Added: Teodora Alameda - Date: 11.03.2022 00:54 - Views: 42974 - Clicks: 6539
Antonia Crane has been stripping for roughly two decades. When we asked her for her wildest bachelor party stories, Crane, never one to peddle in bullshit, got more real than we could have ever imagined. In short, Vegas hated me. Greasy managers hinted I was too fat and too Female stripper stories. Defeated, I flew to Los Angeles to visit my then-girlfriend, Cross.
While she worked as a piercer during the day, I hit the streets of Silver Lake to window shop. A man ran up to me after he made the correct assessment that I was a person who took her clothes off for money. He asked if I would work a bachelor party that night. This was before cell phones, Facebook or swiping right.
I was simply given an address and Female stripper stories time. He asked me to find another girl. I also remember Mindy snorted fat lines of coke with one of the guys and then rode on his shoulders around the house long enough that I was worried he would drop her. I recall stepping out into the incandescent L. Atty and I were to split a cab and go work a bachelor party together after we made a couple hundred bucks.
Afterward, we could come back and work until 4 a. The bachelor party was above Bottom of the Hilla rock club in Potrero Hill. By the time we showed up around 10 p. Bottom of the Hill was already packed with punks drinking beer in Doc Martens and studded denim jackets. Mike, the owner, found us and led us up narrow snaky stairs into the secret bowels of the club.
My band had played several times here, but I still had no idea there was an apartment upstairs. I asked Atty if she wanted to watch the band for a minute. She agreed. We stood together in our stripper outfits and insanely tall stilettos, perched high enough to easily see the whole show. We were completely smashed against two guys in front of us. Next, the two guys got in a fistfight, which led to the entire crowd fighting and the singer stage-diving into the crowd while still holding his microphone.
The crowd followed him onto the street where he sang outside. We moved with the mob of people onto the street into punk mayhem. We heard sirens. Cops littered the street. We hailed a cab and sped away from the scene. We were panting in the cab from running and laughing. When I moved to L. She was the one who got me the gig and knew the lady pimp. To keep the lie plausible, I dressed like I was going to a catering gig and slipped my sleazy outfit in my barkit bag to change into once I parked at the location: a dreary L.
I changed clothes in my car in the parking lot. I hid whipped cream, low-rent titty-clamps from Pleasure Chest and a vibrating dildo again, nothing fancy in the glove compartment of my shit brown Chevy Disco Nova.
I was supposed to meet another girl who was scheduled to do the show with me, sight unseen. The other girl, a skinny, cute brunette who was empty-eyed and bored, was already there. I told her we could if we washed them. I guessed they had already asked her for a girl-girl show. We decided on a mutual-masturbation show. We pushed two twin beds together, pulled off the ugly orange bed spread and got busy making out and undressing one another.
They wanted a sex show and were attentive but in a creepy Female stripper stories quiet, angry and drunk.
One took a phone call and Female stripper stories outside. Doing the show in the disconcerting silence of a room full of drunk guys sitting around was awkward as well as the fact that the girl seemed just as vacant and unhappy to be there as I was.
The hour dragged like I was waiting for my to be called at the DMV. When I got dressed and left, I felt more depressed and alone than I had in a long time. We shook hands, and I changed into my pretend catering outfit in my car and drove to the nearest ATM. During this time, no one ever knew where I was when I did shows except for Spike, my gay BFF who insisted on being my bodyguard for a bachelor party in Lancaster, California.
Lancaster was pretty far away: 70 ish miles. We listened to music and chatted the whole way there.
I brought music and was happy to have company for the trek. We made good time but had trouble finding the place.
We drove around and around until we realized the address was in a trailer park. When we found the correct double-wide, we pulled over and laughed hysterically. We walked inside to a room full of vets. One guy was missing his leg from the knee down. Another was limping.
All of them looked tattered and torn and much older than they said they were. This was a blue-collar operation, and I knew I was going to be leaving with the bare minimum. Spike just stood against the wall with his full-sleeved inked arms crossed, looking tough. The bachelor tried to kiss me and asked me to do more in the bathroom. Spike refused any money from me, and when we left, he rolled his eyes and carried my speakers. We drove in silence all the way back to L. Once upon a time in a strip club in New Orleans, a bachelor Female stripper stories went too far.
A guy got too smitten. I got too lonesome. I believed the fairy tale of romance, and we both got swept away. I was stripping at the Penthouse Club and was sitting with a group of guys who were having a destination bachelor party. No eye contact at all. But Paul was different. I took his and called him the next day. I was in a downward spiral, reeling from the loss of my mother, who died from an aggressive cancer.
I was in grad school and struggling to get by. I had no one in my life to have sex with, but the thought of getting pregnant hounded me.
The bachelor was in his late 20s and cute, well-dressed and polite. His eyes were glazy and wild. I spoke to Pete, the best man. Then he handed me 40 bucks. I asked for 10 more. I took the bachelor, Sean, to the back and learned more about him.Female stripper stories
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All the Crazy Stuff I’ve Seen as a Bachelor-Party Stripper