Another night, another crowd of people, mostly regulars. Down and out people looking to drown their sorrows in liquor. Some drowning lost love, some drowning lost money, lost mortgages or lost jobs from their memories.
Since this recession hit, we get more than our share of the lost jobs patrons. How in hell they can afford to drink themselves stupid without a paycheck is beyond me. Some come to cheat on their wives, hoping to get laid, some businessmen bring their sleazy clients here hoping to make a deal and show them a good time.
Looking at myself in the mirror, situated in a dark corner of my dim lit little hole in the wall room, I notice the tight pants accentuate my crotch in all the right places. Women and men both look at those things, it makes me tips, it pays the rent in this miserable place. The landlord calls it an efficiency, I call it a dump. Hell even the cockroaches and rats moved out a long time ago.
Grabbing my bag, I make sure the tank top shirt I chose has all the right glitter, not too little, not too much so as to look cheap. One never knows who they will be giving a lap dance to for extra money.
Lately I've spent a lot of time fending off Lauren's advances to me. I've only been working the bar for a couple months, but the owner thinks she can have her way with me anytime, anyplace. She'd have a lap dance every night in the back room if she could. She implies if I want to keep my job, I need to play ball with her. I need this job. I don't mind playing ball with her, I just don't want her playing with mine.
Whenever I go to the store room for more alcohol, she's right there, behind me, pressing her big tits into my back and grinding her crotch into my backside. She even tries a good reach around every chance she gets.
I work a bar that features big girls as pole dancers. Lauren calls the patrons 'chubby chasers', maybe so, but the women, big or not, are beautiful, with their big breasts hanging down, wrapping themselves around the poles. They bring big money too. Eager drinkers stuff enough money in their g-strings. I want to be up there, making big tips in my pants.
I haven't convinced Lauren to allow me to bring guys to pole dance, not yet anyway, but I hope to be her first one.
