Last night marked my debut with Jessica on the New Mexican strip club scene. 

Being the heathen that I am, I didn’t consider the fact that yesterday also marked the first day of Lent.

I walk in to the dressing room that is populated with one other dancer. Her name is Carla, she’s a beautiful, petite Native American who has grandchildren she is planning to take on a hike this weekend.

The club is completely empty of customers, so Carla and I take a seat at the bar where she offers to buy me a shot of Crown Royal to welcome me to the club.

“First days are always tough,” she tells me as I chase back a shot of what my sister used to con my dad into buying her when she was sixteen.

The DJ comes over to introduce himself, asking me what kind of music Jessica and I like to dance to, and asks me what I would like for dinner.

“Dinner?” I ask

“Yeah, I own a restaurant that’s not too far away. It’s traditional New Mexican cuisine. Are you hungry?”

“How much is it?”

“It’s free.”

MY STRIP CLUB BOSS IS OFFERING ME SOMETHING FOR FREE.

HE DOES NOT SEEM TO BE IMPLYING THAT HE WOULD LATER LIKE A BLOW JOB.

NEW MEXICO FUCKING ROCKS.

Six girls end up working a room of approximately six clients for most of the night.

One girl confesses to me that she just started dancing for the first time last week.

“I’m still really nervous,” she tells me and two other girls.

The newbie steps on stage while the rest of us watch.

One of the girls, in between smacking her gum, confirms the obvious: “She can’t dance. I tried giving her some tips. She’s too stiff.”

The other girls takes a break from sipping on her pint of Diet Coke: “Give her a Xanax.”

“I already did!”

In the entire night, I would end up meeting a man searching for gold, a male nurse, a Mexican to whom I managed to sell a dance IN SPANISH (thank you Mrs. O’Donell, my grade 10 Spanish teacher who taught me all the lyrics to every Shakira song) and a pervert.

www.thesapphicstripper.com