So I’m back at uni, the students loan company have fucked everything up the wall as per, I’m poor, cold and stone-cold fucking sober. The natural solution to such a situation is obviously to sell a part of me, for gold. My virginity was an obvious one, but unfortunately I gave that away on the back seat of the coach on a school trip when I was 14. Perhaps I could sell some form of intellectual property? However, it turns out nobody considers my theory that Cheryl Cole is really an alien from Tralfamadore worth paying for. My body? Oh yea ok, now we’re getting somewhere, but my fear of AIDS makes prostitution a risky avenue. It was my friend layla* who solved the problem: Stripping, DUH. A job which entails getting drunk and acting like a slutty whore! Yay, wahoo, great. I usually do that for the price of a bottle of white lightening anyways.

After my night spent with candy the stripper, I’ve been eager to get my gash out for cash too. The opportunity was presented to me by my friend Layla*. Layla had been stripping for a few weeks after a chance encounter in the Primark lingerie section- risqué. Layla asked me if I would like to be her tag-team partner and naturally my curiosity on the subject lead me to accept her proposition immediately. It is highly fortuitous might I add that Layla is a total hottie; nice rack and a pert little ass, because (unbeknownst to me when I accepted the offer) the  purpose of a tag-team is to corner a group of men and offer them an intimate lesbian routine.

In the changing room as we were getting ready, the talk focussed mainly on strap-ons and fisting, it turns out most strippers really are lesbians (bonus). This was followed by a motivational orgy, where said tips on fisting were put to good use (only joking). As we ascended the stair case to the floor, I cannot deny even I felt uncharacteristically nervous. However, a couple (of hundred) free drinks later I was just another drunk slut about town, ready to get naked for the first man with a bald head and a beard (personal preference).

The night got off to a swinging start, as Layla and I performed a Lesbian dance (£60 for 9 minutes). The routine was pretty simple: A little grind here, suck of the nipple there, some pretend cunnilingus, and a few cheeky spanks for good measure, not forgetting the optional dirty whispering in the old bastard’s ear.

As the night drew on I got progressively drunker, as did the men in the bar. Who by the way were all old, fat and strangely either Scottish or Albanian. By the end of the night I was staggering round offering any inanimate object the opportunity to see me grind “my pale naked ass” on their “wrinkly brown cock”. Funnily enough this approach did not constitute great success. I have to say, despite the insulting chat-up lines, my less than average beauty and my inability to support myself, let alone dance by the end of the night,  I felt as though I took to stripping like a duck to water, although for a true appraisal of my abilities you would be better asking one of the clients. In the end I made over £500 for what I’m sure most of you ladies (and gentlemen?) will agree was a pretty standard night on the tiles. So come down next week and I’ll do you mates rates yea?

Highs: Opening the pay packet to see the sweet oxford scholar.

Lows: Some guy telling me he had mastered the “one handed trick”. Um what?