Where Is It You Think You Are?

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Why yes, you are here. A choice, that still many, find was a bad choice on their part. If it isn’t enough that I have my haters for T.S.O.T.S.B., I also have an ever growing population of haters for my other blog which I Do Not promote in any of my posts in any manner whatsoever. In fact the only way you can get there from here is by clicking the Tattoo Glamour banner on the right side of this blog. I Do Not recommend doing so at this point if you are at work because it isn’t workplace friendly. I Do Not recommend clicking the banner if you are offended by full frontal nudity of women and/or tattoos because that is all that is there. I Do Not recommend clicking the banner if you are not 18+ at any time, ever. With that being said, I will explain briefly what is posted there, women with tattoos, from fully nude to fully clothed, there are No stories, No writing, and only one themed commitment, posting beautifully tattooed women, some models of course, but also people who have submitted photos. It’s very simple, that is all that can be found there, No hidden agenda, No promoting either nudity or tattoos, and No advertising for any products or services.

So, y’all might be wondering why I bring up anything about my other blog today, right now, and here. Be patient, I will get to that shortly. Over the years I have had to remind readers that it is a personal choice when visiting this or any of my blogs. Which brings me to a quick side note about why my python blog disappeared. I was “asked” by a collection of 13 professional bloggers and website operators to stop and take down my site because I was crossing a line of “faith” for readers because my personal success with pythons could be very misleading and could inadvertently misguide people into believing that raising pythons is “easy”. As well, amateurs such as myself are taking money out of the professional’s pockets. The cut and dry of it all is they wanted to advertise on my blog, for free and paid, but I refused to have any part of that shit. Soon after I receive a letter in the mail at my house from a law firm in Los Angeles which stated I was being sued for $1.8 million in damages which covered loss of income, to include sales, and the fact that I was an unlicensed and undocumented person giving advice on things which I was not legally obligated to provide. Having this all verified with my own lawyer it was granted that the lawsuit would be dropped if I killed of my little ol blog. Yes, it sounds like far fetched bullshit to get one’s panties in such a knot over a personal blog about personal experience with pythons, but it is what it is, which is sad, because I had big plans and quite a bit of helpful information to provide. Anyway, the blog was removed and handwritten apologies were sent out. Sadly, not one “you fucking suck motherfuckers” was included or implied. Luckily, after reviewing my legal rights with my lawyer I can say that these motherfuckers truly fucking suck sweaty balls because I would not dare list their names or sites to cause myself unwanted problems. So, here’s to y’all, hats of to the cunts who got scared that I was fucking infringing on whatever it was I was doing by just sharing with other enthusiasts. One last thing, FUCK YOU ALL!

Anyway, other choice makers have clicked the tattoo banner and were quick to tell me how ashamed I should be, how I’m definitely going straight to hell now, and how my blog is very degrading to women in general. I only have one reply and that is that I would assume that all of the women displayed made two choices, to get the tattoos and/or piercings and then either take pictures or have their pictures taken. Neither of which I had anything to do with. I am guilty of collecting these pictures and posting them on my blog for others to enjoy as well. Don’t like women? Great, don’t visit. Don’t like women with tattoos and/or piercings? Great, don’t visit. Don’t like sometimes fully nude women with tattoos and/or piercings? Great, don’t visit. I’m easy, I’m not trying to sell anything, I don’t care if you visit or not, and when you do make the choice to visit I know you made the choice. I hold no gun to a person’s head and demand they click the fucking banner. I warn of what will be seen, I warn it is not workplace friendly, and I warn it is for adults only. But, as we all know way to fucking well, just being an adult doesn’t make one mature. Furthermore, don’t email me whining that you are surprised there is nudity and how offended you because I really don’t give two fucks. Those of y’all who I have emailed back on this subject know that is exactly my response.

Anyway, I guess the moral of the story is that if you are easily fucking offended then my blogs probably aren’t your cup of tea. As usual, I expect this post to fall upon blind eyes and deaf ears, too bad I can’t get muted mouths to complete the package. Y’all are big boys and girls, make choices that work for you because my choices are mine and I can promise y’all that my choices are what are taken into consideration when I post to my blogs. In fact, stay tuned for a story of a not so classic office romance which will be ready to post pretty soon.

Even I Get Shocked Occasionally

wpid-20150831_145108.jpgAs a parent there are just things I don’t worry about my children doing. As a parent there are things that I would be shocked if I knew my children are doing it. We live in a much different time than when I was 19, it was “simple” then, social media and texting consisted of passing notes, gossiping, and telephone calls from the living room family phone. Today everything is digital, as fast as hitting the send/post button. Yes, it makes “sharing” life’s little details quick and effortless, but at what cost to us personally, because once it’s on the internet it is there forever, and forever is a fucking long time. So, where am I getting with all of this information? Well, quite honestly, I got the shock of a lifetime a few weeks ago and I’m just getting the time (making the time) to tell this little story that hits real close to home.

My social media circle of “friends” differs a great deal from my kids, eventhough they follow me, I do not follow them, I don’t even look at their pages unless I get forwarded something one of them thinks I need to know for the humor aspect or ideas for me to write about here, it’s rare, trust me. But, a few weeks ago I get an invitation to see a friend of my 19 year old daughter’s page with a all caps OMG added in for good measure. I actually didn’t look at it the same day, I was asked if I saw it a few days later, so I went and checked it out, and yes, OMG fit, more like OMFG I don’t believe what I’m seeing was more appropriate. I was full on shocked, no doubt about it, my fucking jaw dropped in one second flat because I never expected to see what I was looking at. Of course, Facebook has strict rules, so I saw only some blurred out images, but I followed the link, something I still regret to this day, since there are things, as a parent, I don’t need or want to see, ever.

We have lived in basically the name area for the last 16 years, meaning my kids have had friends for a long time that all spent a great deal of time at my house, I’ve watched most of them grow into young adults. For many years my middle daughter (19) had a best friend, more like sister, she was raised by her aunt and uncle since age 5 when her parents were hit by a drunk driver and killed instantly. She spent allot of time at my house as the years went by and when she wasn’t, she was dearly missed. About a year ago, she moved away to North Carolina and the distance really caused a falling out in their friendship, reduced mostly to stalking each other’s life on Facebook. Which is where I got dragged into it. It was her wall I got the link to, it was what I saw there that shocked me, I mean really, really shocked. As I mentioned, there are things left better unseen. I know, ok, let’s get to it.

Upon arrival at her wall I see pictures of her, in the nude, blurred out of course, but one could still get the jist of the obscured pictures. Like a dumbass I followed the link to the full sets of pictures. It would appear that she had posed for a very popular men’s magazine, which I won’t name by name, hope ol’ Hef won’t be pissed, a few months ago. Now, with that being said, who am I to judge her for her own personal decisions? She’s an adult and entitled to make her own mind up what she will do in her life. It really caught me by surprise though, it was not what I was expecting to be seeing. What will make life interesting is the fact that she will be in town visiting her family in late September and I was recently informed that she will be stopping by to say “hi”.

Now, as a father, I have many questions and/or statements to make. Taking my past experiences into consideration we can all say I’m not necessarily innocent when it comes to the adult entertainment industry and lifestyle, I’ve been around the block more than once. My wife asked me how it would make me feel if that was either one of my daughters. Honestly, I don’t know the answer. I really don’t. I would be shocked, of course, but hopefully I would be supporting of the decisions. How does one answer that question under hypothetical conditions? I know one thing for sure, as I mentioned before, as soon as it is on the internet it’s going to be on the internet forever. Of course, what she has done is also available in print, still being sold in a local store near you and I. This is all I know, we make choices, we make changes, and we live our lives as we see fit. In more ways than I will lay out here, I’m proud of her and support her, not just because she’s like family, but because she deserves to have what she wants in life. So many people don’t follow dreams and aspirations, they jump into the line with the rest of the conformists and just muddle through life, not knowing if they are happy or not unless someone tells them so. And, like so many other things, this post is over. Hopefully it has given y’all something to think about, to consider, and that you realize that EVERY picture of a naked female you ever see is somebody’s daughter, think about it.

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.

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

Overexposure Sensory Overload

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One of my favorite things about arriving to work at Club X was the absolute red carpet rock star treatment. This treatment wasn’t just reserved for me, it is how everyone who pulls up to the front door for valet parking is treated. There is no better feeling than pulling up to the red carpet, having your door opened for you by a Wicked Weasel bikini clad beauty who extends her hand to assist you getting out, and then turning your keys over to her so she can drive away to park your vehicle. I would experience this only a couple times a week because I would drive my H1 into work, but normally I was riding my Goldwing and I would just park her myself. It doesn’t stop there, that was only the start, because now one has to go through the entrance where one is greeted cheerfully by scantily clad to full nude attendants who grab you by the arm to escort you to be carded and banded. Finally, a lovely assistant will take you into the club and give you the grand tour and eventually seat you in the best seat in the house. Which, in the end, every seat is the absolute best seat. For me this is where my journey would end because I would peel off to my bar to get set up for yet another party.

For first timers this initial experience is very overwhelming because these young ladies have just scratched the surface for what the rest of the night has to offer. I enjoy watching the fresh faces come thru the door because the look on their faces reminds me of the look on my face when I lost my virginity so many years ago. Lets just say they are smiles from ear to ear for most of the night. Since my bar double as a rather large stage the newbies tend to migrate there because they can all be together while they stretch their wings to see what direction they want to go. I get allot of old hats as well because the shows that happen on my bar do not happen anywhere else in the club and some people look forward to what they might see. Of course they are not there to see me, they are sitting here to see the strippers because they know that as the night progresses that the shows on the bar get a little bit dirtier, a little bit nastier, and the strippers tend to really show off their skills while laid out on my bar.

Every once in a while we will get a gentleman at the bar who is easily embarrassed. Normally this would be no big deal but the strippers here exploit the fact that someone is a little taken aback by what he sees. A great example of this would be once when a young man in his early twenties could not maintain eye contact with anyone at all, not even me. He seemed to always have something to look away at, he would find a focal point someplace, and that turned out to be his utter demise. The strippers ganged up on him, they tortured him visually, and they would not let him escape. It started with one stripper that sat on his lap facing him face to face. She began with slow, methodic movements which were little less than a slow grind on his lap. I remind you at this point that she is completely nude so the only thing between him and her are his jeans. It only takes a little bit of this activity before she discovers that he has become very excited and very erect, which, in the end, was her goal. She wanted to get him all worked up, she wants to take him to absolute very edge and then as fast as she was on his lap she was leaving his erection to fend for itself. Cruel? Yes. This is an effective ploy by the strippers since they can “handle” the customer as much as they want and how they want but the customer never gets to do the same, nine out of ten times the customer is asked to sit on his own hands, which is a true act of cruelty.

The strippers, the ones who make the most money, have mastered the art of the dry fuck and they know just when to stop. Sometimes, I think as a cruel trick, they take it just a little to far, just to see the mess someone will make in their pants. Why do the strippers try so hard? Money, money, and more money. They know that they can separate you from your money if they can give you something you don’t already have. Which is the point really, the strippers are there to make money and the customers are there to spend money, so it’s like a match made in heaven if you will. Some of my favorite strippers to watch are the ones that are stripping for some supplemental income. They may have another job or they may be a stay at home wife/mother who needs the added income. As soon as they get over being shy the party gets started and they put on the best shows ever. One would be surprised how many strippers are stripping on the side, I know I was surprised. One must ask, are they here for fun, boredom, the money, or a little bit of all three?

An example of a stripper who is here part-time is Rox, she is a CNS (Clinical Nurse Specialist) and has worked at one of the largest hospitals here in Houston for the past 2 years. In our talks it was mentioned that she takes in just shy of $90K, she is the mother of three boys, and has been divorced for the past 3 years. When I asked her why she was here she told me that she has always loved dancing, she has always stayed in shape, and she figured if she could keep up with the college girls that she might be able to make some extra money. Oddly enough, she answered an add in the paper and the rest is strip club history. Asking yourself how old she is yet? I know, but I will never tell. Why? Because its not that important, I will say she is between 28 and 34 and that is all I will say. I will say that the quiet talk around here pegged her as a threat to the other strippers money and they weren’t happy about that fact. She has a little experience in life under her belt which makes her a more well-rounded person, plus, c’mon, she is a freakin nurse! I know, I know, I know, we don’t like to think that our mothers and our professionals in society could possibly be strippers. Say it isn’t so Scorp. I can’t because the reality of it all is that woman have found the golden ticket and realize that in exchange for a little skin exposure they can really clean up at the bank. Lets just say that weeks prior to Christmas 2013 she picked up an extra $8K for shopping. There is no doubt in my mind that she is good at what she does, she always gets my attention, especially when she is on my bar. Just wow.

Another example of a person looking for a second income who has a decent job already is Kat, she is a 2nd year associate lawyer at a medium size law firm here in Houston that employs around 300 lawyers, making an annual $125K. She is here for fun. She and I have talked allot because she has been and probably always will be the shyest stripper I have ever met. It seems like every time she hits the stage is her very first time. We get along tho, we have similar music tastes, in fact I pick out her songs when I’m working because she knows they will be fast and hard-hitting, just like her. Kat is in her late 20s and demands your attention when she is on the dance floor. If she can’t get your attention on the dance floor or by giving you a lap dance then you just might have issues. Sad thing is she knows she is rockin hot, sad thing is she knows that when she catches your eye that she owns you. Allot of the strippers have this attitude but only Kat and a handful of others are actually capable of making you fall under their trance. Beware the stare of the Kat!

But Scorp, we don’t care about who and why the strippers are there. We come to a full nude strip bar to see titties, ass, and pussies everywhere. Why do we need to know all the rest of this shit. I’ll tell you why, it’s because not everyone understands that these strippers are more than a piece of meat hanging in the market window for y’all to imagine fucking. Each one of them has a story and fortunately I have the opportunity to hear some of their stories. But, I agree, people come to a strip club for three basic reasons, they want to get drunk, they want to get drunk while watching full nude strippers do things their wives and girlfriends would never do, and they come to the strip club to leave their problems behind them and just have a great time. Nobody walks into a strip bar on accident, it is a clear & conscious choice usually made with a little advance planning.

For those of y’all new to The Sting Of the Scorpion y’all are probably feeling just a wee bit left out. My recommendation to you is to look to the right and locate the “Category Listing” for this blog and click “Scorpion Sting’s Bartender Stories” for past stories. Unfortunately the list is rather short, like 18 selections, because early in 2013 Google decided to kill my Blogger account which was home to one of my blogs called “Bartender: Untold Stories“. Unfortunately I was only able to save a few of the stories and have been writing new ones as time progresses. I think there are a few more in “The Dead Blog Archives” as well. Anyway, check those out and read up on why and how I have been able to tell these fantastic stories and look forward to many more. I have only begun to delve into my little black book for great interviews and stories.

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The Blonde With The Hip Tattoo

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First of all I would like to take the opportunity to thank all the people who continuously support The Magic Weekend in my efforts to share the fantastic stories of your weekends. It has been fun to watch the evolution of this particular segment of The Sting Of The Scorpion. The unfortunate part of my role here is I have to weed through and moderate the flow of stories that hit my e-mail. I spend so much time reading that it cuts into my time I could be posting these stories and then throw in a little life, well you get where I’m going with this, it becomes a time issue for me. As well, many of the great stories come without picture proof and their candidacy automatically gets dropped out of the hat, which sucks, because some of them are really good. On the other extreme end of that is that I get e-mails with a butt-load of pictures, really good pictures, but have very little story if any. Now, I don’t know why people don’t reply back to me when I request more information but that is the way it happens, y’all send the first e-mail and forget all about it. Then we have the perfect combination of story and pictures which y’all will see today. Now, let it be known that there were more pictures and the use of those pictures were approved but due to the nature of the pictures they will not make it into this post. Y’all will understand why later I hope.

This weeks story comes from Jason, a University of Houston student with an undisclosed major, who has lived in the Houston area his whole life. For the most part he lived on the fringes of the city and when he got accepted to the University of Houston he moved into the city to cut down on his commute considerably. Where he lives puts him only 4 miles from school and also just a few miles from work. He states he works at a book re-sale shop in his off time to help offset the bills. On most days he makes his commute to UH on his bike but on days with really crappy weather he is forced to take the bus. As was the case a few Thursdays ago, typical Houston weather, the weather man said sunny and clear all day but rained most of the day. It’s like the weather has a mind of its own or the weatherman never looks out of his window, take your pick. So, let’s get started so everyone can see what his story has in store for us. Y’all can be the judge, does it have sex, jail, money, blood, or fame?

“Scorp-

I have read your blog for some time now, it used to be my dirty little secret that I would look at when I knew nobody was looking because I never knew what you might be showing, but I always knew I would be liking it. The Magic Weekend is one of my favorite sections because it’s true the real life just happens before our eyes without us having to do a thing in return. I realized that after what had happened to me over the last few weeks that I just might have something for your blog. A few Thursdays ago I was forced to ride the bus to class due to some really shitty weather. It wasn’t supposed to rain but of course being in Houston it did because the weather-men here suck ass. Nonetheless, I rode the bus to get to class instead of riding my bike. The bus was fairly packed, by packed I mean that the standing people had to hold on to other people standing in the aisle. I think the rain brought in the over-run of people because I have ridden the bus before and only a handful of people were riding. I’m lucky because my ride is really short. After a few stops the bus cleared out for the most part, the next stop being mine so I got my stuff together. As I was getting off the bus I looked down on one of the seats and noticed a nice cell phone. I looked around and didn’t see anybody around so I picked it up to give to the driver. The driver explained to me that he could not accept any lost items and if I wished to turn it in that I needed to do so at the campus police department. All I can think is this is great, now I get to babysit somebody’s phone until the afternoon because there is no time to go turn it in right away.

Almost immediately after getting into class the phone kept going off, call after call, text after text, and finally I just had to turn it off so there wasn’t any trouble with the instructor. I had a real heavy schedule that day so I was busy the entire day. My last class ran a little long and before I knew it I was in a rush to get to my part-time job. It was still raining so Instead of walking I went ahead and took the bus again. After getting lectured about timeliness and how there are thousands of kids who would like to have my job I was finally able to get to work. I have a simple job that takes hours every day. I sift through all the “bought” books to organize and place on the shelves. It’s time-consuming but it pays the bills for the most part. I worked a little overtime that day so I got out real late. The rain had stopped so I went ahead and walked home. After eating a late supper I decided to dig into my homework. As I emptied my bag the phone I found came tumbling out and I had my first “oh shit” moment of the night. When I went to turn it on I found that the battery was completed down so I plugged it in to my charger for a while so I could try to figure out who it belonged to. After a couple of hours of schoolwork, making it about 1am, I passed by the phone and noticed it was fully charged, so I unplugged it and decided to sit down and take a look. The damn phone had like 60 missed calls and just as many text messages. Whoever owns this phone is pretty busy with it. Once I went through the hundreds of contacts I found her contact information but the only thing it listed was her cell phone number. I looked through some of the texts to see who she texts the most because I was going to send that person a text letting them know to contact her with my information so I could get her phone back to her. I took a picture of the phone for “proof” and sent it to who was listed as “sister” in her contacts. I wrote “My name is Jason and I found this found which belongs to Ella on the bus this morning on the UH campus. Please contact her and forward her this number so I can get the phone back to her”. I sent the text from Ella’s phone with the above picture enclosed. I was expecting an immediate reply but it was just after 2am so I wasn’t holding my breath.

Out of both boredom and curiosity I started snooping in her phone a bit, just to be nosey while I waited. One of the first pictures I saw was of this blonde girl with a tattoo on her hip. I couldn’t tell if she was wearing a bikini or what it was. She seemed to be pointing at her hair, bed head would be my guess. There were hundreds of pictures of this particular tattooed girl on this phone. I began to wonder if this was Ella. Out of all of the pictures only a handful were of this girl with clothes on. Most of them were of her topless and many times bottomless. This was quite a bit to take in all at once. I hit the bed around 4am and went right to sleep, dreaming all night of the blonde girl with the hip tattoo. Who was she? That morning there was a text on Ella’s phone from contact “sister”. All it said was that she went to Ella’s apartment to tell her about her phone. She wasn’t home so she had to stick a note on her door. When Ella gets in contact with her then she will let me know. Okay, I will wait. A few days went by, 6 to be exact, and finally a text back from sister telling me that Ella will be calling me from this number when she gets over to her, please be looking out for it. For 2 more days there was nothing, I carried her phone everywhere I went, she got many texts and many calls, but not from the sister’s number. I was sitting out on my patio doing some homework when the phone rang, it was from the sister phone number. I answered it of course. An angel’s voice asked me if I was for real and I really had her phone. I told her obviously because I am talking on it. We arranged for me to return it to her at a little pizza pub not to far from my apartment. I asked how I would know who she was and how would I recognize her from everybody else. She replied by telling me to go to the photos in her phone and look for the blonde girl with the tattoo on her hip. I didn’t tell her that we had been fucking in my mind for more than a week now because I was already in lust with the blonde girl with the hip tattoo.

I got to the pizza pub right on time. I waited around a bit and finally I saw her walk through the door. She looked amazing in person. I walked up to Ella and introduced myself. Then, being sneaky, I said she looked allot like the girl I have seen on her phone but could she prove it by showing me the tattoo on her hip. She took my arm and led me to a booth, sat me down, and she remained standing in front of me. She looked around a bit, waited for two people to pass us by, then slowly unbuttoned her jeans, slid them down a bit, and exposed the tattoo. Then she asked if I was satisfied. I guess that will do. She sat down next to me, really close, and I handed her the phone. She asked me to hold on a minute and let her check texts and messages because she really wanted to talk to me. Which was fine with me because I was somewhat mesmerized with her every movement. She took all of 3 or 4 minutes and she was done, now it was my turn I guess. She took ahold of my hand with both of hers and asked what she could do to repay my patience and kindness. Tell the truth, a payment option never crossed my mind so I had to tell her to let me think on it for a bit, let’s eat something and that should give me time to think. Then, I hatched my plan, I told her that “if” she could cook that I would like a home cooked meal in my apartment. She told me that she thinks that can be arranged and we set the date for this past Saturday. I gave her my address and phone number and we parted ways right there. I watched her walk out the door, it was just like in the movies, hot girl walking out the door with the lights coming through the glass to illuminate her shape as she disappears into it. I needed to get home, I needed to clean up my pig pen because there was no way she was going to see it like it was, and I only had two days. I don’t think I have actually cleaned my apartment once in the 2 1/2 years I have lived there. Tells you allot about my lack of social life and entertaining.

Shortly after 8pm Saturday evening there is a light knock on my door. I tried to move slow to not give away my anticipation but I nearly tripped over the end table getting to it as fast as I did. I opened the door and Ella stood before me, as beautiful as I remember her to be. She asked if it would be okay if we had one more for dinner because her sister really wanted to meet me as well. Before I could nod, or comment, or move, her sister walked up to the door. Holy fuck! They are twins! I must have had a stupid shit eating grin on my face because the two of them just giggled as the walked by me. After I picked my jaw up off the floor I turned to close the door. They were both carrying grocery bags so I’m thinking this ought to be one hell of a dinner they were going to be preparing. I was instructed to remain in the living room and to never come into the kitchen unless I was called. All I can think now is that they are serial killers and they are making me a poisonous last meal. As much as my imagination was running away from me I was able to remain focused, for the most part. After about an hour I was instructed to have a seat at the kitchen table (sadly it is a folding card table, but I have 3 chairs) and remain with my eyes closed until told otherwise. I could hear them moving around me, I could smell their perfume beginning to mix in with the smells of something I was guessing to be Italian, and they both continuously brushed me or set a hand on my shoulder as they moved by. One of them placed a napkin very gently, but firmly on my lap for me. I heard them take their seats, one on either side of me, and I heard the magic words, “open your eyes now please”. Talk about an amazing first view after opening my eyes, both of them were sitting extremely close to me on both side and both of them were completely naked, oh, and , yea, I was right, they had prepared lasagna. Wow, I mean it is hard to put into words what I was feeling. And the kicker, they both have the identical tattoo but on opposite hips, how weird is that. No wonder I didn’t know there were pictures of both of them when I thought I was only looking at one of them. They served all three of us, we had wine as well, and we sat there and ate. They both were in charge of conversation and we talked about really nothing but I was enjoying the conversation 100%. When the meal was done, they cleared the table, told me to go have a seat, and they went to the kitchen where I could hear them doing dishes. I know, right, bonus!

They both came out and sat on both sides of me on the couch. I asked what was going on, not that I minded, but this all seems way to good to be true. Grace, the “sister” started by saying she knows I went through all the pictures on Ella’s phone so I have already seen both of them naked multiple times so they just wanted to skip all the formalities. They did say that there was nothing sexual going on here and there would not be anything sexual going to happen, not yet. So, we sat there into the wee hours of the morning talking, drinking wine, and getting to know each other, just the 3 of us. They volunteered to take as many pictures as I wanted just as long as I promised they would never make it onto the internet, ever. I agreed. Then, they got dressed and that was it, they were gone. I knew I had to send this story to you the next morning but I had one problem, no pictures. Problem solved, I called Ella and Grace and they sent me a number of pictures which I am forwarding to you, so I hope some of them at least will be used. And that’s it, hopefully the three of us will remain “friends” and keep in close contact.”

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Two of the pictures to be exact were usable here for this story. However, I didn’t mind Jason sharing all the rest as well. So, let’s review the criteria. Was there sex? No, but there was nudity. Was there jail? No. Was there blood? No. Was there fame? No. Was there money? Not exactly, but there was a reward and in my book that counts in this category. I look forward to any follow up there may be because if there is I’m sure it will be pretty interesting to say the very least. I hope y’all enjoyed Jason’s story and will return to see more. Which makes me want to ask all of y’all, what did y’all do this weekend? Sex? Jail? Blood? Money? or Fame? E-mail The Sting Of The Scorpion with your fantastic tale and be sure to include many pictures, because without pictures it’s probably bullshit anyway.