Casually Compromised - Book 1

Barbie

For a minute the trio enjoyed their camp site, feeling comfy for split second until one of them left the pack and entered ringside.

To me there's a kind of unwritten rule in strip clubs, sitting by the stage means you part with the cash, you're in prime hello-thank you zone.

I always figured if you're on the ring you'd best be ready because they will be coming for you.

Ringside is what you see in every pop culture movie portrays in a club experience- shimmering lights, chrome metal bars and mirrored floors. A girl dances on a pole doing with eyes of seduction, gyrating herself into positions you've never seen before. Thrusting and moving in a way you thought impossible.

If you're lucky she leans in violating your personal space searing the moment in your mind. Or better yet she'll bounce her hips side to side while making the most extreme eye contact you'd ever experience.

Your wallet cries out to you, time to put a dollar in the string.

It was frightening just how much I had processed about the club experience. Like a new client in technology, I was hellbent on studying the problem. What was the problem here?

In a blink I viewed the ringside action. A beautiful girl twisted on the stage in a series of dance moves.

All this for a dollar?

How did this happen in today's society? We pay $7 for coffee but 3 minute show of what is likely the finest piece of ass you'll ever see and its a dollar. Its like the strip club is encased in old world norms. A time hardened industry.

Why change it if its working? That's basically the bat signal in the world of eager technology disruption. Truth be told, the sex worker industry, this specific slice of it, stripping- was ripe for a revolution.

Sometimes a man would stand ringside, as if asserting himself on to the stage, more evident that the cash he had was ready to be released from him. This man, this customer was here for that girl at that time.

He was an honored pledge.

Occasionally a man would throw dollars at a dancer. Making it RAIN!! The girls would say. This was about as powerful as orgasm itself.

Men were largely disarmed in this environment. They loved the notion of control but you're losing it in here. A girl could sneeze and a mans brain would register it like a nuance of delight. Oxytocin cared little for the type of input, it was all perceived as sexual bonding material.

In here, you were disarmed, foolish, reckless and welcome.

Ringside was dangerous I thought to myself. Not so much that you'd part with cash, that was the purpose of ringside but you'd upped your odds of getting a drive by "you wanna dance" calling card from the girl you had tipped three songs ago potentially oblivious of what you had done.

Sure to you it was a dollar and even then it wasn't like you came here to count cash, who knows what you gave her really? But the reality is, you gave her a notion. Girls remember their marks, you tipped them, but they marked you.

She would be back.

There was also the factor of how you tipped them. Did you make them beg for the dollar, and strippers don't beg btw. They'll often endure your bro'mechanics of supposed control, but they don't beg.

My clients begged. WallStreet begged. Society, oh it begged hard.

If you tipped with a smile, you're definitely getting a drive by later. Tip with a laugh, or better yet you make them laugh and you're definitely getting visited.

...

Barbie passed again.

This girl was a cash register.

She was short, petite and kinda new, I hadn't seen her before.

A Dallas cheerleader I thought to myself holding a picture of her in my mind. For a second I debated her personality- but what could you really tell in glance, in a stride, in that outfit? Could you call it an outfit? Leopard skin panties and a blue top, that was an outfit?

I debated judging her but then I figured in a few minutes she'd be judging me, and so goes humanity.

She seemed to make round trips to the back dance rooms every other song. Always with another man in tow. Big guys too. Who doesn't love a dish?

She had an expressionless face giving out a kind of sigh as she dragged the man behind her with an invisible leash. No expression of joy, this was flat out work, period.

She rounded the back of the main stage, darted past me and toward the ATM on the way to dance town.

What was she thinking?

Like, I'm here to check in this luggage for a bit, then its back on to processing another bag. Despite having no expression she was quite attractive in that cheerleader persona I had initially set aside for her in my mind. But it was starting to fade as she was out to check as many bags as possible.

Early on she checked me out- "hey honey do ya.." she'd say as if to read my luggage tag, big guy, bourbon, harmless.

"I'm good." I replied, giving her that nod that this bag was already claimed.

I was easily claimed.

Nothing would phase her. She was on a mission.

Happy shopping!