To be on stage

I walk out onto the catwalk style stage of the club I'm currently at. The mood is different depending on the crowd's disposition and the number of people watching me. I used to get really panicky, but now I do a stupid little dance before I walk up the stage on to the catwalk to calm my nerves. The stage lights can be blinding. I walk up to the first pole, hook my leg around and do a spin. I make sure I have an air of determination about me, but also a but of a wry little smile. I try to keep it light when I'm up there. This is part of my appeal. I'm not a scary intimidating super model style stripper. I'm happy go lucky. I want everyone to have a good time. I love being the center of attention when I'm on stage. Where else can I get a hundred men to pay attention to just ME. It feels good to be adored. Sometimes, I fuck up when I'm up there. My shoe will slip out from underneath me, I'll smack my knee on the pole. My knee will give out while I'm doing floor work. I laugh it off, no matter how much pain is involved. Keep up the fantasy, you little class clown. Sometimes, I'll play games with the customers, football. They get rewarded with a titty kiss, also known as a motor boat. It's so difficult to describe the feeling of power one gets from being naked on stage. Have I ever felt degraded? Sure, When some asshole throws a quarter up or yells a stupid comment. But most of the time I feel like a goddess, in control, the little people are in awe of me. They are lucky to be able to glance upon my luscious curves. You gotta keep it that way. You gotta keep it that way or you will lose your mind and yourself to fear and self doubt. There's nothing worse to see on a strip club stage than a terrified woman, not knowing what the fuck to do. That kind of shit makes me cringe. It makes me cringe because 2 years ago, that woman was me. In transformed this terrifying experience into an empowering one.

The first time...

The lights on Delaware Ave were sparkling as we drove past the Festival Pier, the colossal apartment complexes, restaurants and clubs that lined the river. Ayo Technology by 50 Cent ft. Justin Timberlake blared out the speakers as I sat in the passenger seat, wringing my hands.
"I don't think I can do this."
"You get naked for the camera all the time, you're fabulous. It's whatever."

I'm on my way to my first shift at a titty bar. I'd go-go danced before, but never stripped bare chested at a club with poles and lap dances. I had just spent the day shooting photos, and I had a bruise precariously close to my pussy from popping balloons with my ass. I much later learned, at a different club, that all the outfits I had in my bag were low-grade, no good for stripping at clubs where most of the dancers are beautiful, well shaped and made a decent amount of money.

As we pulled up to the club in South Philadelphia, I had a striking feeling this was a terrible idea. Even the exterior was dingy, the bars had windows and the sign above advertising topless ladies was missing a whole lot of light bulbs.
"Go get 'em tiger"
I grabbed my bag and sighed, rolled my eyes.
"Good Bye."
I didn't realize exactly how much weight this phrase held at this exact moment. I was saying good bye to so much more than I realized at the time.

I entered the club, the first dancer there. It was so dark. It smelled so musty. I needed a fucking drink.

I ordered a cape cod, as some kind of bug I'd never seen before I danced there, or since I've danced there scuttled across the bar.
"Go on honey, get your gear on, it's almost show time."
And so began my 8pm to 4am shift at one of the dirtiest hovels I've ever been in. Even the afterhours club we were forced to dance in after wards was cleaner. I've never seen so many hand prints on a mirror.

The other women working there were what I've been heard described as "very kenzo" (which in essence is a slur meaning white city trash). Too old to be dancing. Abnormally muscular for being so damn skinny. Most had been dancing forever. They had stumbled through so many dimly lit lap dance rooms to get to this. How depressing. But all in all, they were all helpful, sweet and knowledgeable. In the time that I worked in this particular club I would learn some very important lessons about the business of exotic dancing.

We hardly ever did lap dances there, and I particularly hated them because there was no one to watch and make sure the guys stayed in the. The first and last dance I did there was for a man who wouldn't get his mouth off of my tits no matter how hard I tried to pry away.

Other than boobie man, there was a customer that particularly fancied me that night who had the roughest hands I ever felt and insisted on rubbing my body with them. I didn't know what to do.

At some point during the night, a crew of guys came in and were acting all macho. They threw 20s on the stage at me. I knew who these guys were, I had been warned about them from the manager of the go go bar I worked at. A recruiter from another club with 4 of his goons dragging along.
"Hole fucking sucks"
"***** don't give me any shit. It's my first night. I know who the fuck you are, and I don't care."
"You should come work for me"
"Eat me."

not really the time, but...

my favorite christmas song!

nan goldin & the velvet underground

these are a few of my favorite things...

The Velvet Underground - Sunday Morning

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new tattoos, cranky pants

I spent several hours yesterday for my first round of sittings on my left sleeve. I got my momma's girl tattoo outline, a pink spider web with a star in the middle on my elbow and the beggining of the hand of glory (the artist said I can only take so much pain before my body says everybody out of the pool so we didn't complete that). The whole thing is being done by Justin French at Skin Illustrations tattoo in Cookstown, NJ (http://www.myspace.com/skinillustrationstattoo) . I can't wait to show off the finished product and run around at tattoo conventions for him. On the other hand, the web really fuckin hurts and is pretty inflames from moving around so much so I've been dosing myself with a lot of ibuprofen. I'll be up at daydreams tonight, so feel free to stop on by and say hello.

wanna read about another smart, snarky philly stripper?

check out sweet life confidential, we're both 25, intelligent and take our clothes off for a living.

reasons why i love my job

Some people think we're all lesbians and man haters. Not true. Here are a few non-cash related reasons why I love my job.

1. I love to entertain, this gives me an outlet to do so.
2. I like making people happy, I do this daily at work.
3. I'm an exhibitionist. I love to be naked.
4. I love men, and flirting with men.
5. It gives me material to write about.
6. I love the sensuality involved in giving a great lap dance.
7. I'm obsessed with boners, and the fact that I can cause them.

Don't box me in

It is difficult to keep and maintain relationships with this job. This is the third time someone has left me because they don't like or can't handle what I do for a living...not counting guys that used me for sex and money and wouldn't even introduce me to their friends unless it was to shame me. They don't seem to understand that my occupation is not at all who I am as a human being. Sure, I love my job. I love entertaining people and making them feel good and happy. However think about this, you're an IT guy, or an unemployed writer, or a bouncer at a night club or you work some office job...that is just your JOB, it does not define YOU as a HUMAN BEING. For sex workers, it seems that society sees the opposite. We get little to no respect because our culture puts us in a sub-human category. I feel as though we are designated to JUST being strippers, hookers, dommes, porn stars, etc., when there is so much more to us than that. Some of us are well educated, nurses, writers, artists, entrepreneurs. Some of us are sex workers because in some ways, it is an intelligent choice- we can make enough money to support ourselves while working on our creative endeavors, or make extra money while going to school or working "legitimate" jobs. Over the last week, I've been dumped because of my job (I do not sleep with customers, and I no longer do girl-girl sex shows), and have also been told by an ex-lover that he is basically ashamed of me because of my job as a dancer. Open your minds. There's more to us than our jobs and bodies. Most of us have intelligence and emotions as well.

Tuesday, Tuesday

Tuesday begins my work week. I always feel set to go all of Tuesday, in fact even after yesterday's bummer of a post, I'm kinda still psyched to go in and make some cash. I feel like the purpose of this blog kinda has faded so I'm going to get back on subject here. Today I'll profile my foot fetish customer, and tomorrow or later tonight I will profile my best regular.

Foot Fetish Guy aka FFG:

This man is an extremely gentle soul and usually spends some time with me before we go back to the couch dance room. He's about 6 feet tall, thin, with kind brown eyes and a sweet smile. He's a fantastic listener and is willing to hold intellectual conversations with me while he winds down and gets ready to go have some fun with me. He always tells me he "wants to make my night as easy as possible". Once I lead this fine gentleman (and he is a gentle man) to the couch dance room, he has me remove my shoes. Over the course of the next 6 lapdances (that's his usual amount) he rubs my feet, asks me to caress his chest with my toes and enjoys when I breathe in his ear and whisper how much I adore having the tops of my feet stroked ever so gently. I also think he could care less whether I'm naked or not, he just enjoys the fact that I can hold an adult conversation and he loves my feet. He even didn't mind last week when I was in desperate need of a pedicure. He shrugged his shoulders and told me they were still beautiful.

Prioitize

I can't seem to get things in order lately. My credit cards should be paid on time, since I have the money, but I can't seem to actually log onto thd websites to pay them. What the hell is up with that? Also, I've found it very hard to leave the bed or the couch. It pains me just to get up and go to the bank, work, etc. I guess I am having what one of my former psychiatrists would call a "depressive episode". When I am at work, I put on my smiley face and I go out there and I entertain and try to make people happy. But I am so far down in this rut I don't know how to pull myself out of it. I've seen and experienced so much disrespect and ignorance lately it's killing me. The state of the world drives a dagger into my heart every time I turn on the news. I don't get why people can't just be naturally good. Why we have to all hate eachother. I need to prioritize. I need to fix my credit rating because it should not be so low. I need more back massages. I need to not come home and find that I've had three books of check and 160 bucks stolen from my house and spend hours on the phone arguing with the bank trying to get them to close out the account. I need to do volunteer work on Mondays so I feel like I'm giving back.

I was scheduled to work at the scary club today and I just didn't show up. I know I should have called the owner and thanked him for giving me the opprotunity to work there, since I got the job without having to do an audition but I didn't want to deal with any drama. jeez.