Hello, my name is Candy. Well, Candy isn't my real name. It is my stripper name. You guessed it, I am a stripper. Some of the other girls like to say they are dancers, but I am not out to fool anyone. I am proud of what I do. For those who think less of me because I am a stripper, they can go fuck themselves. They are only jealous of my body!

I've been doing this for the past four years. I started when I was 18. I have to say, I make more money than my friends did that went to college. I make well over six figures each year. While they on the other hand, try to get by on nickels and dimes.

I can't say that I hate my job. I'm a very sexual woman and I love turning men on. Who wouldn't love to turn a man on and get paid for it? It's not like I'm having sex with the guys! Though, I've had a few men ask if I would have sex with them for money. One guy offered to buy me a brand new car if I had sex with him. I told him that it was a nice offer, but I couldn't take him up on it. I do have morals, though I'm sure some people may think that such a thing would be impossible for a stripper.

I will give you a real glimpse of what my life is really like. These are real conversations that I have had with customers. Please note, their names have been changed to protect their identity.

"Hello Peter." I said as Peter walked through the door.

"Hello Candy, how are you?" Peter asked.

"I'm fine. Care for a private dance?" I asked.

"Sure, let me take off my coat and I will meet you there." Peter said.

I waited for about five minutes and wondered where he was. So, I went back out on the floor to find out. Peter was standing talking to another stripper. I winked at him and he knew what I wanted. He then came into the private area to get his dance.

"Sit right down." I said as he came in the room.

"I really need one of your dances." Peter said as he sat down.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Rough week at work. Really fucking rough week." Peter said as he rubbed his beard.

I took off my shirt and I started to play with my tits. I could tell right away that Peter was starting to relax. You see, I don't think of this stuff as always being sexual. No fucking way do I. Sometimes people come here to relieve stress. They have problems and want to get their mind off of it. He will probably go home and heat up a frozen dinner and act like nothing happened. I'm sure some of these guys don't get turned on. I mean, sure they get turned on a little. But, guys like Peter just want to get away. Get away from the day to day shit he has to do. We are like a drug in that sense, but we are legal and in some cases more expensive.

"Seeing those nice tits makes me feel relaxed." Peter said as he looked up at my jugs.

"You want to play with my tits?" I asked.

"You bet I do." Peter said putting out his hand.

I sat on his lap and put one of my tits in his hand. I can tell when a guy is relaxing and when a guy is horny. The horny guy will go straight for my nipple. The stressed out guy will play with my tits. I think stressed out people find the mooshy feeling of a breast to be relaxing. I know I do sometimes.

"You have great tits." Peter said.

"Thank you Peter." I said.

I really don't get turned on by old guys like this. I don't know how old he really is, but he must be at least 70 or older. Hell, he could be in his 80's for all I know. The lighting is so bad here, that it can be hard to tell how old someone is.

"I come to you instead of my therapist." Peter said.

"Why do you do that?" I asked.

"Because she won't let me feel her tits!" Peter said bursting out with laughter.

Peter paid me double what he normally does. He said that I did a good job and that he felt better. I know why he comes to me instead of his therapist. He comes to me because I don't say the shit his therapist did. You see, my views on life is pretty simple. All you need to have is a smile on your face. Whatever it takes to obtain that smile, is okay. If you are willing to pay any price that you may have to pay. For me, it's one heft price. But, Peter doesn't mind paying it. No, he pays me with a smile in fact.

Here is another real life story. This is a funny one about a drunk guy.

"I'd like to have a dance." A drunk man slurred.

"It will cost you big guy." I said as I walked up to him.

"I've got more than enough money for a private dance." He said waving his hands in the air.

I took him back to the private area and took off my shirt.

"Damn, those melons are nice!" He belted out.

"You like it when I shake them?" I asked.

Just when I asked him if he liked it when I shook them, he passed out. Well, not passed out, but wasn't really awake.

"Do you like it when I shake them?" I yelled into his ear to wake him up.

"Oh, yes, I like all kinds of fruit." The man said as he woke up.

"What?" I asked him.

"Yes, I love all fruit. My favorite is fruit salad. What are you doing without a shirt on?" He asked.

"Um, you are at a strip club?" I said.

"Oh, I am?" I bet my wife will get mad." He said as he started passing out again.

When he passed out again, I figured the dance was over. He was passed out cold and wasn't in any shape to pay me. I knew at that point that I shouldn't even worry about getting paid.

"Come over here Shawnee." I said to one of the other strippers.

"What's up?" Shawnee asked.

"This guy is passed out. What can we do with him?" I asked.

"Did he pay you?" She asked.

"No." I said.

"How many dances did you give him?" She asked.

"Just one. I'm not worried about the money. I just want to get him the fuck out of here." I said.