Tori

At the end of my second shift at the club I was summoned by a young black man for a dance. He wanted a dance with me and another barely legal stripper, Tori. He liked 'young perky tits'. Tori informed me that this was her first night. It being a slow night and me being an idiot I made a comment about the night being abnormally slow. I suppose I said it to comfort her. She looked so young and I didn't want her to be depressed over the lack of money I assumed she had made.

Turns out she had years on me concerning the sex industry. Over the next couple of weeks we talked. I think we were the youngest girls there, and that helped us instantly bond. We couldn't have been more different. She was a former prostitute, high school dropout trying to escape her abusive pimp and make her own money. I was a Georgia Tech student first time stripper.

She wasn't all that bright from what I could tell, but she had a past. She was so blase about the things she had done. One night she had asked me if I would 'fuck for money'-I told her that I would consider it, but it would depend on the money. She told me it was easy. "Usually the johns are really small so you just lay there and moan, (accompanied by sex noises) and you can't even feel it. They usually finish in like, five minutes." Here was this girl, younger than myself, talking about fucking strangers for money like most people would talk about the weather.

After work sometimes I'd drive her to various hotels. Hotels that would be accommodating the fake moans and small dicks. Usually we'd eat at Waffle House beforehand, and talk about silly shit. She was a funny kid.

Sometimes I'd feel bad for her, she was very pretty, gorgeous even. She was tall and thin and I used to wonder if she could have been a model. Not that the life of a model is any better , just more glamorous on the surface.

I quit without telling her, and I haven't seen or talked to her since. I still think about her a lot, and I wonder why Tori, a relatively small part of my life, made such an impact on me.

Shaking

I had an awful night at work on Friday.

I had the bright idea of buying some caffeine pills, you know, because I'm too chicken to snort coke off the toilet seats at work. So I took 2 before work (400 mg worth). I figured they would make me peppy and friendly. Well a few seconds into dancing for my first customer of the night, he commented that I was shaking. I was, and at that point I realized maybe controlled substances aren't the best way to make it through the night. I was so worried I was going to pass out on main stage, my knees kept collapsing beneath me, and I was breaking out into a cold sweat. I rested a little, and somehow managed to make it through the lame excuse for a night.

I also ran into two guys I went to high school with, and to my surprise they knew who I was. One of them won the title of Homecoming King junior year. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

People under the age of 30 suck, at least in the strip club environment, or any environment where the exchange of money for goods and services is concerned. After I sit and talk with you for nearly an hour, don't hand me a fucking dollar and expect me to get down on my knees and suck your dick. It's a dollar, you didn't fucking make my night. Fucking kids.

I stopped by Waffle House after work; it's a new tradition of mine. Unfortunately it was pretty busy (at 4:30 in the morning), which always makes me feel awkward. Especially when there are crowds of young people. I'm in my street clothes (obviously), but my face is caked with stale looking make-up, and I smell like a homeless shelter, or what I imagine a homeless shelter smells like, seeing as I've never set foot in one.

When I got home I was hit with an intense wave of depression, which I'm guessing was caused by the various substances in my system, which were wearing off. I popped two sleeping pills and dozed off to an infomercial about a quick cooking convection oven.