I’m sitting in this guy’s lap giving him a lap dance. No two way contact but it’s still solid and he’s having fun until we get to the second song and the moaning starts next door.
“Unnnnnnnh unnnnnnnnh unnnnnnnnnhmmmmmm.”
It’s female: a dancer. A dancer is moaning. It’s like the aural equivalent of having to distract my customer from the guy diagonal from us who’s squeezing big handfuls of that dancer’s ass. I didn’t want my guy to get ideas so I sat him over here and now a moaning girl is in the next area. My customer immediately looks distracted; I’m not making that noise so I must be defective: somewhere along the line he got screwed.
“I promise you, nothing is happening in there that isn’t happening in here,” I assure him. I mean maybe she’s getting her ass grabbed too but he doesn’t need to know that.
He still looks longingly at the curtain, from whence the “unnnnnnnhs” just keep coming. Oh my god.
“Do you need me to start moaning, sunshine? Would that make your experience complete?” I want to kill the fool next to me–he was definitely going to go for a third before she started but now I’m not so sure, blocked by the curtain and fueled by the moaning, his fevered brain is coming up with all kinds of lascviousness which, bitchy me, I’m not indulging him in..
He looks confused. I swear to god. People say the purring is cheesy but they can’t have heard fake moaning. At least the purring is quiet and private and doesn’t fuck with anyone else’s hustle.
I try to channel a girl I worked with at a tiny, tragic little dive bar in 2006 who called herself Hot Pocket and always made the most embarrassing noises onstage. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.
“Oh yeah, mmmmmmmyeah,” I start off low in his ear. His expression actually brightens like he believes penetration might not be far behind. “Unnnnh mmmmmmm yeeeeeah mmmmmmmunnnnnnnnnh.” I feel stupider than words can express, mildly implicated by having resorted to moaning myself. He looks less unhappy and cheated, but when the song ends he doesn’t get a third. He pays me and then loiters by the dance area until Moany comes out, and he leads her right back in. Only got one song from her though, and then left, looking more disappointed than ever. There’s no pleasing some people.
1- Lap dances are kind of an ephemeral service, and quality is subjective, but mine probably occupy the (happy?) medium between the dances of when I first started dancing (which were adamantly not “lap” dances–by the standards of 2004 I’m a filthy whore) and the dances the other girls at my club do, and the dances that happen in most clubs in town. Mine are good: not shocking (unless you’re some people), not tame, not terrible or amazing, probably kind of average unless my feet hurt and I resort to neck and shoulder massages–I do have repeat customers who pay me to do that.