The Stripper Tales part 1 - Check In Time

**Part 1**
(The Stripper Tales, a collection of memoirs from a job i had as a frontdesk clerk in a very seedy hotel...)

I looked up to see an oversized set of breasts smothered in purple velour resting on the check-in counter. The zipper of the hoodie was pulled down to accentuate the 6-inch crack above it, a fleshy double D cavern.
“Hey Delilha… long time no see! Where’ve you been?”
“fucking Edmonton. I hate that hole. You should see my god dam legs! Ill show you later… you get my room sweets? Or is Mani being a bitch again?”
“a bitch… but I’ll see what I can do. You’ll have to stay on the 1st floor tonight though. The 2nd floor is booked”
“then put me on the 3rd floor. I AM NOT shacking up with the rest of those crack-ass 1st floor ho’s!” understandable… the 1st floor was scary. I had a hard time even sitting on the edge of one of the beds in those rooms - having to sleep in one would be out of the question.

I was at work. Front desk clerk at the Vic Plaza Hotel, right in the heart of downtown. The hotel was adjacent to a well know strip club called Monty’s. The building was turn of the century old, with the last renovation completed in the 80’s. The carpets were stained with gum, vomit, red wine and hair dye. The walls reeked of cigarette smoke, dust and something else you could never put your finger on. There was a baseball bat behind the counter. A seedy hotel at its finest. My 4pm to 12 midnight shifts required little effort on my part. The hours were spent chatting with the dancers, refilling my root beer in the pub and finding available rooms at other hotels for nice families that had unknowingly booked with ours.

Each week a there was a new line-up of dancers for Monty’s and they were put up on the 1st floor for their stay. Jessica Belle, Karma Sutra, Luv Tyler and Tori Tame… the names always made me snicker. Food and drink tabs, phone calls, damages and the daily $40 for their room were taken off their final paycheck at the end of the week. More often then not the girls actually owed the hotel money. Thank god I never had to deal with that end of things cause those girls could get nasty! Around 4 mediocre girls were booked along with the “headliner”. She was paid $10 more per show and had to have huge fake tits, decent promo posters, themed “outfits” and rockin’ tan lines. Delilah was this week’s headliner, and she expected to be treated like one.
A hand flicked over processed hair away from her face. Deep in thought she contemplated the situation, slowly licking her highly glossed lips. They had the plump, puckered texture that only multiple injections could procure. I wondered if she could feel her tongue slide across their meatiness. She was pretty – at one point in her life.

“Ok where’s Mani? I want to talk with him. I so sick of this bullshit.”
“now’s not a good time to talk with Mani. Jenny and him are fighting in the office.”
“hmph… she catch another dancer with his dick down her throat?”
“yaaaah, something to that effect.” Upon arriving at work that day I was elated to find an open parking spot right beside the hotel. I screeched my car to a halt upon pulling into it… massive shards of glass covered the entire area. Looking out my window and up at the 3rd floor I saw that the office window had found its new home down here in the alleyway. I could only guess what had happened, certainly nothing new. Mani the manager would often pop down to the front desk and tell me to clear $20 to $50 off a dancers debt to the hotel. His wife did the books, and they didn’t balance very often if you get my drift?

I booked Delilah into a 3rd floor room and handed her the key.
“you’re the best dalyn. Hey, can you come up and hang for a bit after I get settled? I’ll cut up a little afternoon “snack” for yoooou…? I’ll show you the new scars on my legs as well! Fucker’s in Edmonton were heating up coins with their lighters and then flicking them at me on stage! One even got me in the cunt! Can you believe that shit?!”
“kind of… I’ll come up in a bit. Extra towels and a diet coke to go with your coke?”
“I wish every job had one of you.” She left a haze of expensive perfume in the room and I listened as her suitcase bump bump bumped up to the 3rd floor. Room 322 was home for a week and I was her new best friend. (more to come later…) *d