Rebeckka Black - Dance to Despair - Memoirs of an Exotic Dancer

It was imperative that I solicited the right kind of customers for this particular endeavor. I came up with a psychological profile of the men that would best qualify. First, it was of paramount importance that the men have low self-esteem.

Fortunately, these were a dime a dozen. Poor self-image was common to just about every man that walked through the doors of a strip club. Secondly, the men would have to possess a good sense of humor, be generous to a fault, and depend-able. Even though I knew that these lunch dates were of a relatively benign nature, the thought of having to spend time with these men outside the club seemed unbearable to me. In order to take some of the pressure off of myself, I decided to incorporate a business partner into my plans. The woman that I chose was a co-worker of mine who called herself Sefra. She was a very exotic looking woman who resembled Cleopatra. Sefra was extremely street smart, and more than willing to assist me in a last ditch effort to get it while we can.

Sefra and I thought up schemes designed to extract as much money out of the customers as possible in the shortest amount of time. Instead of working independently at the club, Sefra and I began to work together, which ultimately empowered us. Like two cats on the prowl, we would comb through the droves of men looking for the perfect opportunity. We developed an amusing strategy that worked quite well.

If one of us landed a customer who fit the profile, we would call the other one over to the party. We told the customers that we were roommates, sexy room-

mates. We would cruise together, arm in arm. When we spotted the right victim, we would sit down next to him and start the show. The men ate up our act. Most of the time we would introduce ourselves as the “screw sisters” or the “kinky siamese twins.” Regardless of how ridiculous or outlandish our come-on was; Sefra and I were able to coerce even the most difficult of customers to spend large amounts of money on us. When we were on the floor, the other dancers didn’t stand a chance. The money hungry waitresses went along with our scams for a sizeable tip. They backed up any crazy stories that we chose to tell our customers.

We usually told the customers that we lived at a nudist camp in southern Indiana, and that we only worked at the club part-time so that we could pay our expenses. We kept them amused with fabricated stories of sexual activities that we took part in at the nudist camp. Sometimes we would invite them to dine with us at the nude restaurant that was supposedly located on the grounds of the camp.

Night after night, Sefra and I double teamed the customers, and made nothing but money in the process. Our business partnership had increased our earning potential by at least fifty-percent. Although we were doing quite well, it took us several months before we stumbled across the right candidate for a lunch date.

One day, when we least expected it, our messiah walked through the doors. Our dream date crept into the club on a busy Saturday night with a smile on his face and a wallet full of cash. His appearance was fairly nondescript, bordering on homely. He was definitely our kind of man.

I approached him shortly after the doorman seated him at a table. I could tell by looking at him that he was easy. I walked over to where he was sitting and introduced myself as Sathen. I smiled and told him that he reminded me of one of my ex-husbands. The customer laughed. “I’m Rudy,” he said, “pull up a chair.” A couple of seconds after I sat down the waitress showed up. She asked the man if he wanted to buy me a drink. He cheerfully handed the waitress a couple of $100

bills and told her to bring me whatever I wanted. After he bought me the drink, I asked Rudy if he would like to spend some time alone with me in the “love booth.” He seemed very interested and asked me how much. When I told him $1,500, he didn’t bat an eye. When the waitress returned with my $200 glass of water, I asked him if he was ready to go have a time that “he would never forget.”

Rudy jumped at the chance. Within minutes, he had surrendered fifteen crisp $100 bills over to the waitress. From where I was sitting, I could see that he had quite a bit more cash left in his wallet. I pinched the side of the waitress’s leg, which was a signal to her to hit the man up for more money. She responded to the familiar cue. Shining the flashlight down her generous cleavage, she seductively brushes her breast across the man’s face. Needless to say, the customer was completely mesmerized by the view. “Listen honey,” the woman said, “how would you like Sathen to give you the ultimate VIP treatment tonight?” Before the man had a chance to answer, I intentionally began to stroke his outer thigh.

The sheepish little man glanced at me and nodded his head yes. “How much more?” he quickly inquired. Before I answered him, I lightly brushed the side of his homely face with my fingers while simultaneously letting out a fake, but convincing moan. “Just another measly couple of thousand dollars honey, that’s all.”

For a split second there was dead silence. The customer took a deep breath. I could tell by the way he had hesitated that there was a chance that he may not go for it. When this happened, I usually offered to introduce the man to my sexy roommate. “Listen honey,” I said as I moved closer to him while strategically placed my hand on his leg, “just give the waitress the money, and if you play your cards right, I’ll throw in my sexy roommate.” Even the most skeptical of customers couldn’t refuse this offer. Rudy took the bait just like I had hoped. “I’m game!” he replied. “Good,” the waitress said. “Just give me the money and I’ll leave the three of you alone for a very long time.” Rudy reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a shiny brand new platinum Visa card. The waitress’s eyes lit up as she slowly slid the credit card out of the man’s small sweaty hand. Now it was time for the waitress and me to try and get a substantial tip. The dancers and waitresses only made twenty-percent of all sales, so we always solicited cash tips for ourselves to compensate for the loss. We usually asked for a couple hundred dollars a piece for starters. This was the tricky part because if you didn’t handle it right, you could very easily blow the whole deal. I always made a point to move as close to the customer as possible when asking for a tip or while they signed their credit card voucher. The close body contact served as a distraction. It kept the men from having second thoughts. In the case of Rudy, I simply put my arm around his under-developed slumped shoulders and told him how wonderful he smelled. Nothing could have been further from the truth. This guy smelled like last weeks dirty socks. Rudy reached into his humble looking wallet and pulled out four $100 bills and divided them up between the waitress and myself.

Whenever a patron chose to pay with a credit card, it was mandated that the waitress ask to see the man’s driver’s license. The driver’s license was then taken up to the bar where a copy of it was xeroxed off for safekeeping. This way the customer could be identified in case there was a problem. The waitress told Rudy that she would be right back with his license and credit card voucher. I made sexy small talk with him while she was gone. When she returned, Rudy quickly signed his credit card voucher. Moments later, I escorted Rudy over to the darkest booth in the room and ordered him to slide in.

“Don’t go away,” I said as I leaned into him, “I’m going to go get my sexy roommate.” The unsuspecting man smiled. He assured me that he wasn’t going anywhere. I found Sefra huddled up in a dark corner with one of her sleazy customers by the name of Angelo. He was a 300-pound Italian blimp that usually only spent $200 on Sefra at the table buying her glasses of water. In other words, he was cheap and refused to go to the booth. I walked over to the table where Sefra and Humpty Dumpty were sitting. Sefra was slouched in her chair with a half lit cigarette lazily dangling from the corner of her perfectly painted mouth.