I'm now 32, married, very happy with my husband and very content with my life on the whole, but occasionally look back on my early years with a degree of fondness. From the age of 18 until the age of 29, I was a pole dancer in one of the more exclusive London clubs. This was the type of club where membership cost an absolute fortune for the patrons, mainly because it was all about the tease and the promise of things to come that never arrived. While there were jobs of that nature where it was expected of the girls dancing to offer a lot more than just titillation, this club had very strict rules when it came to its clientele. We were never allowed to directly touch the crotch; around it such as the thighs and stomach was fine as were the arms and chest. Seeing a client outside of the club was a definite no-no and any attempt to offer our number or accept a number from a client resulted in instant dismissal. It was made very clear from day one it was a pole- and lap-dancing club, not a way to find a meal ticket or offer sexual services be they for free or not.
From the age of around 10 until 16, I attended a dance class paid for by my father. I then went to college, and followed up my studies at university. Having been pampered and left wanting for nothing all of my life, I decided to try and make my own way in the world. My father was reluctant to let me go out into the big, bad world on my own and put some cash into a bank account for me to fall back on should I need it. Being the stubborn girl that I was, I told myself I would never touch that money; I was completely determined to be fair to myself and create my own path. I held down several jobs from waitress to coffee shop assistant manager, but the compensations were negligible at best.
My first 'home' was a grotty little flat on the outskirts of a university town. The university itself was beautiful with a very high rating in my chosen field of study, but the surrounding area was nondescript at best.
So there I was at 18, out in the world, struggling to get by, but all the while completely determined to make it on my own. One day, while sitting in the canteen at uni, I was approached by a young girl who gave me a card advertising for lap- and pole-dancers at a local club I had heard about but had never been to. Those who put out the advertisement seemed to be offering good money. So far, my seven years of dance lessons had been a complete waste, save for nights spent dancing on nightclub floors. I figured I had nothing to lose, so I applied.
At the interview, the man conducting it asked to see me in my bra and knickers. While I'm certainly not fat, I have a well-toned body that could be a bit lighter. That being said, I've never had any trouble attracting male attention. My size 16 breasts and size 14 hips, especially when paired with a low cut top and the right bra, made me look fantastically top heavy. Fortunately, my larger breasts balance my larger butt and hips to make my body very proportionate. I was asked to spin around a couple of times so he could see all of me. As I was turning, I caught a glimpse of him; and the look on his face said it all. He wanted one of those skinny supermodels without an ounce of fat on them, but it was obvious that he wasn't what I would describe as enamoured with the buxom girl twirling before him.
Though I don't feel I have the supermodel looks, I'm not ugly. Many people compliment my pretty face, and one of my best features are my deeply-set, big, brown eyes.
After he was finished looking at me, the interview started.
"Do you know how to work a pole?" he asked in a seemingly bored manner while fiddling with a pen he was holding and looking at it rather than me.
I'd never heard that phrase before, so I asked for clarification.
He gestured over my shoulder to the pole-dancers' pole, and asked me again.
"The pole on the dance floor, can you work it?" he hissed at me, his impatience obvious as he threw the pen onto the table in front of him as a display of frustration.
"I don't know," I replied, "but I can certainly try!"
As I slowly made my way to the pole, he started the music. "Pour Some Sugar On Me" came over the speaker system as I began 'working the pole'. As I danced, I started to get into the rhythm and found myself performing all sorts of gymnastics on this pole; from hanging upside down to swinging around on it, making sure I kept giving him furtive looks. I also tried my best to maintain eye contact as much as possible and it appeared to be working. He was watching me now intently and just a hint of a smile was on his face. When the music stopped, I was breathing very hard, my breasts heaved as I panted, swelling and shrinking in the half cup bra I was wearing. The interviewer just sat there, mouth agape, in obvious awe of my dancing. After what I was sure was a full minute, he broke the silence with a question.
He tipped his head to one side and his eyes narrowed a little. "What did you say your name was again?" he asked, still in the stunned manner.
I wasn't sure of myself at this point, my breathing was slowing and I swallowed before answering. "I'm Vicky."
"Well, Vicky, I have never seen anyone work a pole like that before in my life! That was incredible, and every time you looked at me it was like I was being shocked with 20,000 volts."
"Thank you!" I blushed as I answered him.
"Can you lap dance?" he asked as he licked his lips this tongue flicking out and coating them in a hint of saliva.
I didn't know, but I seemed to be good at pole dancing, so I offered to try as my confidence grew a little more. Again the music started and I approached him, swinging my hips in time to the beat, smiling and performing a few dance steps. He leaned back in his chair and I ran my hands all over his body. I never touched his cock though. My hands went very close to it, but they never actually touched it. Again I kept offering as much eye contact as I could and was smiling a genuine smile as I started to enjoy myself, dancing and writhing over his body, teasing him and loving every second of it. I felt in control of the situation, my confidence growing all the more as I wiggled my arse at him, offering my breasts to his face without actually touching him with them. Strangely for me, I was starting to become tuned on by the sudden surge of power I was feeling over this man and my nipples grew hard trying to poke their way out of the laced material.
Again the music stopped and I took a step back, looking at him feeling rather pleased with myself. I noticed he was sporting a very healthy looking bulge in his trousers, so I wasn't the only one who was turned on.
"Wow! Where did you learn to do that?" he asked, obviously exasperated and trying to hide his enthusiasm for my efforts but failing miserably.
"Those years of dance classes really paid off, apparently!" I responded, with a sly wink and a wry smile, knowing I'd driven him nuts with desire.