‘Tis the season! That’s right — Christmas. We all endure the holidays with that familiar combination of dread and enjoyment. So much to look forward to! There are the office parties, the family get-togethers, the decorations, and the gift exchanges. Everyone has their own unique holiday traditions. My favorite tradition is to spend the holidays in the buff. In fact, the holidays just aren’t the same if I’m not naked. Why? Because I’m a stripper, and naked is what I do best.
Sure, my holiday traditions are similar to those of the civilian population. Nudity aside, there are some glaring differences, too.
My closest friends and family are the folks that I spend most of my naked time with — fellow strippers, customers, and staff. I admit it sounds a little dysfunctional on the surface, and maybe it is. I’m OK with that. Spending eight hours a day with the same people in various states of undress fosters a particular sense of camaraderie that can’t be replicated in any other way.
With that camaraderie comes a brutal sense of honesty. We don’t delude ourselves about the “true meaning” of Christmas. Sorry, Charlie Brown, but for me Christmas is entirely commercial. No, the gift of your company isn’t enough. You’d best bring me a nice piece of jewelry and big stacks of twenties. And keep those jingle balls in your pants.
It feels tacky to gloat in this economy, but this holiday season is lining up to be my most lucrative. I’ve amassed several regular customers — I cheerfully refer to them as my “fan club” — and each one of them is going to give me a nice little gift. Or — fingers crossed — a big, pricey gift. I’ll get each special guy something thoughtful, too.
A few men find that the holidays — the time of the year devoted to sharing with your loved ones — serve as a harsh reminder of their enduring loneliness. Yesterday, I met a surly and sarcastic fellow who confessed to me that his father is dying, his wife is moving out, his daughter flunked her G.E.D. course, and he’s likely to get laid off in a few weeks. Maybe he felt a little overwhelmed, and maybe if I just sit next to him for a few songs …
Stripping provides an opportunity for me to spread some holiday cheer the way I know best: with my big knockers. I admit my methods are unorthodox, but they sure are effective. I like to surprise a worthy customer with a free private dance, or pony up for a round of drinks for a particularly generous table. When a customer complains that he’s “just not feeling” the spirit, well, a quick smother of my cleavage relieves him of his grinchiness.
As Dec. 25 inches closer and closer, more and more of the strip club patrons and employees start to get into the spirit. Christmas tips are doled out, the dancers start dressing like slutty elves, and the DJ unabashedly plays “Santa Baby.” Our special brand of holiday cheer is hard to resist.
Our holiday party is unmatched in its sheer excess. It’s an all-night, massive, noisy shindig: free drinks, dancing, karaoke. By the time it ends, everyone is best friends. When you’re a stripper, there’s not a lot of room for promotions, so if you end up in a threesome with the boss and his best friend, you’ll still have your job the next morning. We’re not judgmental people; you’ll still have your dignity, too.
I have no complaints about spending Christmas on the pole. It sounds cliché and weird, but I don’t care. The greatest gift I get each year is the time spent with my big, naked family.
Josephine tweets here.