Lola Smirnova - Twisted

A few days after the birthday party, Natalia victoriously walked into my room and said that she’d found the club for me. I felt relief, but only until it was announced it was a peep show. Her scrambled explanation of what it was and why she couldn’t find me a normal cabaret shocked me.

‘Jul, the upside is that you don’t have to cram yourself with bubbly every day… it’s an even better option!’

No shit! A better option?!

The idea of revealing my fanny in public repelled me… It is one thing to dance on the stage, at least three meters away from the clients, and take your panties off to the final chords of the song, while modestly keeping your legs crossed. The peep show is a completely different story. It is a gynecologist’s room where, besides the doctor, there are another seven freaks with affectionate interest staring at your pussy…

Why? Why? Why Nata? Why did you do it to me?

There are five girls besides me working here: one Ukrainian and four from Hungary. It takes me by surprise, because I never saw or heard of any Western European girls working in the cabarets. Why, then, the peep show? It’s a place that all the girls, including me and my compatriot and new colleague, Vlada, are scared of and scorn as a shameful honky-tonk. It takes me some time to answer.

It’s simple. All the girls dance on the drum, one after another, for four minutes each; so, we have a 20-minute break between our turns, which we spend in the waiting room with couches and a TV, a small kitchen with a fridge, and a shower. The working shift is long – twelve hours. So, we are allowed a one-hour break during the day.

Besides the systematic performing, we also give private shows in a separate cabin, which is a small room with only two chairs facing each other, separated by a glass wall. If a client likes a dancer on the drum, he can call her for a private show – €30 for ten minutes, of which €10 goes to the club and €20 to the girl. Besides that, there is a salary, which is an equal share between the girls and the owner from the €2 coin collection. In the private cabin, everything is allowed with only one restriction – the invisible barrier between the participants.

At first, I am bogged down in denial, fed by my complexes and fears.

This place is nothing but a sick zoo. I will linger here for a month and then Natalia will help me to find another cabaret.

While our pride makes Vlada and me cover our pussies on the drum, and we don’t get even one private dance the entire week, the Hungarian girls manage to do up to ten private shows every day, sometimes even more. Each time they pass by and glance over at our Ukrainian-cheerless couch while rushing to their next private dance, they wear these half-pity-half-snooty smiles on their faces.

Dirty sluts!

Okay, it takes me some time, but eventually I get the picture… the Hungarians are making the same money as we do in a cabaret. Probably even more, not only without sexual intercourse or even a single touch, but also without drinking their asses to death while someone fucks their vaginas and brains. (As we already know, 99 per cent of the cabarets’ clients first bonk the entertainer’s cerebrum before they decide to buy the bubbly; then, if she is lucky and the expenditure is done, her pussy too.) Here, any kind of contact is excluded, except for visual communication.

Yeah, I know… I’m slow, and could have made this scientific breakthrough on my first working day! I probably shouldn’t smoke pot…

So while we Eastern Europeans think that the peep show is a vulgar and dirty place to work, the smart women, like the Hungarians, are squeamish about champagne bars and actually have a very well paid and germ-free job.

I start watching them. They use different wigs, and often choose some accessories for the costumes, like a policeman’s hat, French maid’s apron or kinky collars and handcuffs – and, more importantly, sex toys too. They’ll do anything but be modest or conventional. They are not ashamed of opening their legs wide or coming loud, while getting carried away by self-stimulation on the drum or in a private room.

Eventually, I get tired of it. Someone is constantly making money in front of my face while I bitch and moan and keep my net sales miserably low. First, I visit a local sex shop and buy some seductive lingerie, lubricant, one small-to-medium-sized vibrator, and another black, considerably sized dildo.

I don’t even know if I am going to use it, but the satisfier looks so naughty that I can’t resist…

My new purchases help immediately – I am called for a few private dances and get some appraising looks from the Hungarian girls.

Still, there is a huge difference between my earnings and the Hungarian girls’. I decide to fight my shame and open up my legs more, so the men can properly see my moist, pinkish slit. As a result, my sales increase by 20 per cent and Vlada stops talking to me.

But when I begin to relax totally on the drum and enjoy myself – I’m talking about self-stimulation with, sometimes, a happy ending – my income jumps by another 50 per cent. And with time, I even manage to score a few regular customers – potential paedophiles who love my extra-small body size and flat chest.

Since starting the peep show I feel like a cosmonaut who is getting ready for a moon landing. Twelve hours a day, every 20 minutes, the same routine and movement while turning on the drum… over and over. It’s like the movie Groundhog Day . The constant rotation makes me nauseous and dizzy. After my shift I climb into bed and close my eyes, but my head is still spinning, making me feel sick. I even end up throwing up, until a few days ago one of the Hungarians took pity on me and advised me to get some pills, which helped at least to take the spinning-in-bed symptoms away.

The constant repetition and the long working hours don’t help me to keep my spirits up. In moments of deep self-pity, and with a strong desire to break the cycle and walk away, I remind myself about one customer I had while working the day shift in Sexy Girls…

He was about 60, tall and thin, and worked as an auto mechanic. His hands were always dirty; he smelled of sweat, as if he’d never been in the shower; and his mouth had a set of yellow stinky teeth, which often smirked on his badly dented and tanned face. He always ordered one regular Coke and stared at the big screen, covered by constantly moving genitalia. If I was really persistent, in exchange for a piccolo and right by the bar, he would dig my pussy with his two fingers, scratching it with his nails, under my skirt, so nobody around would notice…

These revolting, vivid images always help me to appreciate what I have – no, what I don’t have – to deal with while working at the peep show!

There are plenty of upsides to this new, unusual employment (yeah, as if drinking and fucking some freaks is a usual kind of job) , especially my relative sobriety.

I don’t drink, and have stopped going out after work, because the long hours and the stress of all the exercise make me quite disciplined. I’ve forgotten when I last used heavy drugs, including cocaine. The only reward that I allow myself is the joint that I draw on every night while lying in bed (I was lucky to get a tiny, cupboard-sized room with space for only one bed, so I don’t have any roommates to complain about the smoke), with the lights off, watching the smoke curling through the street glow, melting in my happy – oh, and usually very coherent – place.

I have another pleasant surprise when I work out how much money I’ve made, considering my absolutely useless beginning. In three weeks I made the same amount as I made in the cabaret in a full month. Without a doubt, I decide to stay at the peep show for the next month, and am really looking forward to seeing how much I can make using all my newly acquired tricks and skills together with my open-minded attitude.