looking in my purse for another cigarette. I sucked on that cigarette hard enough to give myself a head rush. As I pressed out my cig in the glass ashtray I saw a delivery guy at the other end of the bar waving to my bartender who was now deep in conversation with one of the three guys seated at her bar. She herself pulled hard on her cigarette. Then putting it into an ashtray she carried with her towards the delivery person. She paid him for the brown bagged delivery from her waist apron and turned around facing me. She began to walk in my direction but before she could reach me Mr. Blowjob Rapist appeared and called her back. I did not look at him. My gaze fell on the bottles that sat upon the shelves lining the back wall of the bar. I pretended to be deep in thought. When she finally approached me with the sandwich I looked past her shoulder and did not see the bouncer. I smiled at her and she said, “Here’s you food hun, but don’t open it yet. You are wanted in the office so just leave it here, I will watch it for you till you come back.” “I am wanted in the office?” “Yes, Jerry the bouncer, says the manager wants to speak to you.” “Am I in some kind of trouble?” “I don’t know. I doubt it, but go find out.” “Okay” As I pick up my cigs, “I will be back in a second.” As I was walking toward the office I am nervous. What does the owner want with me? Maybe, It’s about my schedule? I was hoping to pick up an evening shift or two because as I saw it, the really good money must be made at night. I knocked on the manager’s door where I had entered only once before to be interviewed. It swung open and Jerry the creepy bouncer was on the other side. I forced a smile and approached the desk where the manager was laid back in his big black leather chair. “Well Ms. Summer, seems we have a problem.” His voice was deliberate and negative. “A problem? We do?” My nerves were on full blast and I thought I was visibly shaking. I glanced over my shoulder at Jerry who didn’t look at me. He was taking a seat on the couch that aligned the left wall of the office. He was cool and confident. “Yes we do. Jerry here tells me that on Friday you were in the skyboxes having oral sex with a patron.” Oh my God! I got dizzy and my jaw dropped open. I turned and cut my eyes at Jerry. He whined, “I told you that the manager wouldn’t be happy.” This fucking dirty-ass snake ratted on me even though I sucked his funky-ass dick! I was beyond pissed. The manager spoke again, “Did you have too much to drink Summer?” I tried to think fast. I was side swiped and caught off guard. I thought maybe the manager was giving me an out. I decided to confess to drinking too much, hoping he would allow me some slack since most girls were drunk by the time they left the building at the end of the day shift anyway. “Yes, I do believe that the champagne was a bit much for me and I might have let things get out of hand.” Again I turned and cut my eyes at Jerry. “Well, I was afraid of that. I took a chance on you when I hired you. I normally do not hire girls without experience. Most girls know not to drink till they are intoxicated.” “I am sure you are right. It will never happen again.” “No Summer it wont, I am afraid I have to let you go.” I looked at him in total amazement. Frenzy fell upon me, I was dizzy and couldn’t believe this was happening. “Oh please, I cant lose this job. I am sorry. Please give me another chance.” He explained how he could lose his liquor license and so on and so on. I realized after a few minutes of pleading that it was a lost cause. “Okay. Fuck it, I’m leaving. I understand.” I turned towards the door. I heard the fuck head bouncer say, “Good luck to you Summer.” I walked out of that office embarrassed and crushed. I headed for the dressing room. I did not look around, I forced my tears back and went straight to my locker. I wanted to save face. I did not want anyone to know my termination status. Another bouncer came into the dressing room right behind me. He said, “Who is Summer?” I looked towards him. I was angry as hell, he must have read that on my face. He approached me and said, “I will be your escort to the door, it’s procedure when you’re fired.” You could hear a pin drop in the room. All eyes were on me. I was sure everyone was wondering what terrible thing I had done to be terminated. I dressed as fast as I could and he followed me to the door. I pushed that door open and I was on the concrete alone and betrayed. |
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