You’re Bitching Up The Wrong Tree

Okay, visitors here know in a past not so distant life ago I was a bartender in a full nude strip bar. Many of y’all still ask me why. Why? The money was great and the scenery wasn’t that bad either. As well, many (not all) have judged my morals or judgment in career options, mostly I was told how I glorified the world of stripping when strippers are really disgusting slut whore beasts and are the lowest form of human on the planet, right after the douchebags who go to strip bars and pay to see naked women dance in their face. Yes, I simplified it for y’all, forgive me, but I never understood how or why people judge strippers. Strippers strip for whatever reason, I’m not real sure how many of them want to shake what their momma gave them in front of strangers for money. But, I know for a fact that there are reasons women strip, every single one of them has a reason. Some of those reasons have been explored here in the past, and I always get told that I’m very biased because I “lived” in their world too long while working as a bartender. How can that even be true or make sense.

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I thought that since I received this great example from an angered reader who wanted to reach out with her own information that this would be the perfect opportunity to take another moment to discuss choices of employment, perhaps motivations, and of course to glitzy lure of stacks of cash. In a moment, y’all will read the email I got yesterday explaining to me that I needed to be more clear to people so others who do strip or want a career in stripping have information so they don’t get fucked, literally. As far as my past posts, they are my own personal experiences OR experiences that were shared with me by real life strippers while I was a bartender. And, look people, again knowing from personal experience, some of the choices for employment are harder than others. So, read the email below, catch back up with me afterwords. If you ask me, the writer/sender was/is a stripper and got burnt somehow, I would assume she sued or attempt to sue her place of employment because one of her patrons tipped her with information instead of dollar bills. Just my humble opinion.

Begin email———————————–

1. Strippers, exotic dancers, showgirls, lap dancers, peep show dancers, & erotic entertainers are EMPLOYEES of the club they work for.

Stripping is a J-O-B. Strippers will never be independent contractors. It doesn’t matter if the boss calls a stripper an independent contractor or if it’s a term she applies to herself.  The reality is that the way strip clubs operate, the strippers working in can only be employees. It’s because management must exercise a certain amount of control over working conditions or else there would be chaos. Some might argue that management creates more disorder with their policies than order. Management need to figure out which dancers are going to work on any given shift; how many shifts there are in a day; how many hours each shift runs; many decide what dancers may wear at work; how many dances she perform on stage, and so on. The reason why strip clubs misclassify strippers as “independent contractors” is to dodge their employer obligations. The irony is that clubs say you’re an independent contractor but actually treat you like an employee.

2. Strip club employers must pay all their workers minimum wage, at a bare minimum.

Strip club employers must also pay into social security, worker’s compensation, employer taxes, & a slew of others good things that workers in any other industry are guaranteed as employees.  Personally, I think that strippers should get paid far more than minimum wages.  After all, not every chick is willing to take her clothes off in front of random strangers & gyrate on their laps to arouse them!  The management like the money strippers make for their business, but they don’t want to pay these women for their labor.  THIS IS ILLEGAL.

3. State labor laws state that it is illegal for an employer (here, the strip club owner) to take any portion of his/her employee’s (here, the stripper) tips.

To add insult to injury, management charge strippers for the privilege to work!You know:  those stage fees, quotas, commissions, piece rate system, locker fees, booking fees, etc, etc…. It’s also illegal for employers to require strippers to tip other employees (DJ, House Mom, Manager, Bartender, etc).  Management minimally pay non-stripper staff and expect strippers to underwrite the remainder of their wages.  Why are these fees-to-work illegal?  Because strippers earn their money through tips that customers provide for them.  Strippers use their tips to pay management these illegal mandatory fees. THIS IS ILLEGAL. Lets review by answering the following questions for yourself.

Were you misclassified as an independent contractor while being employed as a stripper?

Did management fail to pay you minimum wages while you were a stripper?

Did you have to pay management to work while you were employed as a stripper?

If you said “yes” to one or more of these questions, your labor rights were violated. Take action to assert your labor rights!

End of email——————————————-

**** On a very special note. The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog has not, will not, and cannot provide any legal advice. Visitors of this blog should consult with their own lawyer for legal advice. The information provided was for informational purposes ONLY. I claim no legal knowledge in regards to topics discussed here. Now, you’ve been warned and informed motherfuckers! ****

In reality I don’t care what people do with their lives, how they spend their money, or who they choose to see naked. I can, however, say that every single person who walks through the door of a strip club (employee or patron) has their own reason for being inside those walls. I mentioned before, my goal was to make money, as much as I could as fast as I could. Now, having a 8-5 job during the day and then working another 8+ hours afterwards as a “part time” sucked, I won’t lie, it made for long days/nights. As well, it was a 42 minute drive for me personally which racks miles up on the vehicle as well as adds just a few more hours each day. Yes, once at work the scenery, in general, was pleasant. The work environment was a bit weird because my involvement with the business of the club were pretty nil. I did, however, meet some very nice people along the way while I worked there, I’ll leave that part right there. Want to know more just read around this blog a little and you’ll see what I mean.

Getting back to how I or what I write about glorifies the occupation of stripping, because, lets face it together, I get accused of never writing about anything but strippers using their nakedness to separate men of all ages from their money in the shortest time possible. What y’all have got from me is the brutal honesty, not the fucking fairytale la la land some people seem to live in. I guess my point is simple, working as a stripper is what it is, it’s a choice someone makes, and often enough people get judged because in someone else’s opinion it was the wrong choice to make. Trust me, I’m 46 years old and still get grief from my mother because I bartended in more than one strip club over the years. “How can you do that to your wife and treat her without respect by working at a strip bar?” is my favorite question to date. My wife only had one dislike about me working there and that was the simple fact that I was getting in after 1 in the morning day after day and I was tired. I was tired and didn’t want to do anything except hang out around the house, I was a big fan of not going anywhere or not doing anything. In the end, it was my wife’s opinion that made me want to quit in the first place. She asked me to quit one time, and I made it happen that day. On the flip side, all joking aside here, she was the one that said I needed to get a part time job to fill some time, make a little money, and get out more. In fact, it was a friend of a friend of a friend of one of her co-workers that my wife gave me the number to call for the job. She was informed, the moment I went to the interview, that it was at a strip club. Her answer was it was decision either way, but told me I knew I could make some serious cash if I took it. Yes, she does not about my past life, not that it was talked about much.

Luckily, at the place I worked, everyone was an employee, we all had health coverage if we chose, we could participate in the 401k, they were workers comp compliant, the whole 9 yards. However, indeed, a portion of my paycheck was dependent on bar sales, door sales, and stripper tips. Yes, now I’m the bad guy. No, it wasn’t my rule, and nobody fought it, it was just the way it was I guess. But, they did not pay to dance, they did not have fees except for one, which was if you were scheduled to work and you were a no show/no call, you were given three days off without pay as a warning to be more courteous to your coworkers. It mentions minimum wage above, um no, how the average stripper was making from $18.00 to $23.00 an hour, plus tips, plus dances, plus whatever the hell else they were doing on the side, if anything. Again, I’m not defending the industry itself, merely where I worked.

Oddly enough, during the mere course of writing this post I have received 4 more emails “scolding” me for being a sinner, supporter of sinning, and indulging in the slavery which we collectively call the “sex trades” since stripping somehow falls into that category. Maybe I truly am blind, somewhat oblivious to the blythe which is that of the life of a stripper. But, wait….. for….. it….., I don’t care, I really don’t, I don’t care what people do which their lives. Well, that’s not altogether true, I do care that I contribute a large amount of my paycheck to pay for others to sit at home on the crack pipe, on the xBox, or on the porch, instead of them getting out and getting a fucking job. We’ll talk about that another time, I read a study recently that the average person on a combination of government service programs average about $19.20 an hour. Like I said, lets get back to that another day. My mere connection with the stripping industry is purely coincidental, meaning we would work in the same building, all of us dependent on the very steady stream of people entering the neon lit establishment we called a strip bar.

But, I understand, the easy thing to do is to judge those doing things we don’t agree with. We should just be happy people are out working instead of sucking on the welfare titty all day. Until we as human beings stop looking at the opposite sex with lust in our eyes there will always be a place where we can see the opposite sex naked. Have y’all been on the internet later, have y’all seen what y’all have been searching for, and y’all call me the pervert?  Again, another post for what people’s perversions are. Your choice, fucking hate me, if that gets you though the day, great, just fucking hate me. Meanwhile, I will give you something to think about, my final thought here today. All strippers have a story, a life, a family, and although you detest their industry or them as people, just remember it takes guts to strip in front of strangers, it takes courage to get out there to earn a living no matter what your craft may be. Before we get all biblical on me, remember, I don’t by into it, so in reality it’s a major waste of both of our times. But, as usual, I will get the emails, the comments, and so forth, and I will post here on this blog the ignorance that is spewed. There is no justice in the world, we all know it, sometimes we decide that instead of running away from life, we jump on that old hag, dig the spurs in deep, and ride her until that bitch throws us or we tame the beast. Your choice.

Random Callers Are The Best

Over the past week I have been getting phone calls on my cell phone, no big deal since it is the only way you are going to talk to me unless we are face to face. Not only is it my “home phone” number but it is also my work contact phone number. Needless to say, I get allot of phone calls from numbers I don’t know personally, and since it is used for work I usually answer all calls. In the rare occasion I choose to ignore your call then it is for one of two reasons, either I’m busy or you have an out of state number. Typically I’m not hiding from phone calls, you know, like bill collectors, in that regard I seem to have lucked out. Anyway, usually, unless you are my employer, and you don’t leave me a voicemail, I’m not going to return your call. You called me, leave a fucking message about what you were calling for or I consider it not too damn important. I’m just saying. 99% of the time people call, don’t leave a message, but then text me, which is even better. So, this Houston number keeps calling, so finally last night answered it, my gift since in the 11 times they called me they left no message, well I say no message, they would let it go to voicemail just long enough for them to hang up after silence, giving me a voicemail icon to go check only to hear NOTHING. When I answered the call I also recorded the call, the following is a transcribed text version of what was said.

Me: Hello

Caller: (crickets)

Me: Hello

Caller: (more crickets)

Me: HELLO MOTHERFUCKERS HELLO!

Caller: Excuse me?

Me: Look motherfucker, you keep calling me, what’s on your mind?

Caller: Please wait…….. (places me on hold)

Me: Really? Call me, put me on hold, and make me listen to Kenny G? You fucking suck balls!

Me: (2 minutes into it) Hello?

Caller: (after I was on hold 6 minute) Is this Mr. Scorpion? (used my real name)

Me: Yes. Why?

Caller: Can you verify your mailing address?

Me: No. Why?

Caller: We need to verify who you are. Address please?

Me: No, I need to verify who you are. What company are you calling from?

Caller: Sir, before we can continue this conversation we need to verify your identity. Can we proceed with your address, street number first?

Me: No, we cannot. You tell me who you are and what you want or you can go fuck yourself.

Caller: Sir, we are trying to identify you are the person we have in our records.

Me: Well, what do your records say? If you get it right I will tell you, deal?

Caller: Sir, it doesn’t work this way. Address?

Me: Well, ok, thanks for calling, we’re fucking done here.

Caller: Please hold……..

Me: What the fuck! (I ended the call)

Within 30 seconds my phone is ringing once again, same number.

Me: What in the fuck do you want?

Caller: My name is Ann, I understand we are having problems identifying you so we can move forward.

Me: What in the fuck are you talking about? Who are you Ann?

Ann: I’m the manager here, you were speaking with Rebecca earlier, she mentioned there is a problem with you cooperating with the identification protocol and I have taken over to assist in the process.

Me: Why in the fuck are you calling me, repeatedly all week, twice a day, every day, never leaving a message? Can you tell me, is this part of your fucked up protocol?

Ann: Sir, look, we are a company hired by Ford Motor Company to gather information about the individuals purchasing experience.

Me: I didn’t buy anything from Ford.

Ann: Our records show you recently purchased a 2014 Ford Mustang, is that information correct?

Me: Yes, but I bought it from a Kia dealership, it is a used Mustang.

Ann: Yes sir, we understand that you didn’t purchase it directly from a Ford dealership, however your purchase records are forwarded to Ford for many purposes like factory warranty and statistical reasons.

Me: Ok, why all the cloak and dagger bullshit, why not identify yourselves first, then ask me questions?

Ann: If you would so kind to verify your address for me sir? We show you live at the following address (she tells it to me). Is this information correct?

Me: Yes, it is correct.

Ann: Your phone number is xxx-xxx-xxxx?

Me: Isn’t that the number y’all keep dialing?

Ann: Yes sir. (followed by a dramatic pause)

Me: Are we done?

Ann: No sir, we have been trying to talk with you to see how you are liking your new car.

Me: I like it fine. Anything else?

Ann: Is this your first Ford purchase?

Me: No

Ann: (after a long pause) If you don’t mind, would you like to share what other Fords you have purchased in the past?

Me: Look, I’m in the middle of cooking dinner for my family and myself, is this really necessary? Yes, guilty, I like Ford, Ford is great, if I was a woman then this Ford Mustang would make my pussy all dripping wet.

Ann: Sir?

Me: Ann?

Ann: Sir, you caught me a little off guard with your last comment. You are aware we record these conversations for training purposes, correct?

Me: Yes

Ann: If I told you that in our appreciation for speaking with us that I have a paid trip to offer to you, would you be pleased to here about it? All I need to finalize this package is to ask you a few more questions. Can we continue?

Me: So, Ann, the entire purpose to this phone call was to politely tell me that my information was given or sold to your marketing company for other purposes than to see if Ford makes me weak at the knees?

Ann: Sir, I assure you that we received your information legally.

Me: Buuuuuullllllllllllllshit Ann.

Ann: I would like to tell you about your complimentary trip now if that’s ok?

Me: Sure, why not, hurry up, dinner is almost done, you got about 7 minutes.

Ann: Las Vegas or Atlantic City?

Me: Vegas

Ann: I have two first class round trip airline tickets, a rental car voucher for the 7 days you and your spouse will be in Las Vegas, it is good for up to $150.00 per day. Included is a preloaded Visa with $1500.00 for gas and other expenses. You will be staying at the MGM Grand with two free meals for two each day of your stay. You and your spouse will each receive $200.00 in house chips for use in the casino. Any questions?

Me: Yes, I don’t fly.

Ann: Meaning?

Me: I’m not going to fly to Las Vegas. Period. I don’t fly.

Ann: I’m not following you.

Me: Skip the flight, I’ll drive. a rental will be cheaper on y’all any way.

Ann: Please hold…………

Me: Noooooo…….. Fuck……… Bitch……..

Ann: I have checked with the booking agency, those arrangements can be made for you to accommodate your needs. You’ll need to visit our office to pick up your package, the changes can be made at that time. When would you like to pick up your package so I can schedule your appointment?

Me: Saturday is fine.

Ann: Perfect, I will put you down for 8 am, will that work for you?

Me: Sure

Ann: Please be sure to bring two forms of ID for you and your wife to the appointment.

Me: Does my wife need to be present?

Ann: Yes sir.

Me: Can I get the address?

Ann: Actually, we are not allowed to give that information over the phone. Please provide me with your email address. I will send you the information described above, please print to bring with you, and the address to claim address will be included.

Me: Anything else I need to know?

Ann: No sir, we hope you enjoy your new Mustang and your trip to Las Vegas.

Me: So….. we’re done?

Ann: Yes sir, enjoy your dinner. (Call ended)

So, I did get the email as she discussed. But, and its a big fucking but, the address is at the corner of an open field and an abandoned business. First I googled it so I knew where I was going. Unsettled by what shows in google maps, I sent my future son-in-law there this morning on his way to work, he confirmed that there is nothing there except the building being torn down. When I called the number that had been calling me I got no answer, just rings and rings. I have called several times, nobody’s home. Hmmm, seems like the pile of bullshit just keeps getting deeper and deeper. The email came from donotreply@mailmixmail.net and when I emailed it back it just bounced with a server reply that the email is not valid. No shit Sherlock! I also contacted my cell service provider to put in a complaint of the number and I was told it isn’t even a valid number. Fuck it, block it anyway.

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What have we learned? Well, after wasting 18 minutes of my life that I will never get back, I have found this is another reason I dislike giving out my phone number or email address to anyone for any reason. Trust me, your information is being sold, traded, or given away whether you consent to it or not. Personally I don’t think it was the Kia dealership doing it on “purpose”, but records of the purchase with my personal information were only given at the dealership at the time of purchase. Who really knows any more, really. I can’t wait until these gigafucks call me back to inform me I missed my fucking “appointment” or to follow up with me. Then it will be time to have fun. I will assume they will not call, but that’s just my opinion. Any of y’all have any good phishing stories? I have a special place in my heart, which is black and cold, for telemarketers and professional phishers. Y’all suck you bunch of troubled fucks! Get a real job, like a third party bill collector or something respectable. With that, I’m done, think I’ll put up a sign “Gone Phishing” and take the weekend off.

The Big Lights In The Big City

I’ve yet to use all the stories in my little black notebook, but I have to take pause from it on occasion since I still receive great email entries to my Bartender Stories in my email inbox on a pretty regular basis. Sometimes, I get intrigued enough to skip the newest ones to the head of the line. Today is your lucky day, today you get a treat, y’all haven’t had a Bartender Story in a long while, so today that is what you get. However, even though this will be a Bartender Story entry for the purpose of tracking and filing, it also has a Magic Weekend scenario as well which is twisted into the story quite aggressively. The story will actually begins with the Magic Weekend portion and quite rapidly turns into a Bartender Story. Oddly enough, I am still finding out that I’m still part of the “network” of friends of friends of friends who I knew in a past life. This particular story comes from an 18 year old young lady who had just graduated high school and was, or so she thought, faced with the difficult choices of what to do with her life now. Sure, she would like college to be her next step, but is faced with paying for what she wants. She also has friends of friends of friends, as she finds out one night at a party she was attending for her on and off again boyfriend. She soon found out she was invited, but unfortunately not as a date, but by co-friends of the boyfriend that she still hung out with. And I suppose that is a good place to begin, the couple of days prior when she got the invite. I will be telling this story in third party orientation, meaning, I will tell it in my “voice”, but bear in mind that it is after reading her email, and continuously referring to it, it will just be easier this way.
So, three days prior to the party Adrienne received a text from one of her friends in an expansive circle of friends, inviting her to a birthday party of her time and again boyfriend that she didn’t know if she had got from him or not. Well, she hasn’t got any invite from him, in fact its been a while now since she has heard from him, she has pretty much dismissed him as someone in her past now. But, she will go to the party. She knows she will be the youngest person there, as she would go to these same kind of parties since she was sixteen. She replied, and said she would probably be there, not to see him, but to just get out and have some fun. She finished getting ready for her job, a job that pays the bills, but not a job she wants much longer. She mentions that she grew up in the southern suburbs of Houston, and has found that there aren’t too many jobs for an eighteen year old female with only a high school diploma and no real skills to speak of. She would love to be able to get an instructor position at her local yoga facility, yoga is what she really knows, that and dancing, she loves both. But, can’t figure out the economics of making either of those work out for her financially. So for now, she works at Twin Peaks, where she makes nice money in tips if she is willing to work on the weekends when the other girls want off to go party. She always is available, but not for this coming Saturday, she just hopes the party and break will be just that, a break and a great party. She worries most about the drama, if there will be drama, and she will regret the night altogether, she has talked herself out of going a dozen times or so, but has finally decided she will go, get fucked up, get laid, and have a good time. Now she has a mission, next is to figure out who her next victim will be, she uses the word “victim” loosely, but reminds me that she just needs the hard sex, not another drama filled “relationship”. As the week has now passed, she woke up Saturday morning wanting to hit the mall, she wanted to do a little shopping to get her something new, something that just might attract a little too much attention, something that will get her what she wants.
She shopped for a few hours, did some heavy flirting with some heavy, heavy petting at this one store, she decided that the little skirt and top would do just fine, that sixteen year old boy begged her for her number, he wasn’t quite done, everyone got all worked up in the changing room and she just walked away, she got the reaction she was looking for. Once she leaves the mail she decides to go ahead and spend the extra money at the salon, get her hair done, get her nails done, and get her toenails done. She wants to be presentable, she wants to draw attention, she wants to go the extra mile, not leaving one thing not done. When she gets home she wants to try on her new clothes and shoes where she notices its been a while since she have passed a razor across her body and new that needed to be her next step, nothing worse that being felt up when he notices she brought sasquatch to the party. Then again….. no, the blonde sasquatch has got to go. What good is it being smooth from shoulder to toe if we don’t lotion from shoulder to toe as well. She decided a sparkling lotion she bought at Victoria’s Secret as a gift for someone but decided to keep would be just perfect. As she sat in her robe doing her makeup she couldn’t stop thinking she was already ready for the end of the night, the grand finally, when she is sprawled out on the bed wet, used, and left to dry all by her self. She looked forward to the moment she laid there and her the door shut behind the nameless guy who had a wife or girlfriend to attend to. But, she is at home, in her robe that needs to be washed, finishing up her makeup. As she stands, she lets her robe slide down her back, across her ass, and finally hit the floor, she walked out to the kitchen with the cool feel as the air the air passes across her nude body, a feeling she will soon heat up. She pulls a shot glass out of the cabinet, a bottle of Patron from the freezer, and has herself three or four quick shots. She likes the smooth cool burn of tequila as it goes down her throat and finally finds a resting place in her stomach.  Maybe just one more. She moves to the living room, flips on the DVD player and the television, feeling that she needs to do a little stretching, work out any kinks, getting her muscles heated up, get stretched, and do a little meditation. Nothing worse than having body slamming sweaty sex with a mind that is wandering and wondering what the rest of the world is doing, one needs focus, one needs commitment, and one does not need to worry about getting that weird cramp in between the shoulder blades when the back is arched back to brush your hair in his face doing the reverse cowgirl. Who needs that shit, preparation is key, get relaxed, get in the zone, and then anything is possible, anything. He might be like a Lays potato chip and cant have just one, maybe she can get lucky two or three times, what a way to ruin a Sunday, to worn out to do a damn thing, she can think of no way better to have her Sunday ruined.
As she gets dressed she realizes this will be the perfect night for going commando and the corset style shirt she will be wearing is no place for a bra, and 5″ stilettos to seal the deal. She feels great, feels she looks great, and she grabs her other two bottles of tequila to head off to the party. Perfect, the gas light is blinking, so much for thinking ahead, so the first stop will be the gas station up the block. Finally, on the road, the road which she hopes leads her to some of her fantasies being fulfilled. What is it about driving into the darkness that makes us nervous, gets our anxiety blowing up, and somehow anticipation turns to fear and regret? Fear and regret, before a party, who in the fuck needs that emotional turmoil? The answer, music, loud music, I feel Metallica coming on hard, it plays so loud I can feel the bass vibrations through the driver’s seat, now we are back in the party mood, nothing better on the planet than a seat that proves time and again to provide great vibrations time and time again. Arriving at the party she is greeted with all the fake hellos and greetings, the pecks on the cheek, the grope across the ass, and the mindless chit chat bullshit from people you know could give a fuck less if you were actually there or not. Why can’t she have the movie star actress red carpet entrance? What would be wrong with that? Instead, it is what it is, the preoccupied squaller that is to be expected at all of these parties, one she arrived late to on purpose, she wanted the alcohol flowing thru these young rum pirate studs so most of the work would be done, now that they are drunk they are looking for pussy, anyone’s pussy, as long as it’s warn and wet. Lucky them, that’s a perfect description of what I’m bringing to the fucking party. No signs of the so-called whatever once and again boyfriend, he’s probably hidden away banging some chic who’s name he will soon forget, well happy 21st birthday asshole. As the party rolled on I got to talking with some of the attending girls, after a while two of them drop that they are strippers locally and met these guys and came for the party as well as maybe work in a little work for some extra cash as the night rolls on. They had, held, and remain with my undivided attention. Needless to say, the conversations I had on the couch, how I saw them work a room of horny guys with cash in their pockets, and how it looked like they were living a fantasy life had me very intrigued. I watched them dance, saw the way they effortlessly moved, it was a routine without the routine, it was amazing. She knows she can move like that, she spoke with one of the strippers, and they worked it out where she could dance with them. In the end, she didn’t get laid, not once, but she walked away with $1,900.00 in cash from tips and a business card with a number to call on Monday early afternoon. She drove home, alone, and knew she would never believe herself in the morning when she remembers the nights events.
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Sunday arrives, she wakes up, and amazingly is surprised she remembers the entire night which preceeded. She spent the day cleaning her apartment, doing laundry, and really wondering if she wanted the “life” of a stripper. What does the life of a stripper actually involve? How good or how bad can it really be? She has been looking for a better job, with better money, and doing something she really loves, dancing. But can this be considered real dancing, could it fulfill her dreams, or would it be just another job? In her opinion, there was but one way to find those answers, she would make the call on Monday. The rest of her day didn’t involve much, she had a light dinner, had a long hot bubble bath, which she shared with her bottle of Patron, and then called it a night. She was off Monday, so she had time to hit the grocery store, get her oil changed, and had her car washed, all in hopes it would kill the day that much faster. Guess what, it worked. When she got back home she dug out the business card, dialed the number, and was very surprised when she was actually talking to the girl from the party, who just happens to be the recruiter for the club I was formally a bartender at a few years ago now. She went in that night for an interview, they had her out dancing quite a bit, seeing crown reaction and her interaction with the crowd, really looking into her stamina and how she carried herself dancing in the nude. She was asked to wait at the bar, have a few drinks on the house, and just have a rest for awhile. While at the bar she sees a few of my old posters, drink specials, and on one of the posters behind the bar was a link to my blog, which she killed some time looking at, she just happened to find the sections mentioned earlier, The Magic Weekend and Bartender Stories. She mentions she didn’t realize it at that moment, but found herself a few days later writing me an email. Great news, she did get the job! She did quit her other job. She explained that in the first week she made more in tips than she would have made in three years of being a waitress at the other place. After a few weeks she already had allot to share, but for now she wants to leave it to end right here. She passes on she is happy now, that she never saw this as a career path she would have chose but has no complaints, she is treated well at the club, she has money in her savings account now, and she wonders why she was satisfied with her life just a short month ago. She realizes the newness of the job, the money, the bright lights, and all the different people she meets will soon ware off and wonders if she will still be as excited as she was that first night.
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I know, personally, that no one can answer those questions for her. I also know that unless one has an eventual plan it can seem like one is lost in all the blissfulness that happens every night of the week. She did invite me to come meet her sometime in the near future. Seems like the perfect opportunity to take my future son-in-law for a visit to my old stomping grounds, it will be his first time into a full nude strip club, maybe any strip club, since he just turned 21 a few months ago and my daughter keeps a tight lease on him. But, I have permission to take him out drinking anytime from my daughter and my wife, maybe we will just step it up a notch or seven. Anyway, that’s Adrienne’s story that she wanted to share with everyone. I look forward to hearing more from her, will be interesting to see where her new career takes her as time passes. Let this be a lesson to y’all, I do read my email, I do try to keep up sharing and posting, and I’m always wanting to hear about what happened on your personal Magic Weekend.

The Man From Nantucket

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Anyway, I decided to pass this story on to y’all while I have had time hanging out at three different doctors offices today. I think y’all will enjoy it, especially the fishermen who knows the perils of early morning fishing in a tiny boat. Enjoy.

I never know how to title posts that are sent to me with no title. This is especially hard when entries come in for The Magic Weekend. But, I figured most of us have heard of the tale about the man from Nantucket, so I figured it just might catch someone’s attention. Did it work? Neither here nor there, he sends me a story that covers two of the categories for The Magic Weekend. If you need a moment to get up to speed to see what those are, we’ll wait. Got everyone back? So, Ron is of course from Nantucket Massachusetts where he has lived most of his adult life. Ron states he is in his mid-40s, single, dating, and spends most weekends fishing and drinking. Sounds like I’m writing his single’s ad instead of his story introduction. But, I guess if someone is interested in Ron they can get ahold of me and I will pass your information on to him. Hey, wait just a fucking minute, I’m not pimping for nobody, especially a damned ‘ol yankee. Anyways, this story wasn’t sent in by Ron, it was sent in by one of his lady friends. Hey, I don’t judge. Elizabeth, the lady friend in question, sent this particular story in this past weekend to share her version of their Magic Weekend. She made sure to send me in three decent pictures, two of Ron and one of herself. So, we shall begin with her e-mail now.

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El Scorpion~

Hi! My name is Elizabeth, 23, from the great state of Massachusetts. I’m sorry your not a big fan of us yanks but we’re just people too. I hope this email finds you well and that you will be able to see that even us yankees know how to have a Magic Weekend. I have been a long time stalker of your blog, I can relate to a couple of the stories you posted, but hell, that’s just part of dating I think, shit happens, we laugh, we learn, and we become better people down the road hopefully. Anyhow, I met Ron through a friend of a friend of a friend who thought we needed to hook up. The first time we met was a shock to both of us, the short version was we did allot of shots of tequila, allot, and I ended up bent over the couch with my bikini bottom pulled to one side as he drilled me so hard I though he would surely pound my tonsils out. It was great, I was hooked, and I wanted more, and more, and then more to cap it off. Does this make me greedy? I cant help it he knows how to screw one way, and one way only, to just drill and pound until everything is just a sloppy mess. Ah, memories. I have good pictures of some of these occasions as well, let me know if I should send them to you later. Just kidding, I know you can’t post those on your “Rated G” blog.

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So, Ron called me to see if I had any plans a few weeks ago because he wanted me to go fishing with him on some pond called Hummock or something like that. I’m not much into fishing but what the hell, I like to eat fish, drink, and party so I was game. I showed up at his house about 4:30 in the morning dressed for the nice day ahead. He met me on the porch, gave me the once over head to toe, got a dirty grin on his face, and then handed me cooler to carry to his truck. After we got all loaded up we headed out, it was a rather short trip, 15 minutes or so. The area we pulled up to was very pretty, looks like a post card you could find at the drug store or somewhere. I helped put his little boat in the water, we loaded everything into it, and we pushed off. It appears that we truly are in the middle of absolutely nowhere so I spent quite a bit of time fucking with Ron, trying to throw off his fishing game, but, for some reason fishing is what he actually had on his mind. I didn’t want to fish, I wanted to fuck, and I was going to get my way one way or another. As I laid back against the front of the boat, my fingers dangling in the calm water, I watched to sun begin to come up, I could feel its warmth as it moved up my legs, onto my stomach, across my breasts and face, and now I catch Ron checking me out from the corner of his eye. Game on now Ron, game on. Before I knew it I was sliding down my shorts to get comfortable, now I am laid out in nothing but my bikini. The warmth across my body, a perfect time to start lapping on the suntan lotion. Ah, I wanted to be so naughty, I wanted Ron to be done fishing, and I was going to have my way, you just keep on playing with your minnows Ron, I’ll see if I can’t change your mind.

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My bikini top and bottoms just slid right off and it took Ron all of about 33 seconds to realize he was done fishing this morning. And then he turned to me, trying to get out of his shorts, the all I see is Ron with his giant boner coming right at me, now all fuck breaks loose. Ron had slipped, then tripped, and was going down like a falling mighty oak, it seemed as if it were all going in slow motion, then I hear the crash, Ron had landed onto the corner of his open tackle box which shattered into oblivion, slicing his hand open. In all the commotion we ended up flipping the boat over in about 18 feet of water. Everything on the little boat was gone, everything. We ended swimming to the open area by his truck, where I finally was able to take his shirt off of him and bind it around his hand. As luck would have it, and we needed luck, I found the keys to his truck deep in his pocket, finding out that Ron was still peacocking his mighty wood. We headed to his house for clothes for me and a quick change for him. Luckily he wasn’t much of a bleeder or we would have been in grave shit. There was a small clinic not far from his house which is where we ended up. They sewed Ron up real clean as we laughed and joked that we could tell our grand children of this event one day. Afterwards I took Ron home, made him a hot tea and called it a day. Don’t worry, Ron healed up just fine, and a few weeks later we had a couple more dates, we had much unfinished business to attend to. He still calls from time to time, seems this is what our relationship has turned into, just two people too busy to have a dating life. Maybe one day that can change, we’ll see.

Yours truly, your the best, Elizabeth

Re-defining Defined Lines In Life

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There are times that I can see the road ahead of me clearly. There are time that same road seems to disappear. Its not the road to success nor is it the road to happiness, just a road I follow for the course of my life. I try not to take detours or go off roading but there are times that the obstacles won’t budge, so I have to go around. I could let the obstacles define me but I don’t, I just find a way around. Sometimes these detours take a considerable amount of time and when that becomes the case I try very hard to get back to my known road, my course, because one day I will find my destination. Hopefully death isn’t the destination, but then again life is the journey and all journeys must end eventually I would guess.

I find myself needing to re-define the important things in life from time to time. This ranges from how to budget better to be better at having the bills on time, to not wanting to be that person who has no money left in the banking account three days before the next pay-day. Patience isn’t exactly my strongest personality trait so, at times, I tend to get frustrated with the speed others move. I was off work for a long time in my opinion, eight and a half months is most of year in my eyes. During which I had to creatively disperse funds from our savings to live day to day. One day that too had yielded its last bit of money. We all know what happens when you stop paying bills right? The collection offices start calling, demanding payments, and accepting no alternate arrangements. It is hard to satisfy the needs to many when I was more worried about where the money was coming from to buy ramen noodles that week. It put allot of stress on the relationship of my wife and I as well. Looking back, I remember conversations we had, where I may not have had the answer she was looking for. As she remained working I often felt guilty when she would call me to inform me that a bill collector had called her at work and what am I going to do about it because this madness has to stop. Agreed, it has to stop. In the beginning, when I was first laid off, we already had a plan in motion to have my knee operated on once again because it had deteriorated so badly. While I was working I had great health coverage and we decided to pull the trigger to get the ball rolling. I had my evaluations done and I was set, I had my appointment date set and everything. I had over 140 hours of vacation and my employer was willing to let me be off for a minimum of two weeks for recovery. Then, one morning I went into work and was blindsided, I just got laid off. Well, fuck everything I knew for the last 5 1/2 years because that went straight down the ol’ toilet. Plans for knee surgery in three weeks just flew out the fucking window, to say the very least because those plans just ended.

To say this new development put a wrench in the fan is an understatement from hell. Immediately many things had too change. We had already led a rather meager life in my opinion. We didn’t eat out, ever, we didn’t really have any bills except for 2 loans, our cell phones, and of course utilities. Now, we didn’t live a bare bones life, but I made sure that I was putting money back for a rainy day, a vacation, knee surgery, graduation, college, or whatever. I made things tight, nobody saw the money I was socking away so nobody missed the money I was socking away. Little did I know that the balance I was seeing over time was an optical illusion. It was not nearly enough money to even just scrape by, which we were used to, but scraping this way was more of a challenge. I forecasted that we would be good for at least 18 months of regular living, living like we had been living with our expenses we already had. I was way off. I made a very simple, yet important mistake, I didn’t take into account some major expenses like paying the additional monthly money to have the health/dental/vision insurance switched to my wife’s company coverage and their rates were quadruple what I was paying. Then there was prescription costs, not just the co-pays, but paying full price on them until my wife’s insurance kicked in, for my son alone it was over $1500.00 a month. I didn’t include the expense of feeding five adults each week, gas for vehicles, nor my wife and my smoking habit. All of that eats money and it eats that shit fast. When my current job started our checking account was operating on fumes, it had been for two months already. One can only make so many trips to the pawn shop for a quick loan, especially when I knew I would not be returning to get them out of hock.

But, here we sit just shy of two months of my new job and I am still trying to beat off bill collectors with a stick because we have been playing catch the fuck up since my first check. Now lets toss Christmas into the mix. To say it will be meager would not do it justice. By having older kids, I think they understand, they may not like it, but they haven’t given us any grief. We sat down, we explained, we all expressed our concerns, and I thought it was over-with. I had went to my room for some quiet time, some me time, time to not be around people, I was disappointed, I didn’t even want to be around me. My son knocked on the door, asking gently if he could talk to me. I was in there, in the dark, laying sideways on my bed, too lazy to take my shoes off so my legs just dangled. He and his sister had got together, along with the boyfriend, and collected money for me and my wife to go have a date together, just the two of us, no worries, just go see a movie and have dinner, their treat. I was touched. We did go out, just her and I, we saw a movie that she had been saying she wanted to see, then we went to eat. We had a nice time, we didn’t talk about money a single time, and we were almost at a loss to have something to talk about, it was a bit sad if you ask me. When we were done neither of us was in a real celebratory mood so we went to go look at the area Christmas lights on our way home. It’s hard to be festive or to remain festive since we both know that this will be a very quiet Christmas for us. We both are looking forward to the coming year as anything has to be better than how 2014 turned out.

I guess my message is this, no matter how prepared for a disaster you assume that you are, you aren’t. There were probably thousands of ways to do things different but my goal was to keep my “credit” in tact as well as possible, late payments seem to hurt more than missed payments for some reason. I’m sure the kinks will get worked out soon enough, too bad its not today tho. I still wish that all of y’all have a very Merry Christmas (or whatever y’all do or don’t celebrate) and that the new years brings you one step closer to your dreams. I would like to give a quick shout out to Patty and Dr. Rexi who have made me smile and think in my times when I didn’t want to smile and think, and for that I can offer nothing more than my sincere thanks and gratitude. There have been other friends that have been there as well, I have not forgot y’all either. Y’all behave yourself at this time of year. If I don’t get back to writing another post by the end of the year just know we are well and we wish for all of y’all to be well as well.

Posted From Scorpion Sting’s Motorola Droid Maxx!

A New Meaning To Slippery When Wet

So, I’ve mentioned before, my Magic Weekend inbox is overflowing with great stories, some extremely long, and some which are short and sweet. This next one I’m posting is on the short side. Annabel has been a very regular contributor to The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog, so when I see she has sent me something new I usually go ahead and check hers out first. Although, this time she was full of surprises, this time she sent in a personal story for the Magic Weekend, and I knew I had to post it right away. Y’all will see, as per a promise I made last month, that I’m going to try to post the pictures sent to me without to much damn censoring, but as you call tell, female anatomy is rather challenging to work with to edit it where one still has an idea of what the pictures are trying to illustrate. I think most of y’all can do the math to see what two plus two equals. If not, there’s absolutely no fucking help for you. So, without further delay, please enjoy her story, I know I did.

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Dear Scorion Sting-

As we both know, I’m a regular sender of information, pictures, and ideas, because I try to carry out my role in The Scorpion Army. I have seen many of my ideas posted in your blog so I thought you might enjoy something not so generic and a little bit more personal. So, I will make this simple because I made a premeditated choice this past Saturday night. It was my 21st birthday and I wanted to get myself something rememberable. I had wanted, since I have been 16, to get my clit pierced, a VCH, a vertical clitorius hood piercing, but never have. For my birthday this year it was going to be my gift to me because nobody else was going to get my kitty fancy jewelry but me. I was ready, I really was, I took extra time shaving, making sure I was so smooth that water beaded up on the skin. Mission accomplished. I put on loose, baggy warm up pants because I was told that one’s clit gets pretty swollen and sore afterwards. In the end I was as ready as I thought I could ever be, and to say I was excited is an understatement, because I’m fucking extatic.

I get to the tattoo shop, you can omit the name if you like, but its a place you have mentioned before, I just know you don’t like giving free advertising. Anyway, sitting in front of Magic Needle I found myself growing really impatient, it was time to go, my wait is finally over. Once inside I was asked if I had an artist preference and if I wanted a male or female artist. It doesn’t matter, just as long as their aim is true and straight. After filling out all of the legal release paperwork I was led back to a room, instructed to lay on the table, and to remove my sweats. There I laid, for what seemed like an eternity, on the table with my pants in the chair, getting a slight chill, but flushing with heat because I didn’t know what was about to happen. As the seconds turned to minutes, Ron enters to explain the process, gets his tools ready, and here we go. I only felt his warm fingers, a cold clamp, and a sharp snap of pain. Then it was over, no foreplay, no teasing, just stuck it through. I will remember that feeling for the rest of my life as there has been nothing to ever compare it to so far in my 21 years. Want to talk about making me instantly wet, that did the fucking trick 100 fold!

Then, Ron turned to me and mentioned that they had a special going on, get one piercing and get your next one half off if done in the next seven calendar days. So I told him if he has time I got a nipple he could pierce right now. He smiled, got prepped, I showed him where, and like lightning my nipple was also pierced. You can only imagine the sensations that were going through my entire fucking body, in fact I don’t even think I am capable of explaining it right. But my sensitivity was increased like a billion times over. When I was done I was led up front to pay, this is also where they gave me my care for new piercings literature. Mentioned one shouldn’t touch the areas unless cleaning for 5-7 days, fuck that, I couldn’t stop touching either one the entire ride home. Now I just needed to get fucked hard to seal the night for me. But, no luck, I went home alone. Lucky for me I had a very lonely cucumber which had no prior obligations to handle my immediate needs, so it all worked out for the best if you ask me.

I know you have this stupid rule about using pictures with full nudity but there is no other way to show you what I had done but to just send pictures of myself, plus I know you can make them usable. Now, realize this morning, as I write this email, I’m a little sore, but I know Monday morning I’m off to work, with no one the wiser of my weekend. Glad I wear skirts, going commando for a few days should be interesting, hope nobody at the office gets an eyeful. I think I hit the blood part of your criteria, don’t know if letting a cucumber have its way with me counts as sex, but it did the fucking job for me!

Annabel H., Houston Tx

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I told y’all it was short and sweet, and as much as I wish I could share with y’all her beautiful VCH and horizontal nipple piercing, all the censoring, as you can plainly see, blocks what was so nicely done. I had to salvage at least two of the eleven great pictures she sent in so just deal with it. Yes, I know, all is blocked from view, just imagine a horizontal stainless steel stud pierced through her nipple and a vertical stud through her clitoral hood. Well folks, that’s it for this one. Keep sending in your Magic Weekend stories, keep sending in your pictures, and just keep doing all the crazy shit that y’all do every single weekend.

Being Politically Incorrect: Now Fuck Off

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Where in the fuck do the politically correct morality police get off being my mother? Why in the fuck have they chose to subject me to hundreds of e-mails a week and hundreds of spam comments a week? Who the fuck do these people think they are? What in the fuck do they think they can change about my blog? When in the fuck did I become a fucking interest to the fucking politically correct morality police? F.Y.I., y’all will fucking find the morality police is only one of the many names used to describe the fucked up groups of people whose self-appointed job is to enforce standards of moral behavior and religious adherence among the general public, these bleeding pussies are here to protect us from the real world. Have these fucking freaks of nature been having a spell of moral panic? Is their moral panic over an issue deemed to be a fucking threat to, or shocking to, the sensibilities of “proper” society? How about y’all just have a very tall glass of shut the fuck up for a minute.

If you haven’t fingered it out yet, this is my politically incorrect declaration about the morality police fuctards who feel it is their god given right to bombard the Sting Of The Scorpion Blog with all of the bullshit that they disagree with that I say or I post here. So, let me start off with a big GO FUCK YOURSELF to get this kicked off. What does what I write about have to do with anything in the fucking lonely lives of the morality police? I know what I fucking post and I sleep fucking great at night. In some way I have touched these little bitches  in a special way, like how a girl gets finger fucked for the very first time. I guess because they like the way I touch them that they need to bitch at me like my ex-wife who is, to date, at the very top of my “cunt list”, but these fuctards are a very close second. So I say the word, and many variations, FUCK, does that make me a bad person? I post pictures of women with tattoos and women packing heat because those are things I really fucking like. I regularly talk about how fucked up the VA is because I’m a disabled vet who is a part of that fucking broke system.  Does the fact that I was a bartender at a full nude strip bar (and liked it) a problem because I write about it or because it is an industry that exemplifies gratuitous nudity in exchange for money? It is a historical fact for those followers of the bible that “Jesus Loves Strippers” but that is something that the morality police like to forget.

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Somewhere, somehow, the morality police opened their doors to the anti-meat-anti-hunting-geniuses because they keep trying to tell me hunting to provide meat for my table is wrong. Wrong? It’s wrong? I do not, I have not, and I will not ever condemn a meat free lifestyle if that is the choice you have made. I may not understand your decision and I might joke about your choices, but your choices are yours to make. I would like to think if you want to be left the fuck alone about not eating meat that you should close your fucking piehole about my choice to stalk the meat, kill the meat, smoke the meat, and then eat the meat with my family. Y’all really need to back off this one because it isn’t ever going to fucking change, ever. Never once, however, do these fucktards ever get real specific about what rubbed their pussies the wrong way. Perhaps that is the problem, perhaps it is because of their own experiences that they must warn me that I am on the highway to hell with what I write about. Well, you stupid fucks, I write about what is in my life, around me, or the fucking things I like or dislike. Some of those things are fucked up, some of those things are the fucktards who get so pissed off at me for talking about their beliefs and how they live their life.

I think if I was a bleeding cunt that maybe I would hold that against the rest of the world as well. Is it because you suffer that you want to make others suffer? I was told once by my dad when I was younger to never trust something that can bleed for a week and live. He also warned me of the hypnotic spell the women will put men under, he called this the power of the pussy. He tried to warn me that she with the pussy is who is in charge. It’s true, for the most part, that because you have a pussy you think that all must bow to you, begging your little twat for forgiveness because we were born with a dick. All of the haters I have all have referenced that they are female, not one male has ever emailed me or spammed my blog in anger because of my topics or language. Why do you little bitches think that is? Need a bandaid? Perhaps you are angry with me because I write about your fucked up ways and your fucked up thinking, perhaps when you whip out your grammar Nazi handbook you should show me the part where it says that The sting Of The Scorpion Blog is supposed to give a fuck about spelling or proper sentence fragmentation. Fuck you, I’m not 6. Speaking of which, no, no I don’t think I will ever write with the maturity my age states I should have. I think it is just plain time for you politically correct bleeding pussies to just turn the internet off, turn your computer off, unplug the smart car, and go for a walk. Get outside into the real world with real people. Do keep your hole closed because if you act out in public as you do on the internet you might just not like the reaction you get.

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Where do we go from here? It’s true, I don’t give a fuck about your feelings about what you may find at The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog. Why should I fucking give a shit and really fucking care? Come here if you want, don’t come if you don’t want, either way it doesn’t make a fuck to me because this blog doesn’t pay my fucking bills. In fact, it’s totally free. It’s free hosted, I don’t charge admission, I don’t ask for donations, and I don’t try to sell you stupid shit you don’t want. I do this shit for fun, I do what I do here for my personal entertainment, I write about the things I see or hear because it is fucking fun to do so. What’s even better that somewhere along the way I get to rub some of y’all  pussiy fucktards the wrong way on a very regular basis. Except, nowadays I think we are past the heavy petting, we are past trying to shove three of my fingers thru your granny panties, we are past you not wanting to be touched “there”, no, I think we are to the point where I expose what has really been going on here, because not everyone gets to see you as I do. I know I told you that I wouldn’t tell everyone what a fucking little whore slut you really are. I know you wanted me to be discrete about your little secret of only letting all the guys ass fuck you so you can tell your future husband you truly are a vaginal virgin. Yes, your fucked up little secret is out now, boothefuckhoo. It is also pretty fucking obvious that you suck the cum out right out of that dick after they all pull it out of your ass because all you do is talk shit. So, shove a plug in your gaping asshole because you are dripping anal ooze all over my fucking blog.

Now, get the fuck out. Let the door hit you square in the ass. Don’t stop, don’t look back. All you will see is me bending over blowing you a big fat fucking kiss. I know y’all aren’t capable of listening, that fucking point gets proven time and time again. I get it, you fucking despise and hate me. I know y’all are too fucking stupid to listen. I know y’all will be back, y’all always fucking come back for some reason. Well, just remember I may not appreciate the fact that you suck in all of my fucking oxygen but since you always arrive with your panties pulled so deep into your bleeding cunts, I give y’all a break, because I like freaks, I even like you. So, polish up your badge bitches so you can continue to spread the your fucking legs and let out all of the things that are so wonderful about the fucking morality police. Until the next time we meet please feel free to fucking piss off.

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Your Magic Weekend Is Almost Here

 

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But wait! What’s the hurry? What’s the big deal? Sit back a moment and I will explain to y’all why the weekend being here is such a big deal. Don’t freak out if y’all have submitted before and it was published, I really love you repeat offenders and I will post for you again.  As y’all can see, here at The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog, I’m pretty open minded as to what I post myself. Anyway, your information can be as private or as public as you want it to be. Upon request I also add your blog so others may find you as they grope around in the dark. I also provide the donating party of the story and pictures a link to place on their blog to use as they see desirable.

So, what’s the deal with The Magic Weekend? I started it a while back because I would come to work Monday morning and here some outlandish stories of Sex, Jail, Blood, Money, or Fame, and I would always tell people it was utter bullshit if they don’t have some pictures, receipts, or a few scars to show for it all. Then it hit me, I’m going to start telling these stories on my blog, and when I did it took off like a bat out of hell with readers submitting left and right. But, just like in real life, so many great stories come without any picture proof which usually means a decline on my side. Y’all don’t worry, I have the censorship tools to make all (most) of your pictures suitable for the general audience types.

So, that’s why I’m here today. It’s time for y’all to tell your fantastic stories about your weekend for the “world” to see. So what did your Magic Weekend involve? Sex, Jail, Blood, Money, or Fame? Got questions? Just ask me. Fair enough? Great, lets GO!

Submit your stories & pictures to:

thestingofthescorpion@gmail.com

 

The Magic Weekend Still Lives On!

One of the themes I have here is The Magic Weekend and it is stories about y’all emailed to me by y’all for all of the readers here to read and enjoy. For information on how to participate, see the link for it at the top of the blog. Since I have been sort of busy I have held off posting this one but now I seem to have a bit of spare time. So here we go, off to never never land……….

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The Breakup

It was a dark and stormy night when I found out that my fiance was a two bit cheating whore. Up until this night we had been dating for just at a year and engaged for the past three months, we were going to be married at the end of this coming November. So let me go back about a year and a half ago to how we met. Shortly after graduating from UT, a friend of mine set me up with an interview with an architectural contracting firm in Houston. On the day of my interview I was first introduced to Rey, who was the secretarial associate who was in the room when you walk in. In there all by herself, sitting behind an open desk, wearing a very short skirt, and decided this day to go commando. I know this only because of where I was sitting waiting for my appointment, since she would cleverly cross and uncross her legs every few minutes, it was very distracting. She knew I was looking but would never make any eye contact with me. In the end, I had my interview and was told I would be contacted with a decision by the end of the week, this was on a Monday morning.

Late the following Friday afternoon, I get a call from Rey, it’s bad news, I was not selected for the position. However, it was pointed out that it was good news as well, because she tells me now I can ask her out for drinks and it not be in violation of the company no fraternization policy. We decided to meet up at The Aquarium, a very nice restaurant, to have dinner and drinks. We waited at the bar until our table was ready until she began to excuse herself to use the ladies room. She returned almost immediately claiming she had something very interesting I was going to want to see. As we approach the rest rooms she grabs my hand and makes a straight shot for the family rest room where we both go in. She locks the door, unzips my pants, grabbing my member as she bends over spreading herself open. I’m a commanding voice she tells me, not ask, tells me to just fuck her hard and then we can enjoy the rest of the evening. I was past the point of saying no, so I did as I was commanded to do, I fucked her hard.

When we got back to the bar we were informed are table was ready and we were immediately seated. Once we left the rest room not a word was spoken about what had just happened. We ate, had a few drinks, talked about life, and, in general, just had a great date together. After the date, I dropped her off at her place when she told me the dreaded phrase, “I’ll call you soon”. I know what that means, I’ve been around enough to know this was going to be the first and last date. It was sad really, but then, it had been a while since I had been laid, so it was a positive date for me also. The following morning she called me asking for my address, she wanted to bring me doughnuts after she was done at the gym. OK, sure, why not. This phone call was at 5:10 am, she showed up just after 9 am, packing a dozen doughnuts to boot. We sat around, talked, ate the doughnuts, and after that she said it was time for her to go. After she left I called a friend of mine so he could help me figure things out here, according to him, at this point we are dating.

Life went on, with the good came a little bad, but mostly it was a great relationship. Now, here in the present time I wished I saw all of the signs which would have stopped me from making a mistake, sure, I can see them now, but only now, which is torturous beyond belief. What started the breakup argument? See the picture? It is a picture of Rey. See the guy sitting there? It’s not me. How did I get ahold of the picture? We were at dinner at my parents house, she was in the bathroom with my little sister doing hair. Her phone rings and she tells me to answer it. It was her sister confirming their shopping plans the next day. I noticed she had a text message waiting so she said to see what it is, so I did, and the message with that picture just said “thanks for stopping by last night, it was fun”. In a matter of seconds, after looking through her phone a bit, this picture was one of maybe one hundred I saw and I was getting pissed. Pictures of her, pictures of her with guys, pictures of her with girls, pictures of her male friends naked, and so on. Now, now I’m beyond pissed. She walked out just as I set her phone on the kitchen counter with that message on display. Then all hell literally broke loose. She wasn’t apologizing, she was making a thousand excuses, all which were bullshit.

It was definitely over that night, we were officially done, relationship terminated, and the wedding called way off. Yes, I was that blind I guess, but I look back and see times where everything she was doing fit right in. We haven’t spoken since, she sees my mom at the grocery store every once in a while but my mom won’t give her the time of day. Never once has she tried to talk to me, tried to make it right, explain, or nothing. I guess we can say I know I have moved on, I don’t know about Rey.

Still Living The Life Of A Stripper

In the paragraphs below y’all will be reading information which I finally had time to transcribe from a recorded talk I had with a very good friend of mine and former employer. She discusses the life of a stripper, how to make money, what to do with that money, personal safety, and so much more. I encourage y’all to set some time aside to read the information she has provided as it is considerably lengthy. It also provides insight to her personal accomplishments and how she has become a successful businesswoman. There are very different professions for all of the people who want to work, hopefully this will show y’all a different view of the world a stripper lives in. This could very easily be done as three separate posts but I’m an all you can eat buffet kind of guy who likes to get my fill all in one sitting. So, with that being said, here we go.

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To begin with let me say that I started stripping at the age seventeen with a fake identification and a fast talking mouth. With that resting comfortably in the back of your head I also opened my own full nude strip club at the age of 24 in Houston and have since opened another location in Dallas. There are a great deal of misconceptions out there about strippers and that is something you will have to deal with if you enter the profession. I will say this, I truly enjoy what I do and I have never felt exploited because I’m a stripper. In fact I have always felt it was far more personally empowering than any other profession. But stripping is not for everyone. It requires a certain temperament. Don’t go and become a stripper because you feel you “have” to. If you hate what you do it will show and you will make very little money as a stripper. The minute you start dancing the clock is ticking. There are a limited number of years in which to make as much money as you can. Most dancers retire around 27. If you’re starting when you’re 18 that gives you nine years in which to make as much money as you can and then get out. Chances are you will never again be able to make as much per day as you do while stripping. Make the most of of the time.

There are two kinds of strippers, subsistence and capital strippers. A subsistence stripper just works enough to get by. Maybe a few days a week, saves little and is always in a financial crisis. I see these girls panicking to get enough dances to pay rent the next day but by the next week they are back to partying, doing drugs, buying expensive clothes and generally pissing away every dime they earn. Their plans for the future are vague at best and even though they claim to realize they can’t dance forever they seldom save and invest their money or invest in an education. These girls get out of the business no better then they started and spend the rest of their lives getting their ass pinched in menial, low paying jobs. A capital stripper dances as an investment. In my opinion this is the only reason to strip. Stripping is just too hard a way to earn a living to do it for just enough to “get by”. You can get by on a McDonalds salary. If you are going to have guys staring at your naked ass all evening you should at least be securing a decent future for yourself, not just tomorrow’s groceries and rent. There are many excuses for not saving your money but in my experience few of them are valid. Single mother, health problems whatever, you can still afford to save. If you work hard you can make a great deal of money stripping.

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When you see that money in your hand it just doesn’t seem real, and when you keep seeing it night after night it seems like the supply will be endless. It’s really not, you need to put away the largest portion you can. Not just 10% or so but 40% or 60%. It is possible to do that and still live a very comfortable life. Strippers tend to live beyond their means and end up with nothing but memories of that nice sports car or that fancy apartment. If you can just keep it under control for a few years you can have that stuff for the rest of your life, long after you’re done stripping. Live within your means; base your spending around not what you make stripping but what you would make at a good entry-level job. Get a good, reliable car but you don’t need that giant SUV or fast sports car. Make sure your lease or car loan doesn’t rely on a strippers level of income to pay it. Same goes for the rent or mortgage. It’s very easy to fall on heels and break an ankle or tear up your knee, it happens all the time. You could be out of work for weeks or even months. You don’t want to be buried under a mountain of bills. I suggest buying at least basic health insurance but if you don’t you will need at least enough savings to pay for emergencies.

So what to do with the money you save? Well, set enough aside to pay for all of your expenses like food, housing, tuition, utilities, car, whatever for 4 months. This is your emergency fund, put it in your saving account and don’t spend it. The rest you should invest. I have a few well chosen mutual funds that I have been very happy with. As a stripper you’re looking to invest for the long term, at least 5 years and probably 10. Mutual funds are low maintenance and are well suited for this purpose. I strongly advise against investing in individual stocks. Despite all tales of buying low and selling high at the end of the year very few people are able to make money off buying and selling individual stocks. Stick with mutual funds, they are safer and more reliable (at least for the novice investor).

The best possible investment you can make is an education. With a nice big nest egg and a good degree you can do just about anything you want when you retire from stripping. Without an education or any job skills that money will eventually be gone. With an education you can make the most of your savings, use it as capital for your own business or invest it for a steady source of income. Too many strippers talk about how they’re planning on going back to school or they’re just taking a semester off. This is bullshit, if you want an education you need to go to school and work hard. If you’re not going to school then you’re pissing away your own future.

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At most clubs you will walk around and ask the customers if they’d like a private dance (or lap dance depending on the club). Some clubs just have stage dancing. Often there is a private area that you can go for a dance. Be careful, though, the dim lights and the privacy tend to make the guys a little frisky. Not in a bad or scary way just in a way that may need to be corrected. The most important thing to do when you’re dancing is to smile and make eye contact. Nothing turns a guy off faster then a stripper strolling bored around the stage while staring vacantly off into space. Try to make each guy you’re dancing for think he’s the only guy you’re dancing for. This is how the pros make the big bucks. At many clubs a significant part of your nightly earnings comes from private dances. Most of the time the customer will pay for you to sit and talk with them as well. Guys vary a lot but it’s always important to be attentive. Nobody likes to feel like they’re being ignored. Most guys are pretty nice and easy to talk to. Provided you’re a good listener and act interested, it’s no problem. Then you get the guys who aren’t trying to be obnoxious, they just don’t have the best social skills. They will sit and alternate between nagging you to go out with them and lying about how much money they have, how many places they’ve traveled, how important they are in their company, etc. Simpering and looks of wide-eyed wonder come in handy at this point. Some guys are an absolute pleasure to sit with, they buy plenty of dances, they visit on a regular basis, and best of all they’re lots of fun to talk too. It’s guys like this who really make it all worth while.

When dancing it’s important to stay motivated, at most clubs you are an independent contractor. You won’t get fired if you don’t work hard and no one will say anything if you decide to hang out at the bar and talk all night talking to the bartender. You need to treat being a stripper like a job and not a social experience. Decide on what time and how long you will have dinner for, the rest of the time work the floor as hard as you can. Make sure you always get at least 8 hours of sleep so you’re not tired. You’ll look and feel better. Set a clear goal, try to get 4 dances and hour, as you get better set higher goals for yourself. Never assume a passive approach and wait for them to call you over, stay moving and keep working. If it’s hard and you just can’t get motivated make a game of it, make bets with other girls on who can get the most dances. Promise yourself ice cream if you reach a certain goal, whatever you have to do to stay motivated and keep earning that money.

Learning how to properly break the ice and get invited to sit with a customer takes time. Most girls tend to just walk around to every guy in the room and ask “Wanna dance?” and then when he says no walk off. This is the exact wrong approach. Every guy in that room has enough money for at least one dance and you just have to find the right words to get them to buy one or more. “Wanna dance?” can work in a very crowded room or if a guy is already interested but it will do absolutely nothing to convince a guy who was uninterested to change his mind. It’s too easy to say no to and that is usually what happens. To start with, choose your targets, who is looking at you the most when you are on stage or dancing for other customers? Talk to the bartender (always be friends and take to the bartender) and the floor hosts about who has an open tab or has been spending a lot of money. If a bartender or floor hosts gives you a good lead and you make money ALWAYS tip them at the end of the night and that way next time they will go to you first when they see a big spender. When you approach your prospective customer try and say anything but “Wanna dance?”: would you like some company?, would you like if I joined you? If the room is slow and he seems reluctant put a very slight push on. If he says he’s not interested ask if he would mind if you just sat down and rested your feet for a minute- you’re “not used to these heels”. Few men are going to say no to that, and the “not used to these heels” implies that you’re a new dancer and invites conversation. If 10 minutes go by and he still doesn’t buy a dance don’t ask- just say “I’m sorry, I’ve got to get back to work- it’s been nice talking to you okay?” This implies that you didn’t consider sitting with him work, a slight bit of flattery that will get you a dance later. Think of this approach as “seeding” in that you may not get the dance then, but chances are you will later. After a half-hour of “wanna dance” from the other girls he’s going to wish for your company again and probably be willing to pay for it. Or even the next time he comes in your’s will be the familiar face. With this approach it’s important you not spend too long with them, always keep them hungry. Unless they’re paying don’t sit with them longer then 10 to 15 minutes and only that long if the room is very slow. If they’re used to getting it for free it’s going to be hard to get them to pay for it. You’re friendly and available and they just have to be willing to pay for it.

Never ever, sit on your own or hang out at the bar talking to other strippers. At any given time you should be either sitting with a customer, moving to another customer or on stage getting naked. If you’re just standing around they will assume you’re not busy and it will be very hard to get a customer to pay for your time because “you’re not doing anything anyway”. Look busy, if they think other men want you then they will want you. It’s important you have respect for the money they give you, so much money changes hands that girls often forget what it represents. Let’s say your customer earns $40,000 a year after taxes- probably about average income for a stripclub patron in Houston. That works out to around $20 an hour. If a customer sits with you and you make $100, that’s 5 hours of his time. If a handyman came to your house and fixed thing for 5 hours you’d say “thank you” right? Always thank the customer and make sure he knows you mean it. Even if $100 doesn’t seem like a lot of money to you to the average customer it is.

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One last thing, don’t screw with guys’ heads. It’s not cool, you can make money without doing it. I see lots of girls who string guys along implying they’ll go out with them if they just visit a few more times or laying on sob stories about their sick children or parents. Don’t do it, there is never any reason for you to lie as a stripper. After a few repetitions it gets very fake and you just come off as a greedy gold digging bitch. If you want customers to treat you with respect you should treat them with respect. If they are disrespectful just walk away, there is no reason for you to sink to their level. There are more then enough good men who will to pay you to sit, talk and laugh with them and when you dance they will treat you like a goddess. As customers they deserve your courtesy and if they don’t respect you in return they don’t deserve to have you spend time with them. Safety is a critical issue for strippers. Many menaked not understand that what we sell is a fantasy or feel that our employment makes us fair game for unwanted attentions. The six dumbest words that can leave a woman’s mouth are “I can take care of myself”. No you can’t, and get any notion that you’re some kind of tough girl out of your head. Men are bigger, stronger and meaner. They’ve been beating and raping women for thousands of years now and have pretty much got it down pat. Your little kick boxing lessons at the health club will not help you. If a grown man hits you full force you will be knocked unconscious and very likely break the bones in your face. Do not ever make safety decisions based on your opinion of your ability to defend yourself.

I personally think that carrying weapons or taking martial art, self-defense classes etc. are a bad idea for most women. The most effective way to survive is to be scared; anything that makes you brave makes you more likely to walk into a dangerous situation. If you have a gun in your purse you might be more likely to take that shortcut home, or take a ride with a man you don’t know very well or any number of risky things. If you’re scared you’re careful, if you’re careful you don’t get into trouble. If you are a feature stripper, have a very public presence (website or modeling), or have had problems with a stalker then a gun may be something you want to consider purchasing. You need to be trained in it’s use and practice with it at a firing range at least once every few months. Don’t bother carrying one unless you comfortable with the idea of killing someone. That’s what guns are for, you’re not going to be shooting knives out of anyone’s hands, you’re going to be trying to make a hole in the center of their torso. If you have small hands like me you can have a gunsmith machine a trigger guard that will comfortable fit your finger but too small for the finger of a grown man. But I would like to emphasize, most women are far better off not carrying a gun. Only if you are in a position of constantly being exposed to unavoidable danger is it an option.

One never wishes to blame the victim but every single girl I know without exception who has ever gotten into trouble was doing something most women would consider risky or just plain stupid. Don’t take chances- the stakes are too high. As a stripper, leaving the club after work is the time when you are most vulnerable. I have only gotten scared twice at work. On both occasions it was when an overly enthusiastic customer decided to wait for me outside the club after closing. On both occasions the men were just confused about the nature of what a stripper does and were quickly dealt with by security. This being said, transportation is a critical safety issue that you really have to think about. Going to work is not a problem because customers can’t really see where you are coming from. Leaving is when you have to be most vigilant. Public transportation is out of the question, it’s too easy to be followed and is rarely safe at the hours you’ll be riding. I’d suggest sharing a cab with one of the other girls. If you decide to drive, make very sure that your car is reliable, last thing you need is a break down on an empty road at 3AM. A cell phone is a good thing to have. Make sure when you register you car you do it to another address (friend, parent, etc.). That way if some creep takes down your license plate number he can’t find out your home address. For obvious reasons never give any personal info to anyone who knows you as a stripper, including other strippers. There are strippers and bouncers who will give the information to customers for money or as a favor. There is no reason anyone needs to know anything but your stage name. Don’t tell them where you live or what school you go to no matter how trust worthy they seem. Once that information is out it’s very difficult to put back in the box.

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We are not all success stories. I had my eye on the prize the first time someone slipped money in my garter. I learned how to capitalize on a man’s willingness to part with his hard earned money to see me naked. Done properly, a stripper can sock away grand amounts of cash just by dancing naked, and it can end as a very fruitful career choice. Not every girl is a naturally born stripper, you have to be willing to work your ass off, and then the world holds endless possibilities for you.