The Doctor Is In: Sex Work Goes Whovian

by Josephine and Caty

The year is 3056 and some things never change. You’re filing your nails in the dressing room. Just another dull night in the Martian strip club. Perhaps you’re idly thumbing through an old Cosmo as you wait patiently within the brothel at the end of the universe.

It’s not always this slow, it’s just that time of the year…Right?

You hear some odd whirring and clanking over the music. What the heck was that? That was nothing, you think. Probably someone trying to parallel park a junky lunar module outside. Whatever. Time to hit the floor.

A man across the room looks weirdly familiar. You approach him and say hello.

He responds in the most cliché way possible: “Do you want me to take you away from all this?”

Why does this man look so familiar? Could it be? Is he…the Doctor?

Hey, it could happen. Even Time Lords have needs.

We wondered, what would our good Doctor be like as a client or a customer?

The First Doctor (William Hartnell)

Josephine: Wow, he looks really old which is interesting because, comparatively, he’s actually a rather young Doctor. He reminds me of the guy that snuck away from his wife while she gambles at the casino. I’d totally ask this Doctor if he’d like a private dance, but only as a courtesy. I know he won’t be able to hear me over the music.

Caty: As you give him an enthusiastic blowjob while mentally trying to figure where you can get a frock coat like that, Susan bursts into the room. “Oh,” she says, backing away slowly. AWKWARD. Didn’t Doctor Who start out as children’s programming?

The Second Doctor

Josephine: Oh my, is that a Sonic Screwdriver in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? Hey, wasn’t this the Doctor that was put on trial? A criminal. Nice. I know the eccentric outfits would discourage most dancers from approaching this one. And for good reason—the fur coat he occasionally wore is a sure sign that he won’t spend any money.

Caty: Really, you want me to talk dirty to you in a Scottish accent? Cuddling up afterwards, you give him a bit of the old ho shrinkery and tell him to stop sublimating his obvious lust for ALL of his Companions. You walk him out smiling, only to discover he left his grandchildren waiting in the brothel’s reception area, AGAIN. Not classy, not classy at all.

The Third Doctor

Josephine: That cape! That blow out! This Doctor has PL written all over him, which is actually a compliment coming from a stripper. He’d bring me copies of Popular Science and Scientific American on slow days.

Caty: The guy won’t even look at you at line up, he’s so enthused about the alien workers, talking about how glad he is to finally see Earth at his back. Ha, you knew that whole pro human shtick was just a cover for a typically snooty Time Lord attitude. You get a little of your own back, though, when Tzzzzzk brings you into their domme session to role play as the Brigadier, especially enjoying making him yelp when you demolish replicas of Bessie and the TARDIS. Your Venusian Aikido won’t do you any good now, dude.

The Fourth Doctor

Josephine: This Doctor would totally be the customer that takes a little ecstasy before heading to the strip club. Nothing wrong with wanting to feel a little fa-reee-kay, AM I RIGHT ladies? Look at him! He’s got his rave gear on and everything. Would this one spend any money? Oh sure, he might spend a little on the stripper patient enough to put up with his incessant blathering. NEXT.

Caty: Oh, okay, this is the sort of client who wants to run the fuck. You guess you’ll just starfish as he puts all his weight on you in the missionary position (RUDE!) and occasionally amuse yourself by pulling on that ridiculous mop of curly hair, apologizing insincerely when you do it a bit too hard. Afterwards, he’s a bit more fun, sharing a bag of jelly babies with you in bed and letting you pick out the red ones. Still, you’re not sure how comfortable you are with that robo dog playing voyeur.

You do have a how-to-escort-101 conversation with Romana while the Doctor gets his coat which is less irritating than most of those sorts of conversations—Time Lord royalty or not, Galifreyan currency tends to depreciate, and sometimes she feels like saving up a nest egg and getting the hell off that TARDIS.

The Fifth Doctor

Josephine: Doctor Who? More like Doctor Sexxxaaay; he dresses like an East coast Democrat but with a stalk celery on his lapel (which is awesome, because I’m a vegetarian). This Doctor is so empathetic and amicable. I’m sure this Doctor would make for a memorable customer—the kind that compensates dancers for their time AND gladly buys drinks.

Caty: You’ll admit it, you’re kind of an Anglophile, so the English schoolboy cricket whites…they’re kinda doing it for you. You don’t really waste your time thinking about getting yours at work, usually, but this Doctor has you feeling kind of dewy…as long as he doesn’t open his mouth. Those treacly BBC sentiments about the Good of Humanity immediately let the air out of your girl boner. Why doesn’t the Master ever visit this part of the galaxy?

The Sixth Doctor

Josephine: I’ve met this guy before. Sorry, but this guy is Mr…no, excuse me, Dr. I’m Too Good For The Strip Club But Am Here To Waste Your Time Anyway. The newbie strippers might talk to him, but the rest of us would run screaming.

Caty: Tzzzk takes you aside after this one picks you out of the line up and says, “Don’t worry, I’ve seen him before—just keep on repeating, ‘Yes, Doctor, you ARE a genius,’ and you’ll be fine.” You grit your teeth and follow her advice. It’s all “Did I tell you about the time I met Elvis” this, and “of course, only I could defeat Davros” that. To top it all off, he’s the sort of client who keeps on patronizingly complimenting you on your intelligence without imagining you’ll be intelligent enough to understand that this sort of thing is really just an expression of disbelief at the idea that a hooker can string two thoughts together: “You’re not like those ditzy consumptive bimbos streetside in Victorian London!” Eventually, though, you just can’t take it anymore, you’re forced to correct his grammar, and it all goes downhill from there.

Peri books you for two hours after that, though, and promises to come by the next time she’s in this sector. You’ve noticed extensive travel through space and time tends to bring out the sexually liberated dyke in all these 20th century American college girls, and you love it.

The Seventh Doctor (Sylvester McCoy)

Josephine: This Doctor is under a lot of stress, more stress than mere mortals like you and I could ever comprehend. He’s wary and he’s tired. Sadly, the frantic pace of his life doesn’t allow for many opportunities for Space/Time Continuum strip clubs. So, when he finally finds the time he gets lots of lap dances from all of the strippers working. Oh, and he likes feet. He definitely likes feet.

Caty: This one you meet on an outcall to the TARDIS. He keeps on telling you that you remind him of Ace, and could you tell him about your childhood, and why you ran away from home? You don’t tell him that you’re actually a graduate student, writing your thesis on the sexology of Cybermen. Before he goes too far into his Captain Save a Ho shtick—which you suspect, from the sadistic glint in his eye, involves him playing amateur psychologist—you distract him by stripping and running into the TARDIS’ vast closet, where you and he merrily play dress up for hours. He asks you to call him “Melanie” while you paint his nails, and you play a game of chess while wearing mink stoles. Plus, he indulges you by telling you all about exactly how…animalistic the Master could get in his cheetah incarnation, so you do him the favor of repressing your shudder when he gets a faraway look and starts telling long stories about his days blowing up entire planets.

The Eighth Doctor

Josephine: The Time War Doctor. Be nice to him. He’s fragile. Whatever you do, don’t touch his hair.

Caty: This guy just really, really needs a long massage. He starts crying when you work out the knots in his tailbone. He turns over, and with those huge, watery blue eyes fixed on you, you really start feeling sorry for him. At least, until he starts blubbering about how he “just wants to be inside Compassion again!” Whatever. You make him an appointment with the Tantric specialist next door.

The Ninth Doctor

Josephine: The post traumatic stress disorder Doctor. Be nice to him, too. What is he even doing in a strip club, anyway? He’s a stone fox in a leather jacket who won’t stop talking about some blonde chick named Rose.

Caty: He jackhammers away at you while in his cups, then starts weeping postcoitally, boozily muttering something about Daleks. Proceeds to fall asleep on top of you. You forgive him only because his Northern accent is actually kinda sexy.

The Tenth Doctor

Josephine: I’m sorry, Internet. He is Sweatpants Boner Doctor.

Caty: Asks you to wear a blonde wig and calls out “Rose!” at the moment of climax. You put up with it only because afterwards he reminisces about slashy good Galifreyan boarding school times with the Master. You spot Martha in the brothel’s reception area, tapping her booted foot impatiently and looking fit to kill, compliment her on her red leather jacket and make a date for when you get off work.

The Eleventh Doctor

Josephine: It’s already on record that this Time Lord loves strippers, given that one of his companions was a kiss-o-gram.. It’s obvious that girls make him nervous but after a few drinks he probably unwinds and becomes a lot of fun. What. A. Sweety. Dancing for him is like riding a Popsicle stick, but that’s ok.

Caty: No, you will NOT surprise River Song with a threesome for her birthday because, “really, she’ll love it!” You’ve heard about how that woman fights, and she fights dirty. How is it even possible to figure out when her birthday is, anyway? Also, you have to break it to him that fezes are not, in fact, cool, ensuring that he won’t be a repeat client.

The Twelfth Doctor

Josephine:  This one says he can’t get it up because of the regeneration. Yeah, right. He just drinks too much.

Caty: The brothel has a strict policy on not serving Time Lords fresh off a regeneration as clients because they tend to spend the whole session staring abstractedly at their own naked bodies, exclaiming, “I’m two whole inches longer than last time!” at intervals. Plus, they’re usually too spaced out to remember to bring their wallets. And that’s when they don’t try to strangle you.