• articles >
• tuscl

tuscl

A catch-all account

"Hello, my name is Georg, and I'm a Pathetic Loser."

I do not *believe* I'm writing this shit.

I've been seeing my current favorite, let's call her "Becky", for a little over a year now, and for all that time, she's maintained that I am the only guy she's fucking. Not just fucking for money, but fucking, period, not even a boyfriend. Not in a strident or sickly sweet "ooh baby, you're the only one" way, but calmly and, frankly, without any apparent expectation that I'd actually believe her.

The subject doesn't come up very often, mostly as a result of me asking about work, and her complaining about some "disgusting dirtbag" who wants her to fuck in the VIP (something she never would do with me, either, though she'd blown me several times), then me looking puzzled or amused and making some comment about her doing it for me, and her responding with some variant of "yeah, but you're the only one I've actually had the nerve to do it with." When I ask her why, she's always saying "I don't know, it just worked out that way," or "You're different," or something like that. Blatant stripper shit style comments, straight from the "Phrases That Make Guys Spend More Money" book that all strippers seem to have read. And nearly every time, I make the comment that "You know I don't care, right?" And her's is usually a shrug and something like, "I know," after which we generally drop it and move on.

Mind you, she's never been reluctant to admit that it's about the money for her. Other than my birthday, she's never offered a freebie, though there have frequently been times when she needs some extra cash when she's given me a discount. Nor has there ever been any illusion of me just "helping her out" or other euphemistic misdirection with regard to the money; there's never been any doubt that it's a quid pro quo situation for both her and me. And, without taking my shoes off, I can count the number of times that *she* has called *me* asking to get together; it's usually me calling her, though for the last few months that's mostly been a call confirming that we're still good for the next time, as we tend to make such arrangements before we part company.

As well, she's never been shy about admitting that she's been with *girls*, which happens quite frequently, or jacked or ground some customer off occasionally, but she's never wavered from the claim that I am the only one she's fucking or sucking, even in the face of all those "I don't care" comments. It's not like she's wanting me to go bareback, or give her more money, or getting together more often, or anything like that, either.

She denies having a current boyfriend, citing bad experiences, and claims to be "over" men for the time being, not wanting the drama that goes along with a boyfriend. "You don't want a girlfriend, you just want some pussy, and that's all I'm willing to give up right now." A couple of months ago, she let slip that her last boyfriend, the baby daddy, beat her up. Well, tried to. Apparently she's no slouch in the fighting back department. She left him that day, and never looked back, not even asking for child support.

Stereotypical stripper background, right? Still no surprises here.

So, given how many times I've heard all this, I've been puzzled as to why she would bother to keep it up for all this time, long past when every other dancer I've ever been with had given up the charade. I've even actually come out and just told her once or twice that I don't believe her (which surprisingly, didn't upset her). She just kind of shrugged and said, "I know, but it's still true."

Anyway, here we are going along, getting together every couple of weeks for the good stuff, the subject occasionally coming up, her making the same claim, and me not caring. Then, weekend before last, I walk into her club (though her attendance the last couple of months makes the word "occasional" a large exaggeration), and notice that I'm getting smirks from the main bouncer and the DJ (who, despite being one of the most annoying DJs I've ever heard, has turned out to be a *really* nice guy).

Clueless at this point, I sit down at the bar, and order my usual bottled water, whereupon the bartender (who I've long suspected has at least guessed what Becky and I are about outside the club) sits down and tells me that one of the other dancers, "Kayla", whom Becky had at one point considered a friend, had outed us in front of the entire club, including the manager.

My response was "And? It's not like Kayla is exactly innocent there either. Or anybody else, for that matter, including you, as I recall."

Bartender: "I know, but as far as I know, you're the *only* person she's done anything with in the VIP."

I about choked on my drink at this point.

Me: "What do you mean?"

BT: "You're the only one she ever asked me to turn the camera off for, and nobody's ever caught her doing anything when it's been on."

At this point, I *did* choke on my drink. Turns out that the camera I'd spied in the VIP room, which according to Becky "didn't work", was in fact real and working. Most of the time. Turns out it has a tendency to "malfunction" with the application of sufficient graft to the manager's palm.

She goes away to check on another customer, and about that time, the bouncer and DJ both come over to sit next to me, and proceed to give me the business about the whole deal. "What's she like?" "How'd you get a piece, man?" etc, etc...

Fortunately, I was saved from actually answering by none other than Becky herself coming out of the dressing room, dressed and with her little suitcase she uses. She's overheard and starts yelling and screaming at them, about how I'm "nice" and "respectful" and "clean" and "pay attention" to her limits and wasn't always trying to "cop a feel" or "paw her like an animal" (obviously for effect, since I'd just gotten done doing exactly that a couple of hours before) and wasn't a "scumbag" or "player" just trying to get in her pants, and so on. Loudly and angrily. Since the music wasn't playing at that particular time, pretty much everybody in the place heard her, and my face is just about as red as it's ever been.

She winds down, starts heading for the door, turns around to me and yells "Well, you want to go *FUCK* some more, babe, and leave these losers her to jack each other off?" Not being a complete idiot, and not really wanting to be in that room anymore anyway, I followed her out the door.

We didn't actually go fuck, but just went to get a drink, where she apologized for dragging me into the scene, and for going off, etc, etc. Not really much for me to say at this point, other than the usual "it's OK" platitudes, but eventually she calms down a bit, and heads home.

I still haven't gone back to the club, but I did see her again tonight, and it was a little weird for a few minutes, until we got into it.

So now I'm living in a world where strippers might be telling the truth sometimes, and I just don't know what do do about it. :)

I didn't think it could hit me this bad, but I am a Pathetic Loser. Because, short of postulating a conspiracy, I think I believe her.