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Stripped

Tales of the naked city, from a Las Vegas dancer.

July 11, 2008
For prostitutes, life is just a (lucrative) fantasy
May 27, 2008
Dancer/UNLV student not stripped of point of view
June 11, 2008
Money-grubbin’ strippers: It’s nothing personal
June 7, 2008
Dalliance with coke a bad idea
June 5, 2008
No Cirque, but Soleil gives solid advice on overcharging

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December 2, 2008
Hey Mom, check out the action in the VIP room
December 1, 2008
Stripped of sound reasoning on Black Friday
November 29, 2008
A stripper thanksgiving: Adult films, tears, and a customer surrendering to the retch
November 26, 2008
Reminiscing about a giant, toucan-like meat beast
November 22, 2008
Inevitably, Mr. Cognac Breath resorts to violence

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September 2, 2008 · 9:17 PM

Dirk Diggler not one to party with

By Justice

Illustration: Justice

I met a woman at the bar of a strip club while I was working. She was in civilian clothing but told me she was a stripper at another club. She was stunning. She had black hair and green eyes that were bright in the low light. She didn’t look like a stripper, though. She didn’t smell like one, either. Instead of cheap body spray that is as common on a stripper as a G-string, she’s wearing designer perfume.

The artificial fruitiness of cheap body spray turns my stomach. Good perfume shouldn’t smell like a cherry daiquiri. She said she had been in the business for 11 years and that she was 37 years old. She looks 25. Either that, or the light is really low. It is impressive, either way. I wonder if I can get away with as much drinking as she is doing and for so many years while still retaining such a youthful appearance. I ask her the secret of eternal youth, and she shares it with me but I know how to keep a secret.

Perhaps followers of this blog remember that I had an encounter with a strip club owner we renamed Dirk Diggler. Well, she works there at the place where Dirk Diggler haunts the dark hallways. “Oh my God, did you go out with him?” she asks me. It would make sense for me to be asking about him, I suppose. “Maybe I did. Did you?” I ask her. I neither confirm nor deny the truth of the matter. She says she had never dated him but had partied with him. I’m not sure what that means. She bought a lap dance from me after our chat. She did smell really nice.

Upon Googling Dirk Diggler’s real name, I found a thread in a forum talking about his (future) club. A stripper calls him a pee-on with short-man syndrome who would probably love a golden shower. I got that vibe, certainly. In the hallways, behind the scenes at Strip Mart, Prince Diggler knocks on the wall three times with his fist. “These walls are sturdy.” I don’t know where he was going with that comment. “So that no one can hear a scream?” I ask. He was not interested in my jokes. “Sturdy, not soundproof.” Maybe he’ll make improvements?

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