I lose control one cold rainy night in a North Beach, San Francisco club.
*
I don't think I'm especially attractive. I mean, walking down the street, I don't sense that strangers turn their heads and look at me and see a beautiful woman. Of course, the way I dress has something to do with that. When I'm out running errands, I wear my hair in a pony tail pulled through a ball cap (Now that I'm in San Francisco, either a Giants or a 49ers, depending on the season). I usually wear a loose grey or blue sweat shirt, and loose jeans and sneakers or sandals. I rarely wear make-up, perhaps a bit of lipstick and eye shadow, but nothing fancy. So, as I say. I don't usually generate much attention -- I just do my business and move on.
I could attract attention if I wanted to. I mean, I do have a nice body. I have an attractive face, with a nice smile. My tits are 36C, natural, with nice big nipples. (I've thought about getting my nipples pierced but just haven't gotten around to it). I keep in shape by going to the gym three or four times a week, and watching my diet. I'm between boyfriends right now, but the ones I've had have liked the way I look, especially when I dressed in a club outfit, you know, a halter top, a short skirt, no panties, shaved, or at least neatly trimmed bush. So, I know if I dressed the part and acted in a flirty manner I would attract attention.
I don't need attention when I'm running errands because I work at getting attention at my job. I work as a dancer in the sex industry. I occasionally turn a trick or two, but I am not an escort. That just seems a bit too risky for me. Besides, I like the feeling of being in charge when I'm on stage. I pretty much get to call the shots and determine how I interact with the customers. I've learned how to deal with them, to make them feel comfortable, and special. The guys (and the occasional woman) come in for a good time, and to be entertained. I show interest in them, and they reciprocate with money. It's a good deal all around -- they get what they came in for, and I make a decent living.
I got my first taste of topless dancing at spring break in Florida. I went with some sorority sisters from our college in Milwaukee. We had a wild time. The second night we were drinking cocktails at a dance club. I think we were drinking sex on the beach, but they could have been long island iced teas. Whatever they were sure did the trick. We were dancing in the dark, crowded club, and I kept rubbing up against this one guy. I didn't know him but he had a nice athletic body. We got pushed and jostled into a dark corner. He separated from me for a few seconds and then he lifted my skirt a bit and I felt his cock between my legs, rubbing against my wet panties. I leaned over and pulled my panties down, kicked them aside, pushed back on his cock and started to fuck, right there on the dance floor, in time to the hip hop music. Before the end of the night I had fucked two other strangers and sucked one more off, his cum filling my mouth. The next morning, during my shower, I shaved my pussy, something I had been thinking about. I was glad I did because that night some of us danced on the bar in a club and I enjoyed watching the guys looking up my short skirt. Two nights later, more or less on a dare from my sorority sisters, I entered a wet t-shirt contest. I finished third, partly because I stripped nude, showing my newly shaved pussy, and won $50.
On the plane trip back to Milwaukee all I could think about was how much I enjoyed being topless and then nude and dancing in front of a cheering crowd. I felt like I was in control. I could take my t-shirt off, or not, wear panties, or not, bend over and show my pussy, or not. It was all up to me.
Later that spring semester I tagged along with some guys as they celebrated a friend's twenty first birthday at a topless club in Milwaukee. I got talking with one of the dancers and within a week I was dancing two nights a week at a small club in one of the southern suburbs. I made pretty good money, and dropped out of school at the end of that semester. What could I do with a degree in psychology anyway- I was applying psychology every night I danced.
I've been dancing five or six years now. I'm an independent (no agent) and I move from city to city as the spirit moves me. I started in the mid west (Milwaukee, Chicago), worked my way down south (Tampa, Mobile, New Orleans), then west (Gallup, Phoenix). I've been in California for about a year, the last three months in San Francisco. Clubs are usually looking for dancers, and it's pretty easy to move from club to club.
Whenever I start at a new club, I have to learn what is allowed and what is not. For example, in California, some clubs are completely nude, but only if they don't serve alcohol. If drinks are served, the clubs are topless. Of course, in some topless clubs, a dancer can get completely nude if the manager is comfortable with the local authorities. Lap dances in some clubs are rather chaste affairs, with more dance than lap. In other clubs, the lap dances get more intimate, and the patrons can take their cocks out and even get tit-fucked. So, a dancer starting at a new club has to learn pretty quickly what the local rules are.
When I first came to San Francisco, I worked at a club owned by women, actually a co-operative. It was fun, more of a peep show, with guys standing in booths and feeding money into a slot to raise a curtain so they could see two or three of us dance. Sometimes I went into the fantasy booth, and did dildo shows. Guys would come in and feed a twenty into the slot and I would start to work. If I timed it just right, the curtain came down before I really got into it and the guy would have to put another twenty in to get to the good part. I usually faked orgasms -- you know, the moaning and groaning and writhing you see in porn movies. Sometimes, I actually did have an orgasm -- mine tend to be quiet, but intense, but obvious to the guy watching me. I'm not sure what triggered me to have a real orgasm -- it wasn't an everyday thing, and it didn't seem to depend too much on the guy watching me. After all, he was behind a pane of glass.
I worked there for about three months, and then moved on. Most of the women there were queer, and quite aggressive about it. I don't mind it -- it's just not my thing, and it got kind of tiresome. Besides, I began to notice the best assignments, the late Friday and Saturday shifts, were given to the women most openly queer, and friendly with the management. For the last three months, I've bounced from club to club, some nude, some topless, in the bay area, making enough money to get by, having fun and seeing a few regular customers.
All of which leads me to the point of this little missive. A few weeks ago, on a cold, damp Sunday, I started working in a club in North Beach. As a new girl, I knew I would get the slow days to start, and this Sunday, about two weeks before Christmas, started really slowly. There were four of us, and we took turns dancing our three songs apiece. For my first three sets there were only three or four people, men, sitting alone, in the room, and they all seem preoccupied with their beers. After my dances I put my top, a red lacy thing that matched my tight boy shorts and strutted around the room, stopping at each customer, but they didn't seem to want company, or a private dance, which is how we make most of our money.
A new customer came in while I was on stage for my fourth set, an older man. I guessed he was about 50, gray hair beginning to show at his temples. He sat right by the stage and looked up at me with a mischievous smirk. I danced over to him, turning my back as I unhooked my bra. I turned and bent over in front of him, letting the bra slide down my arms, showing him my tits. Damn, I thought, my nipples were starting to get perky, and I started to feel the familiar but still faint tingling in my pussy. I danced away and as the third song ended, bent over to pick up the two dollar bills he had laid on the edge of the stage.
"How are you doing tonight?" I smiled at him, hands on hips, still topless, nipples still perky.
"I'm doing great, never been better," he said, still with his cute little smirk.
I went down the three stairs of the stage and through the curtain separating the bar area from the tables surrounding the stage. I walked through the bar, still topless, and went into the ladies room and put myself back together. On a hunch, I changed into my black outfit, a g sting and halter top.
"Damn, its quiet tonight. I hope it picks up." Jill was a thirty something dancer, with a body hard from weight lifting. She was on next and was arranging a black lacy top over her silicone-enhanced breasts. She looked great for a mother of two. I had just met her that night but she seemed nice enough.
She left to go on stage as I freshened my lipstick and eyeliner. My nipples were still perky -- what's up with that, I thought as I left to make my rounds of the customers.
The guy was still sitting at the front of the stage, nursing his beer, watching Jill as she finished the first song of her set. I walked over and tapped him gently on the shoulder.
"Would you like some company?"
"Sure."
"Want to move to a table?"
"Sure." He got up, put a couple of bucks on the stage for Jill, and grabbed his pint glass. He followed me to the corner of the room. The seating there was sofas backed into the corner, and much more comfortable than the chairs around most of the other tables. We settled in and the waitress came. I hadn't really met her yet, but she was efficient and brought us two pints of draft beer.
"You changed your outfit. I like this better - I've always liked black underwear on a woman."
"I'm glad I changed. I had a feeling you might like the black."
