I dreamt about dancing again last night. This is far from the first time I’ve dreamt about buckling my shoes and swiping lipstick across my lips, but this dream was particularly vivid.
I was in a large, ritzy club; far from the dive I used to work in, sitting on a man’s lap. He was balding, with glasses and a short-sleeve button down shirt. A stereotypical nerd. I was drinking champagne and chatting happily about nothing in particular while he fed me a steady stream of one dollar bills.
This dream was not realistic. I have rarely had wealthy clients who paid me to talk, and I can’t remember a time when I’ve drank an entire bottle of champagne. This dream was less like reality, and more like the glitzy (and most likely exaggerated) experiences of other stripper-bloggers.
I gave him a lap dance and counted my money. I think the total was somewhere near $800.
I miss stripping. I miss it a lot. Is that sick?
Maybe its just because I’m so broke right now, but the clubs near my home are really calling to me.
My boyfriend is the only thing stopping me. He could never be alright with me dancing again, and while I understand the reason why he wouldn’t want his girlfriend getting naked for strangers, it doesn’t make my yearning any less.
I repeat the question… Am I sick?
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
So sorry for my absence...
but a lot has been going on in my life. I ended a 4 year relationship and went a bit buckwild before calming down and dealing with the massive amounts of schoolwork that accumulated during my partying.
I went up to Philly a few times, made a bunch of money, had a wonderful New Years Eve, had my wisdom teeth removed, met a new boy, and just generally lived my life.
But, I'm back now, with lots of new stories and a complete lack of motivation to do schoolwork.
You'll be hearing from me again very soon, my lovelies.
I went up to Philly a few times, made a bunch of money, had a wonderful New Years Eve, had my wisdom teeth removed, met a new boy, and just generally lived my life.
But, I'm back now, with lots of new stories and a complete lack of motivation to do schoolwork.
You'll be hearing from me again very soon, my lovelies.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
October
My very favorite month.
Your humble stripper is in much better spirits than in her last post.
I'll be dancing in Philly in about 2 weeks... I am very excited. I miss it. I miss the money. I miss getting naked for strangers. I miss having stories to tell.
I'll have some new ones for you soon darlings
Your humble stripper is in much better spirits than in her last post.
I'll be dancing in Philly in about 2 weeks... I am very excited. I miss it. I miss the money. I miss getting naked for strangers. I miss having stories to tell.
I'll have some new ones for you soon darlings
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The End (?)
I had planned on writing an entry about one of my favorite customers today, but my heart just wasn't in it. I hope you will all forgive me for straying from my normal, stripper stories and indulge me while I air some personal business.
I have mentioned vaguely in this journal my boyfriend M. Well, he is no longer my boyfriend. After four years, and 13 days of a wonderful relationship I broke up with him. Not because I didn't love him, or because I had found someone new, but because after such a long time with him, I no longer knew who I was without him.
I still love him immensely, but I am very, very young and need to experience the world for myself before I go committing myself to someone.
For the first time in four years, I am single. I do not know what to do with myself. I am shattered, but quickly realizing how to pick up my pieces. Despite my loneliness, I feel a certain hesitant optimism. Some joy. Some freedom.
I was planning on auditioning soon, but with my new-found solitude I don't know if I could handle it emotionally. Also, my grades should be my first priority right now.
Now back to your regularly scheduled broadcast.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
*Jersey
“Wow Bella! You look good! Have you lost weight?”
“I guess I must have, everybody keeps commenting on it.”
“You look really good. I mean, not that you were fat before, but shit girl, you look good.”
“Aww, thanks.”
“Like, really fucking good!”
“…Thanks. You’ve lost a lot of weight too!”
“Yeah, Mike* told me that I was getting fat so I decided to lose a couple pounds. I look fucking hot right?”
“Yeah, definitely. So how did you lose the weight?”
“Dope.”
I stared, dumbstruck for a moment. “Well, I guess it’s been working for you.”
“Fuck yeah. But I’m not addicted or anything. If I start spending any more than $20 a day I’ll quit.”
“We all have our limits I guess.”
“Yeah, I handle it pretty well. Like, Rose* was talking about doing it and I told her not to. She would just go crazy, you know? Just wile-the-fuck-out, you know? I’m used to this shit so I can deal. Bella, I’ve been making so much fucking money.”
“That’s really great.”
“Yeah. So how did you lose your weight?”
“Um, I guess since I left school I’ve just been more activ-“
“Yeah, that’s cool. Dope’s so easy though. I mean I’ve been making so much fucking money. I think I’ll get my son back from my mom.”
“…you have a son?”
*Just a side note, yes this conversation ACTUALLY occurred. I had danced with this girl for months and had never once heard her mention her son. This dancer in particular was one of the more fucked up people I worked with and I always felt a mixture of pity and disgust for her. Pity, because she had such obviously low self-esteem and disgust because she was one of the people who made my job harder by offering extras in the back room.
“I guess I must have, everybody keeps commenting on it.”
“You look really good. I mean, not that you were fat before, but shit girl, you look good.”
“Aww, thanks.”
“Like, really fucking good!”
“…Thanks. You’ve lost a lot of weight too!”
“Yeah, Mike* told me that I was getting fat so I decided to lose a couple pounds. I look fucking hot right?”
“Yeah, definitely. So how did you lose the weight?”
“Dope.”
I stared, dumbstruck for a moment. “Well, I guess it’s been working for you.”
“Fuck yeah. But I’m not addicted or anything. If I start spending any more than $20 a day I’ll quit.”
“We all have our limits I guess.”
“Yeah, I handle it pretty well. Like, Rose* was talking about doing it and I told her not to. She would just go crazy, you know? Just wile-the-fuck-out, you know? I’m used to this shit so I can deal. Bella, I’ve been making so much fucking money.”
“That’s really great.”
“Yeah. So how did you lose your weight?”
“Um, I guess since I left school I’ve just been more activ-“
“Yeah, that’s cool. Dope’s so easy though. I mean I’ve been making so much fucking money. I think I’ll get my son back from my mom.”
“…you have a son?”
*Just a side note, yes this conversation ACTUALLY occurred. I had danced with this girl for months and had never once heard her mention her son. This dancer in particular was one of the more fucked up people I worked with and I always felt a mixture of pity and disgust for her. Pity, because she had such obviously low self-esteem and disgust because she was one of the people who made my job harder by offering extras in the back room.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Krystal
She sat, artfully concealing the creases under and around her eyes with powder. Drawing on lips, contouring cheekbones and creating lashes where there were none before. She teases and backcombs newly processed hair, the real color of which hasn’t been seen in over 20 years.
She talks about a time when dancing was just that, dancing. When girls didn’t need to be whores to make money. When customers were real gentlemen and paid for her company with cash, champagne, and jewelry. When she could pay all of her expenses for a month off of one night’s work. When the girls knew how to move. When they didn’t just grab themselves and hump the air.
She has a teenager at home. A girl. A good girl, she says. She’s got enough saved up for her to go to college and she doesn’t even like high heels. A good girl, she says, she can’t really even put on makeup.
She pulls on her lycra bikini, scrutinizing. She’s held up well out here in the sun, but her knees ache and her back is tight. She gave up the night shift years ago. Too many young girls, and too much drama, she says. She has her regulars, and she still makes her money. But the money is slowing down and the world is speeding up. Her feet are swollen and she doesn’t know how much longer she can do this.
She could move back home. She could see a real rainstorm for the first time since she left. Get away from all the dry heat and go someplace with real trees and rivers and damp. She could take her daughter someplace nice. She could find another job. One that wasn’t so demanding. But what has she got? No real job skills, no real references. She could find something.
She puts on her shoes and stands. She aches. What has she got? She’s got legs a 19 old would envy, and the ability to walk in heels. She’s been walking in heels for most of her life. She could walk through fucking hell in heels.
On stage she dances and thinks about the rain.
-Bella 9/10/09-
She talks about a time when dancing was just that, dancing. When girls didn’t need to be whores to make money. When customers were real gentlemen and paid for her company with cash, champagne, and jewelry. When she could pay all of her expenses for a month off of one night’s work. When the girls knew how to move. When they didn’t just grab themselves and hump the air.
She has a teenager at home. A girl. A good girl, she says. She’s got enough saved up for her to go to college and she doesn’t even like high heels. A good girl, she says, she can’t really even put on makeup.
She pulls on her lycra bikini, scrutinizing. She’s held up well out here in the sun, but her knees ache and her back is tight. She gave up the night shift years ago. Too many young girls, and too much drama, she says. She has her regulars, and she still makes her money. But the money is slowing down and the world is speeding up. Her feet are swollen and she doesn’t know how much longer she can do this.
She could move back home. She could see a real rainstorm for the first time since she left. Get away from all the dry heat and go someplace with real trees and rivers and damp. She could take her daughter someplace nice. She could find another job. One that wasn’t so demanding. But what has she got? No real job skills, no real references. She could find something.
She puts on her shoes and stands. She aches. What has she got? She’s got legs a 19 old would envy, and the ability to walk in heels. She’s been walking in heels for most of her life. She could walk through fucking hell in heels.
On stage she dances and thinks about the rain.
-Bella 9/10/09-
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Ambiguous
“Hey! Bella! Come here for a second.”
I buckle my shoe and adjust the bandage on my right pinkie toe before getting up.
“Yes Mike*?” I smile at him the same way I do at some customers. Sweet, obedient, non-threatening.
“Tell me something." He looks up at me from his computer screen, the necklace perpetually stretched tight across his wide neck reflecting his myspace page. "Do your friends know you do this?”
“Well some do, I gue-“
“No I mean, like your family and shit. Do they know that you dance?”
“No, why?”
“Oh, well we’re going to be taking some pictures for our website and I was wondering if you wanted to model for it.”
“Naw. Thanks anyway though.” I smile sweetly.
“No problem doll. I’m asking everybody.”
I buckle my shoe and adjust the bandage on my right pinkie toe before getting up.
“Yes Mike*?” I smile at him the same way I do at some customers. Sweet, obedient, non-threatening.
“Tell me something." He looks up at me from his computer screen, the necklace perpetually stretched tight across his wide neck reflecting his myspace page. "Do your friends know you do this?”
“Well some do, I gue-“
“No I mean, like your family and shit. Do they know that you dance?”
“No, why?”
“Oh, well we’re going to be taking some pictures for our website and I was wondering if you wanted to model for it.”
“Naw. Thanks anyway though.” I smile sweetly.
“No problem doll. I’m asking everybody.”
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