the stripper pulp experiment...

Chapter 1



We nighttime girls called the day shift at the club the dog shift. Everyone knows that the ugly girls are hired for the day shift. They usually had to be extra sluttish in order to make any cash. I was confident that my 600-dollar hair extensions, sweet smile and granite ass would blow these "but-her-faces" right off the stage and cash right out of the guys's wallets. It worked well at night, anyway. I brushed on another layer of black mascara and signaled the D.J. that I was ready to go. I asked him to play some Marvin Gaye for me.

The P.A. began to blare, "Let's get it on" and I took my cue, stepping out onto the stage. "…and here comes the beautiful, Marianna! That's right; she'll bake your tamale. Speaking of tamales, gentlemen, don't forget to take advantage of our free lunch buffet over there behind the stage. Yes, we do take good care of you at the Zebra so show your appreciation to your cocktail waitress and of course, the phenomenal and sexy, Marianna!" I was used to this cheesy, racist DJ intro, minus the buffet part of course.

I looked out at my audience and saw only two men sitting in front of the stage. There were five people standing in line at the buffet, but three of them were dancers.

Are they actually eating strip club food? Another dancer named Candy smiled at me before shoving a forkful of macaroni salad into her mouth. I smiled back just to make sure she wouldn't go in the dressing room and try and pee on the lipstick I had left on the counter. You never know about these Dog shift girls.

I twirled around the brass pole and landed on my knees in front of the first guy. He scratched his head and leaned forward with anticipation. Slowly, I untied the back of my mesh bikini top and tossed it on the floor. As his mouth widened in a grin, a piece of stray, fried chicken fell from his lips onto the stage. Hmmm. Attractive. I turned around and bent over to give him the canyon view and hide the look of disgust on my face. Closing my eyes helped me get into the music and I went through my routine.

As the song ended, I crawled on all fours up to the chicken guy. Wearing my most seductive smile I said, "Hey baby, wanna private dance?"

"Is it two for one?" He replied.

"No."

"That's okay. I'll wait."

I opened my mouth to protest but instead decided to give up. I picked up the dollar he had left next to his plate and approached the only other guy at the stage. Before I could even finish my one sentence pitch, he shook his head and said, "No English."

Not a stellar beginning. I tossed my two dollars onto the dressing room counter and slumped into a plastic chair. It wasn't even 1:30 but I needed a drink. Just then, the dressing room curtain parted and the club owner, Fat Mike, sauntered through. Fat Mike was an older Persian man, who squeezed into the same, fancy Armani suit day after day. He had recently bought the club from the previous, Armenian owners who sold it to him for exactly one million. I think he got it so cheap because he agreed to launder their coke money through the club.

He was always very friendly but most of us tried to steer clear of him. He was known to occasionally take a new dancer into his office for a "meeting". I had seen a few new girls go into his office and not come back out for a long time. When they did, they usually didn't come back into the club to work or worse, left crying. No one actually said what happened in there but the rumor was that he had a bottle of Patron spiked with GHB sitting on his oversized, oak desk.

"Marianna!" He cheered and kissed me on the cheek. "I am so happy that you come in day shift! But Why? You do very good at night."

"I'm leaving for Hawaii tomorrow and I need spending cash." I replied.

"And how much spending cash does a pretty girl like you need on vacation?"

"At least two grand if I want to have any fun."

"Ah, but there are easier ways to make that money, Marianna." He began to massage my shoulders with his meaty hands. They smelled like garlic.

"Yes there are but you know I like to keep it clean, Mike."

He laughed and patted my shoulder. "Such a good girl you are. But if you ever want to become bad, well, let me know and I can make you much money, my dear."

"I'll make sure I do that, Mike." I shot him a fake smile.

"You know, you are not supposed to smoke in here, sweetie. It against the law now. But if you want to, you can come back to my office and smoke. Relax and have a drink until more customers come."

Immediately, I put my cigarette out on the dressing room counter. "I think there are some new customers," I said, and walked out of the room.

It was time to make some cash.

"Hey baby, want me on your lap naked?" I methodically worked every guy in the club, from left to right. Not that there were very many. Selling dances was a numbers game, and I would diligently work my way around until one of these numbers flipped and said yes.

"No, thanks," said the first guy.

"Will you do it for ten bucks?" the second guy said. I told him this wasn't a flea market.

I never understood why men never seemed to get the way business works in a strip club. They are supposed to pay, and I am supposed to dance naked for them. It is a very simple concept. Yet, it seems to me that most men think that we dancers are here looking for a mate. Sometimes I'll sit and talk with them for a minute before asking them for a dance. Then they act all hurt and whine that I was just talking to them because I wanted a dance, not because I really liked them. No shit! Whether I like someone or not, I've got bills. I'm here to work. If I were looking for friends, I certainly wouldn't be looking in a strip club. The only friends I'm looking for in here are green and fit in my purse. It doesn't take a brainiac to realize this.

My heart was beginning to sink but then I looked up and saw Bryan coming through the front entrance of the club. Bryan was my regular customer. He has been coming into the club at least three nights a week for the past year and loyally doles out two to three hundred dollars on private dances with me every time. I had called him earlier and told him that I was working the dog shift today. He had found that hilarious and said he would try to make it.

"Bryan, Honey! You made it!" I ran up and gave him a big hug. "Oh baby, you don't even know how glad I am you're here."

"Hey beautiful." He smiled, but I could see that he seemed nervous. Bryan was never nervous. His eyes quickly darted around the place and I noticed that his hands were sweaty.

"Are you okay?" I said, leading him straight to a private dance booth. I could sense the other dancers lurking in the background like hyenas around fresh prey.

"Yes." He said, but I could tell he was lying.

"Let me make you feel better." I sat him down and straddled his lap. Slowly, I began to move my hips back and forth and exposed a nipple two inches from his nose. Usually this made him crazy but he seemed preoccupied. "Hello, boob to Bryan, come in Bryan. Gees baby, are you sure you're okay?"

He looked straight into my eyes and said, "I need to ask you a favor."

"Um. Okay."

"I need you to hold this for me." He pulled a very small key from out of his jacket pocket. "No questions asked. Then I need you to go home."

"What? I can't go home. I just got here and I need to make two grand for my trip tomorrow."

He opened his wallet and counted out twenty one-hundred dollar bills. "Will this suffice?" he said, as he put the cash in my hand. Dazzled by all of the cash, I nodded my head and took the key. I undid the clasp of my necklace and hung the key right next to the tarnished, butterfly pendant that I never ever took off. My sister gave me that necklace. It was a long time ago.

I wondered what the key was for but before I could open my mouth to ask him, he said, "No questions." Then he stood up.

"Don't you want to finish the dance?" I wasn't used to being pushed off someone's lap.

"Baby, you know I love you, but I really can't right now. There is a note that I left in your car that will tell you what to do with the key. After 9 tonight, follow the instructions on the note."

"How do you know which car is mine?"

He laughed and said that he likes to know what kind of car he's been making the payments on. I told him he was a weirdo and escorted him out to the door.

I tipped out the club and grabbed my things out of my locker. I needed to use the bathroom, but it was locked and I could hear two girls sniffing lines behind the door. Candy was checking herself out. She bent over in front of the full-length mirror and adjusted her clit ring. Two small, weighted balls swung from delicate chains that hung from her pierced labia. She noticed me looking and said, "Oh these. I use them for self-defense." she smirked. "You know, you're going to have to use the men's bathroom out there." she pointed out to the public restroom . "Those bitches will be in here for a while."

I decided that I would rather piss my pants than use the public restroom here so I grabbed up my things and walked out towards my car. I checked my 68 mustang over from front to back but I didn't see a note anywhere. Annoyed, I sat down in the driver's seat and called Bryan on my cell. The sound of a ring tone came from my back seat and I almost did piss my pants. What the fuck is that? I grabbed the phone from the back and saw that it was my phone calling it. Written on the touch-screen in permanent marker were the words, "WAIT FOUR SHE NOT."

I sat there for a moment confused and a little scared. Was this the note? How the fuck did he get in my car? However, I was too excited about the two grand in my purse to acknowledge the pang of dread coming from my gut. Aloha bitches! I shrugged off the bad feeling as I backed out. I didn't notice it then, but a black Mercedes with tinted windows silently followed me as I made my way merrily back to my apartment loft in Korea town.

The Good ole’ Days

A long time ago, I used to be a stripper. Some of it was fun and wonderful, some of it hurtful and tragic. I don’t think I was very good at it. Well, I was good at dancing naked on stage, but most of the job is mental and that part wore on me.

After a while, I started putting a lot of stuff up my nose and hooked up with Jimmy, an aspiring internet gay-porn star. We would take trips to Vegas and I would dance at Cheetah’s (yes, I know, eye roll recognized) until six in the morning all coked outta my brain and completely out of it. Not a very safe situation. When I would get to the hotel, Jimmy would wait until I fell asleep, steal all the money, and go gamble. Every night we would have to downgrade hotels. From mgm to the Stardust to Freemont street then worst part of downtown until eventually, I would wear out physically and mentally and we would be out of money and have to go home.

I remember this one time at Cheetah’s. It was about 5 am, I did three dances for this guy, and I was so tired and out of it. I was just grateful that he was well behaved and I was planning to leave when we were done. He held up a 100-dollar bill and asked if he could have a 20 back. I nodded and dug into my little purse for a 20. He crumpled the 100-dollar bill, thanked me as he put it into my hand, and walked straight out the door.

I looked into my hand and unfolded the bill. I blinked a few times before realizing that it was a 1-dollar bill that he had given me. I laugh now thinking that in the state I was in, he must have marked me from a mile away.

A yucky short fiction piece that slithered it's way outta my brain

Ariadne’s Mark

Mark smiled at the server. “A glass of water, honey,” he said. He looked down at the newspaper in front of him. He figured that stupid woman would probably take a year to get him the fucking water. He didn’t even know if she understood English. Didn’t look like it.

A minute later, he noticed her plain, unmanicured finger nails as she set the glass of ice water in front of him. “Thank you so much,” he said. She wearily smiled back while wiping crumbs off the counter.

“Anything else?”

“Not right now, thank you.”

The server couldn’t prevent the slight eye role. The graveyard shift was always full of bums.

It was three a.m. at Norms Diner and Mark was drunk and exhausted from the anger of being fired from his accounting firm. Arri wouldn’t get off work at the club for another hour and he knew that she was feeling tired. He didn’t want to tell her that he got fired for sexual harassment. The only person sleeping well tonight was probably that bitch, import from butt-fuck India that his firm hired as team manager when he had been in line for the position for the past 6 months. He hadn’t seen her standing behind him when he was telling a co-worker that she probably got the job ‘cause Indian bitches suck good cock. Looking down at the stained counter, he tried to focus his eyes on the newspaper but couldn’t keep them from blurring.

Suddenly, the pocket in his slacks began to vibrate. It was a text from Arri.

Made mucho $$
Wana cm gt me?
Miss u babe!
Xoxo-Ariadne;)

He grabbed a fifth of Jack before jumping in the 1993 mercedes to go get her.

Ariadne planted a huge, soft kiss right on his mouth before throwing her bag in the car and jumping in next to him. She rubbed the inside of his thigh and asked him how his day was.

“Fine until I had to sit here for forty minutes waiting for your ass to come out of that hole.” He didn’t mean to sound so angry.

“I know, I’m sorry but this customer came in and wanted two thousand dollars worth of dances! He tipped me another grand, too.” Ariadne beamed with pride. “I made like five grand tonight, baby!” She began to nibble on his ear lobe. She whispered, “ let’s take a vacation to Mazatlan again! You could do me up against the wall at Senior Frog’s and then we could do it again on the shore with the dolphins watching. Remember that, baby? That was magic. You’re magic, my love.”

She reached for his cock, visibly disappointed that he wasn’t erect. He winced, as normally he’d be hard as granite right now. Sometimes he couldn’t get over the fact that she made so much more money than he did. Especially since he had a fine, college education and came from a good, middleclass family.

“I’m sure you made it worth their while,” he said, as he peeled out of the strip club parking lot. He noticed her eyes sadden as his words came out with a slight, sarcastic sting. He took another swig of Jack. He didn’t mean to sound so angry.


Back at the apartment, Mark grabbed a fistful of Arri’s thick, long, black hair. She was working furiously on him. Using both hands to force him even deeper into her mouth. She knew that’s what he liked best. He pictured it was his bitchy, slut supervisor going down on him. Having no choice about it. Suddenly, pain shot through his cock as Ariadne had gotten a little too carried away, raking his skin with her teeth.

“You dumb, fucking BITCH!” The back of his right hand came down hard on her porcelain cheek. She fell on her side yelping like a small puppy. He had never hit her before. He had never hit anybody before.

“Oh my God,” he said. He instinctively reached out to help her up.

She shrunk away from him, her eyes as black as her hair. Some blood ran from her lip, staining the white carpet. She reminded him of Snow White.

“Get AWAY from me!” She screamed.

“No. I didn’t mean to…” He put his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down, but holding her firmly so that she couldn‘t run away.

“HELP!” She was hysterical. Trying to fight him. He wished she would try to understand. He held her even more firmly.

“No, Shhhhhh! No! You don’t - Just shut up for a second, okay!” He reached out to help her. To calm her down. To make her listen. He fucking loved her for Christ’s sake! She wouldn’t stop. He had to make her be quiet before the neighbors heard her screaming. “Shhhhhhh.” She was being quieter now. He realized his hands were locked around her throat. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

He held her now quiet head in his lap. Her eyes were bloodshot and frozen in a look of panic. Her tongue was swollen and blue, forcing itself out between her lifeless, red lips.

Tears wouldn’t come even though he knew that he had extinguished one of the most beautiful lights the world had ever known. He didn’t mean to get so angry. She would have made him the best banana pancakes in the morning. She would have kissed him gently and told him how everything would be all right. She was a rare jewel. She was the type of girl that would do anything for her man. Anything.