It was a slow Monday night. Girls were dangling from bar stools, smoking cigarettes, and rolling their eyes as guys sat on perv row tipping crumpled dollar bills. I was engaging in small talk with a 30-something from Wisconsin. Let’s call him Tyler. As I opened my glossed mouth to ask him for a dance, a tiny blonde suddenly walked toward the table and looked at him.

“Hey baby…” she said adjusting her mini cheerleading skirt. “Are you cheating on me?”

“Oh, uhh no? Just talking with Jessica. You two know each other?” Tyler asked.

“NO.” I said giving her the look of death.

“Well you should get a dance with both of us,” she said putting her hand on my head. “Two hot blondes..”

I pulled away so her hand fell to her side. I kept glaring.

“I know you are an ass man,” she said lifting up her skirt, “Look at my ass.”

I looked at her size 2 ass and laughed. “You consider THAT an ass? You have nothing on me sweetie,” I said lighting a cigarette.  I said nothing more.

“Umm I’m ok for now, maybe later?” Tyler suggested.

“Ok..bye-eee,” she said and walked away.

I looked at Tyler. “I swear to God if that bitch ever pulls that shit again, I will fucking kill her,” I was enraged.

“I thought she was nice. Are you a little jealous?” he asked.

“No. It has nothing to do with jealously baby. Please. That bitch has nothing on me. It has everything to do with Stripper Etiquette.”

Stripper Etiquette is basically an unwritten rule book commonly known by strippers at most clubs across the country. Here are some of the basic rules dancers follow and if they cross the line, watch out. We can be cool chicks, but fuck with our money, and you may wind up with the fishes.

The Territory: If a dancer is sitting with a customer, that is her customer until she walks away. Under no circumstances can any other girl go over and sit with that man or try to hustle him. THIS IS CRUCIAL. The only exception is if the dancers are friends and even then, the friend must be invited into the conversation.

The Stage: Most clubs frown upon girls hustling guys who are sitting at the stage. Don’t do it. It’s rude to come try to get money out of a guy when he’s already giving it to another girl who is sweating her ass off in seven- inch heels. However, if a club does allow this to happen, a classy dancer will encourage the guys to tip the girls on stage while she’s sitting with them. If he’s easily giving the performer dollars, he will most likely buy some dances.

The Tag Team: This can get complicated. Some girls like to work in pairs, some don’t. Being fair is key. If two girls are with a guy and he gives them money, it should be split down the middle, period.  It does not always happen this way. Some strippers get greedy and forget the importance of friendship or even good business. The stingy stripper may have an extra $300, but she will no longer have a partner in crime.

The Door: There are doors all over the club with girls going in and out of them constantly. If a dancer has etiquette, she will hold the door open for another girl that’s behind her. If she doesn’t, she’s basically saying, “Fuck you, bitch.” This is especially true when the girl with the door in her face is carrying a thirty-pound bag of stripper gear.

Simple rules. Easy to follow. Funny how many girls forget or simply don’t give a shit.


I was always told a lot of dancers in Vegas are into girls. I was disappointed to find most only are when they get paid.

Posted May 7, 2010 · 12:19am

I was always told a lot of dancers in Vegas are into girls. I was disappointed to find most only are when they get paid.


Strip clubs in Vegas are fickle. All of a sudden a dancer will go to work, clear stilettos in hand, to find the management completely revamped within 48 hours. Even a club’s name may change every couple years along with the ownership. Penthouse is now Crazy Horse III, Seamless changed over to Déjà vu Erotica Lounge. This club is being sold to this owner, and another sold to a corporation. It’s never-ending and for whatever reason, may it be money laundering or solicitation of the female flesh, Las Vegas strip clubs still survive and pull in insane amounts of money.

Certain clubs sell overpriced bottles of alcohol like it’s going out of style. Dancers are actually put on a list based on their bottle sales. The girls do not get a commission, just gratitude. Other clubs simply have drink requirements, such as: you must buy at least two drinks in the VIP, etc, etc. Regardless, that’s how the clubs make most of their money.

Then there are the girls. In an average Las Vegas strip club there will be at least 150 to 300 girls working on a Saturday night. We have to pay something called a house fee, which is basically a rented space in the club. We pay to work. House fees range from 65-$150 depending on the establishment. No, we do not get paid by the hour and yes, with so many girls, it is very competitive.

All the money a dancer makes is straight money-cash. Dirty, sweaty, titty-fucked , green money. And in these clubs it talks. After any given VIP, a dancer is expected to tip the VIP host, if a customer forgets - the cocktail waitress, the DJ (unless you want to be completely harassed), the bartenders, the cashier cage clerk, the house mom, and even the managers. On average, a Las Vegas stripper is looking at anywhere from $100-$500 (depending on how many VIPs she does) out of pocket, that she does not take home. A dancer technically doesn’t have to tip anyone. But in this business, if she doesn’t tip, she will risk losing her job and being treated like dirt instead of gold. 

Some managers are straight pimps. Certain girls will give them a percentage of money made while the managers “hook” them up with supposed high-spending clients. This is a choice on the dancer’s part and not forced. 

We don’t have schedules. In Vegas, strippers go to whatever club we want, whenever we want. The only requirement is that the dancer is already hired and she pays her house fee. We come and go as we choose. We don’t have a boss. Meanwhile, management is there to make sure the club is halfway stable; that customers are not destroying anything, but are still throwing wads of cash at cocktail waitresses for more booze. There are also doormen and bouncers who deal with the insanely drunk on a nightly basis.

In all of this madness, these clubs operate somewhat smoothly and a lot of people get rich. Vegas is a corrupt city, the strip clubs are definitely not exempt from that corruption. Your wildest fantasies or the raunchiest shit you could possibly imagine has happened in a Las Vegas strip club. Trust me, I’ve seen it, heard it, tasted it. And it all happens 24 hours a day.

I sin, but I’m not the devil. I’m bad in all the good ways.

Posted May 5, 2010 · 1:58pm

I sin, but I’m not the devil. I’m bad in all the good ways.


Men come to Las Vegas from all over the world to indulge in three things: gambling, substances, and, of course, women. Naturally, any man can blow his wad on delicious bare bodies at various gentlemen’s clubs across Sin City. Believe me I know, I’m a stripper. In this industry, a dancer experiences all kinds of men. And no, men are not all the same.

As much as I try to avoid stereotypes, men from different places behave in different ways. Canadian and British guys are always gentlemen and are never broke, east coast guys are kinky and have ass fetishes, southern guys love women with curves who talk about guns, and then there are the infamous dudes from Los Angeles. Oh yes, L.A. guys. Where do I even begin?

They travel in packs varying from 5 to 15 men coming from San Diego, Orange County, and the City of Angels itself. They all wear white collared shirts with jeans, drink cranberry vodkas, and huddle together in dark corners. Most the girls that walk by the VIP booths are denied entry into their sausage fests, even though men usually come to strip clubs for girls, right? Yet, L.A. guys don’t want girls. They really want each other.

It was Saturday night and the club was packed. I entered a booth occupied by five Angelinos. I met one that looked like an Italian version of Nick Lachey. He was hot and so were his friends, but I was a little thrown off to find I was the only stripper in the VIP booth.

After dancing for Nick Lachey, I looked over to find his bro giving a drunken lap dance to another male friend. They gripped each other wildly, arms around one another, and laughed while giving each other high-fives. “You don’t want her,” one said pointing at me and speaking to Nick Lachey.

“Let me give you a dance, dude. Oh my God, my dick is so hard. Feel it.”

“Naw, dude, that’s OK. I’m cool,” said Nick Lachey completely embarrassed.

“You need to get these guys out of here,” I whispered in Nick’s ear.

“Ugh, I know. They are really drunk.”

This interesting display of bromance was not the first. I started to notice a pattern among these tanned meatheads from SoCal. Could it be they are tired of pussy and trying to prove that they are not? Or are they so marinated in the land of plastic that real sexuality between a man and a woman is now passe?

Being born and raised in Long Beach, I am concerned about the homoerotic behavior among these hairless, manicured men in the context of a club carrying female tits and ass.

Another evening, I sat and talked to two Mexicali guys from Anaheim. We secretly pitied their friend who had just married his fiancee in one of the sad little chapels on the strip.

“Yeah, my marriage is cool though,” one of the thirty-somethings said.

 “How do you keep it that way?” I asked.

“Well, I like to watch her fuck,” he said.

“I’m sure you do. Every guy loves to see his girl with another girl,” I said.

 “No, she doesn’t get with girls.”

“Oh, OK. So she…” I hesitated.

“I watch her fuck other…”


“Yeah, I love it.”

“Umm, OK.”

I asked him for a lap dance but he turned me down. As I try to avoid the inevitable, I am not the only dancer witnessing this phenomenon. I hear other co-workers complain as well.

“Anything out there?” Veronica asked while I dug through my locker in the dressing room where dancers hide out.

“Well, there’s a group of six guys, didn’t you see them?” I asked.

“Ugh, those snobby motherfuckers from L.A.? They were so into rubbing each other’s elbows and drinking their cranberry vodkas, they wouldn’t even give me the time of day. I can’t stand L.A. men. Why do they even come here? They hardly ever get dances or VIPs. I swear to god if they didn’t have wedding rings on I would think they were gay.”

Believe or not, dancers actually warn each other when SoCal is in our establishment. We are tired of being rejected, tired of “dude”, and tired of hearing about how it takes only three hours to drive to Las Vegas from L.A. It doesn’t, it takes five. But most importantly, we are tired of L.A. men acting gay. If you’re a straight man and you live in Southern California, please be a gentlemen to Las Vegas strippers and buy a lap dance. Otherwise be true to yourself and go to Chip N’ Dales.

You can find this and other posts about LA’s sex scene on

Sometimes I worry I’m an addict. Then I remind myself I’m simply comfortable in my own skin.

Posted April 30, 2010 · 1:59pm

Sometimes I worry I’m an addict. Then I remind myself I’m simply comfortable in my own skin.


It seems so silly. Bodies dry humping while girls twirl around and smack their ass. Yet, when I’m dancing for a man I transcend into another state. The body as an instrument, not a thing. I don’t grind like a monkey or yawn in routine. I climb all over his chest, breathe, almost kiss just enough to smell his pheromones then pull away. 

Men say, “It’s torture. You are just a tease. Why would I pay for that?” Yet they keep coming back for more. That’s the thing. The torture, the exchange of energy, the denial of what you really want is one of the most erotic experiences the body can endure. Like Jenna Jameson says, “Coming is just the period to the sentence. There are all the words in the sentence that make sex and being sexual so amazing.”

Sometimes I’ll refrain from sex and masturbating for two weeks straight on purpose, go into work like a heathen, and have orgasm upon orgasm just from that energy alone. You get good. Really fucking good.

Strip clubs are where you have the opportunity to enter into another demension. Where the lines between fantasy and reality gets blurry. I’ve fallen in love, out of love, had passionate fights, and got so angry I imagined some bleeding to death on the cum-stained carpet. It’s intense; those nights where I feel like I’m floating and I leave work not remembering a damn thing (and it wasn’t just the vodka.)

So come with me, come on. Don’t be scared. We can be animals, thoughtless creatures, circulation and emotion…then you can go home and fuck the shit out of your wife. After being with me, she’ll be in for it.

It’s really hard (to have a relationship); it’s not easy, because men are intimidated. I do everything I can to make the guy comfortable; I do not swing from chandeliers, but my business breeds insecurity. I am lucky because I am engaged now, and he is really secure. In the past, it was nearly impossible.
Jenna Jameson
What’s it like being the object of desire? Fucking fabulous.

Posted February 11, 2010 · 10:04am

What’s it like being the object of desire? Fucking fabulous.


They are young pseudo thugs. They wear long chains with fake diamond medallions, backwards hats, and their arms are adorned with multiple tattoos of snakes or friends they’ve lost. They attempt at ghetto speak, but have nothing on the real pimps who visit the club. 

They are Stripperizers. Men who perpetually date strippers and then wonder why their relationships don’t work out. They frequent strip clubs and know every girl on stage. Yet, instead of understanding the industry as a fantasy that one pays for, they consistently try to date the fantasy, have a relationship with the fantasy. Little does the Stripperizer know, the fantasy is gone once we pay our rent and put on our sweats and slippers to go home. 

Stripperizers are bewildered when they find their scantily clad boo with addiction problems, tempers, multiple children, baby daddy’s, etc. Rarely do you find a stripper who does it just because it’s fun. We all have our reasons. That money is buying something other than more sexy lingerie and trips to Hawaii. We are buying liquor or cocaine or diapers or paying off student debt while we sleep in mom’s basement.

“Yeah I’m here to see my girl L.A.” said a customer named Jake.

“Oh, I see. You always come to see her?” I asked.

“Yeah, you know she’s my girl.”

“Yeah yours and everyone else’s darling.”

“Naw she’s my lady. You know.”

“Oh? Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah. We’ve been seeing each other for a lil’ bit. I came down here to see her dance. I used to see this girl over at Honey’s but we broke up recently. She was crazy. Forreal.”

Another Stripperizer named Q came in with his new girlfriend Sasha one night to get lap dances.

“Yeah Sasha is my girl. She dances over at Sugars But I used to date this other chick that works at Deja Vu downtown. She went wild on me one night and I was like fuck that dog.” 

Some have retired from the dating world of dancers. Kenny, an ex-Stripperizer and obvious addict, was done after his last girlfriend disappeared.

“She up and left. I have a feeling someone offered her a lot of money. She was a greedy bitch. You know? You all are crazy. So fucking insane. I used to love it, I loved the partying, the money you all have, the beauty and sex. Shit, then once I saw my ex cracked out on meth and giving blow jobs in the parking lot I was done.”

“But wait. We aren’t all like that,” I said defending my profession.

“Maybe not. But the ones I dated were. And even if you aren’t on drugs, you are a temptress, flaky, always moving different places. You all have your deals. It takes a certain type of woman to be in this industry.”

And I couldn’t argue with that.