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?
Showing posts with label stripping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stripping. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
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.”
Monday, August 24, 2009
Look Through Me
When you look at me, remember, I’m not looking back at you. Oh, it may seem like you have my full attention as I slither around on stage, or while I sit curled in your lap, but really, I’m not looking at you. I’m looking through you.
On stage I look through you to the mirror behind your head. While I give you my sexy eyes, I check my reflection right next to your head. I pout, and sway, and pose, and check myself. My hair, my clothes, my body. I am not looking at you.
In your lap I look through your head. I let my eyes relax, my pupils dilate. I give you a blank, inviting stare, smiling like a doll. I think about all the money I will make. I visualize my will melting over you like warm butter. I impose my desires on you. I make you think that what I want is really what you want. I stare through you and tell you that you want a dance. You agree.
On stage I look through you to the mirror behind your head. While I give you my sexy eyes, I check my reflection right next to your head. I pout, and sway, and pose, and check myself. My hair, my clothes, my body. I am not looking at you.
In your lap I look through your head. I let my eyes relax, my pupils dilate. I give you a blank, inviting stare, smiling like a doll. I think about all the money I will make. I visualize my will melting over you like warm butter. I impose my desires on you. I make you think that what I want is really what you want. I stare through you and tell you that you want a dance. You agree.
Monday, August 17, 2009
I'm not dead
Things are moving very quickly in my life right now, and I'm frustrated that I haven't had the time to update. I now have a back-log of information that will probably (knowing me) never make it into this journal.
But, I am back from Montreal, and I had an absolutely wonderful time there. I met my favorite author (SQUEE) and had him sign a work of short fiction that he wrote.
I am now an official resident of Washington DC. I'm currently sitting in a mostly empty, half-painted, studio apartment less than a mile away from my college. I'm terrified of the loneliness I may feel, but I'm excited for school to begin. I want a purpose again. Most of this summer I have felt like I've been drifting. No real job to speak of, and no school to keep me productive has meant an increasingly common feeling of malaise and malcontent. I will be glad for this to be over.
There are several strip clubs near me, but I'd like to see how much school work I have before jumping into dancing again. I really really really hope that I'll have the time. DC is an expensive city, and I can't keep running up to Philly every time I need some cash. Hahahaha I guess I could get a "real" job, but if I don't have time for stripping I doubt Ill have tie for a part-time job... you know, the lac of flexible hours in a normal job really sucks.
But, I plan on updating more frequently, sharing more of my past stories of dancing and hopefully a few more people will start reading this, despite my obvious lack of creative ability.
But, I am back from Montreal, and I had an absolutely wonderful time there. I met my favorite author (SQUEE) and had him sign a work of short fiction that he wrote.
I am now an official resident of Washington DC. I'm currently sitting in a mostly empty, half-painted, studio apartment less than a mile away from my college. I'm terrified of the loneliness I may feel, but I'm excited for school to begin. I want a purpose again. Most of this summer I have felt like I've been drifting. No real job to speak of, and no school to keep me productive has meant an increasingly common feeling of malaise and malcontent. I will be glad for this to be over.
There are several strip clubs near me, but I'd like to see how much school work I have before jumping into dancing again. I really really really hope that I'll have the time. DC is an expensive city, and I can't keep running up to Philly every time I need some cash. Hahahaha I guess I could get a "real" job, but if I don't have time for stripping I doubt Ill have tie for a part-time job... you know, the lac of flexible hours in a normal job really sucks.
But, I plan on updating more frequently, sharing more of my past stories of dancing and hopefully a few more people will start reading this, despite my obvious lack of creative ability.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Working again!
And making pretty god money! Not as good as I would've liked but I try not to be greedy. If I walk away from this weekend having made $800 I'll be very happy.
It was interesting falling back into the routine of dancing last night. Walking through he dressing room I was hit by waves of deja vu. I made $380 last night, and that's pretty good for me. If I had stayed until close I would have definitely cleared $400.... but I guess thats life.
A lot of the dancers I knew have left, and the ones who are still there only remembered me after some reminding. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but it's still odd having to reintroduce yourself to an entire club.
Last night (like every night) was full of interesting customers, including H., a redneck from Oklahoma who fell madly in love with me by the end of the night, and J., a high school English teacher who repeatedly asked me if I thought I was better than the other dancers working.
I get his type alot. The guys who love to tell me how smart I am, and how much better I am than all the other girls. Guys who like to say things like "Wow, you look like girls I hang out with," subtly implying that we could realistically be friends despite the fact that they're 30+ and married. I never know what to make of these guys. Are they good-hearted but generally misguided, or are they just arrogant douches? I don't know.
Stripping has certainly jaded me to men. Daily objectification isn't good for one's faith in humanity, but despite it all, I still enjoy it and I will be going in again tonight. I'm just glad I have a wonderful man in my life already who routinely reminds me of the good in the opposite gender.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
This weekend
I'll be heading back up to Philly for two nights working at my old club.
I miss the money, the glamor, the feeling of empowerment. I'll be staying with a friend who I met working, and who still works there. It promises to be a rip-roaring good time with much drunkenness for all. Unfortunately, parking in the city is super expensive and I'll probably end up spending close to $60 for parking and highway tolls (not to mention gas). It puts a bit of pressure on me to make enough cash to justify the trip, but maybe that'll just improve my hustle.
I have two new outfits, I'm in as good or better shape as when I left, and I have a friend to help me make money. I'm feeling pretty positive about the whole thing. Wish me luck and lotsa financial success.
On a totally separate note, I've started packing for my move to DC and it's really fucking with my head. Moving is making me really look at what's most important to me in my life, and how much of that I want to bring with me.
The idea of living alone with no roommate or family members is a little scary, not because of concerns for my own safety, but because I've never done it before. I'm a creature of contact, I need human relation and I'm terrified that living alone will push me farther into the solitude I've found myself growing accustomed to. I feel oddly alone right now, and I can't decide if it's a bad thing.
Maybe its time for me to do something on my own. Maybe its time that I learn how to be alone without completely self-destructing. Maybe its time for me to learn how to balance solitude with a social life. Up until now I've always been either super social or totally removed from society. Finding balance is something I've never been able to do. Maybe now I'll have to.
I miss the money, the glamor, the feeling of empowerment. I'll be staying with a friend who I met working, and who still works there. It promises to be a rip-roaring good time with much drunkenness for all. Unfortunately, parking in the city is super expensive and I'll probably end up spending close to $60 for parking and highway tolls (not to mention gas). It puts a bit of pressure on me to make enough cash to justify the trip, but maybe that'll just improve my hustle.
I have two new outfits, I'm in as good or better shape as when I left, and I have a friend to help me make money. I'm feeling pretty positive about the whole thing. Wish me luck and lotsa financial success.
On a totally separate note, I've started packing for my move to DC and it's really fucking with my head. Moving is making me really look at what's most important to me in my life, and how much of that I want to bring with me.
The idea of living alone with no roommate or family members is a little scary, not because of concerns for my own safety, but because I've never done it before. I'm a creature of contact, I need human relation and I'm terrified that living alone will push me farther into the solitude I've found myself growing accustomed to. I feel oddly alone right now, and I can't decide if it's a bad thing.
Maybe its time for me to do something on my own. Maybe its time that I learn how to be alone without completely self-destructing. Maybe its time for me to learn how to balance solitude with a social life. Up until now I've always been either super social or totally removed from society. Finding balance is something I've never been able to do. Maybe now I'll have to.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
I know, I know
Never ever meet a customer outside of the club. Never give a customer your phone number. Never let a customer drive you home... etc etc etc
These are the rules, and I have never broken them... except once.
I tentatively went out to dinner with B. the other night and he was an absolute gentleman. I was pleasantly surprised. He took me out to a 5 star restaurant, opened all doors for me, and treated me like a goddamn princess. He knows that I have a steady boyfriend whom I love very much, and he knows that I will not stray. He didn't put the moves on me, and insisted he merely wanted to be friends.
Maybe I'm naive, but I believe him.
More to come on B.
These are the rules, and I have never broken them... except once.
I tentatively went out to dinner with B. the other night and he was an absolute gentleman. I was pleasantly surprised. He took me out to a 5 star restaurant, opened all doors for me, and treated me like a goddamn princess. He knows that I have a steady boyfriend whom I love very much, and he knows that I will not stray. He didn't put the moves on me, and insisted he merely wanted to be friends.
Maybe I'm naive, but I believe him.
More to come on B.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Chubby Stripper
Walking into the club, I am confident. I have a cute outfit with me, my hair is newly dyed, and my makeup is wonderful.
A bouncer tells me to get changed and follow him onto the floor. I sit by the bar and wait for someone to come tell me when I’ll go up to audition. The dancer onstage (I think her name was Isis) is thin, with small pert breasts and a tight athletic butt. I look down at my soft, pale stomach and fidget.
No matter, I’m just a different type of beautiful. Not necessarily athletic, but soft, curvy and feminine. I sit, a bouncer offers me water, which I accept and do not drink. Another dancer begins her routine. Similar in build to Isis, this girl is thicker through the torso, but with larger breasts. She too has a toned stomach and tight ass.
I slowly begin to realize that I am undeniably the largest girl in this club. There are girls here with pouting bellies and sagging breasts, but none with the amount of fat that I have. The longer I wait, the larger my thighs seem to become, and the manager keeps me waiting for close to an hour.
Looking around I realize the chances of me being hired are slim, but all the same I strike up a conversation with a customer, flirting to the best of my ability, and showing anyone who may have been watching that I could hustle and that I could make them money.
I audition to Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie. It is one of my favorite songs to dance to, but even it couldn’t kill my self-doubt. During that one song, I felt more self-conscious than I did my first night dancing.
The bouncer told me that they’d “give me a call.” I’m not stupid, I know what that means.
A bouncer tells me to get changed and follow him onto the floor. I sit by the bar and wait for someone to come tell me when I’ll go up to audition. The dancer onstage (I think her name was Isis) is thin, with small pert breasts and a tight athletic butt. I look down at my soft, pale stomach and fidget.
No matter, I’m just a different type of beautiful. Not necessarily athletic, but soft, curvy and feminine. I sit, a bouncer offers me water, which I accept and do not drink. Another dancer begins her routine. Similar in build to Isis, this girl is thicker through the torso, but with larger breasts. She too has a toned stomach and tight ass.
I slowly begin to realize that I am undeniably the largest girl in this club. There are girls here with pouting bellies and sagging breasts, but none with the amount of fat that I have. The longer I wait, the larger my thighs seem to become, and the manager keeps me waiting for close to an hour.
Looking around I realize the chances of me being hired are slim, but all the same I strike up a conversation with a customer, flirting to the best of my ability, and showing anyone who may have been watching that I could hustle and that I could make them money.
I audition to Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie. It is one of my favorite songs to dance to, but even it couldn’t kill my self-doubt. During that one song, I felt more self-conscious than I did my first night dancing.
The bouncer told me that they’d “give me a call.” I’m not stupid, I know what that means.
Monday, June 8, 2009
The New Girl...
That's what they used to call me. Even a few days before I quit.
When I first auditioned, the dayshift manager told me that I'd make good money; that I looked "fresh." And I guess I did. I didn't have 10 different lycra outfits, 6 different pairs of heels, and the professional smile that all the other girls had. I still don't. I also didn't have that distinctive hardened look that comes from years of cigarette smoke, late nights, and a bad diet. I still don't have that either.
I never really got my "hustle" down pat. I was getting better, realizing how to talk to customers into getting dances, rather than making them think I wanted to be their girlfriend, but then I had to quit. School was over for the semester and I had to go home. I only worked for about 6 weeks, but it felt like forever.
Now I've transferred to a new school in a different city. Stripping is calling my name. Not just because of the quick money, but because of the rush. I miss putting on my face, and a different woman's personality. I miss the ritual of it all.
I want to dance again, but I doubt I'll have the freedom I used to have at my old club. The city I live in now tends to have higher standards and stricter business practices. Also, I'm not sure I'll have the time.
I don't quite know where this post is going so I'll just end it here.
When I first auditioned, the dayshift manager told me that I'd make good money; that I looked "fresh." And I guess I did. I didn't have 10 different lycra outfits, 6 different pairs of heels, and the professional smile that all the other girls had. I still don't. I also didn't have that distinctive hardened look that comes from years of cigarette smoke, late nights, and a bad diet. I still don't have that either.
I never really got my "hustle" down pat. I was getting better, realizing how to talk to customers into getting dances, rather than making them think I wanted to be their girlfriend, but then I had to quit. School was over for the semester and I had to go home. I only worked for about 6 weeks, but it felt like forever.
Now I've transferred to a new school in a different city. Stripping is calling my name. Not just because of the quick money, but because of the rush. I miss putting on my face, and a different woman's personality. I miss the ritual of it all.
I want to dance again, but I doubt I'll have the freedom I used to have at my old club. The city I live in now tends to have higher standards and stricter business practices. Also, I'm not sure I'll have the time.
I don't quite know where this post is going so I'll just end it here.
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