So, I completed my first lapdance. I walked out of the booth feeling a little dizzy, and a lot sleazy. I was conflicted. Is this really what I should be doing in my spare time from dance rehearsals, classes and performances? Was this money really worth it? I wasn’t sure yet. Sure, the guy was nice but I knew that was not to be considered a regular occurrence. So I sat. And watched. A lot. None of the other women seemed to have a problem with it. I had to dig through a lengthy rationale inside my head once I was clear of those mirrored booths.
After a while, I figured, what the hell? I was here now so I should make the best of it and not embarrass my friends. I went to work. I was a little more comfortable now that I had my first lapdance under my belt. Or rather my garter. Seeing money on my leg proved to be a fabulous motivator. I was chit-chatting, laughing and enjoying myself. Kind of. It wasn’t too bad until I’d remember that I was supposed to be selling my body, not just my personality. Luckily, I kept meeting guys that would save me the effort of asking if they wanted a dance. They’d offer. Awesome! It saved me from rejection…at least for the time being.
And so I danced. I was making some decent money off of just being myself. Something I heard a fair bit of that night and then in hundreds of subsequent nights, “You don’t seem like a stripper. You’re smart. What are you doing here?” In the beginning, there was laughter. From me. “Oh well, don’t you think I’m pretty enough to be a stripper, or do you want a stupid ugly girl?” I know. Clever. On the outside anyway. On the inside, I was asking myself the same f*&^ing thing! But then, it’s pretty smart to be an attractive woman who knows how to use her physical attributes to her advantage, right? Sure. I was smart. In the end, I could rationalize anything.
The interesting part was that I started to believe it. And, honestly, there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, in the exotic world, there are extremely intelligent women who do great things with their money: they raise families, pay for college (yes, some of them are actually in school), pay off debt, buy real estate, invest in a business, etc. There is something to be said for an industry where you can walk in broke and walk out with a thousand bucks to do with as you please. So what if you have to get naked, bump n grind a stranger or let one of them fondle your boobs to get it? It’s worth it to some. And I soon joined that some…
I finished my weekend with a fair bit of money considering I was only there a couple of nights. On the drive home, I couldn’t stop grinning and blabbing away about the money, the guys and how simple it all seemed to be. I rationalized all the way home. My friend laughed and told me she was happy that I came along and shared my enthusiasm. When I returned to dance rehearsal Monday morning, I have to say I felt weird, almost giddy. I had a secret and I wanted to tell people but I knew better. That went without saying. I couldn’t imagine telling all of these conservative, semi-conservative ballerinas what I had been up to that weekend. I’ll admit while I was stretching a few times, I made my first attempts at booty-shaking. I’m not sure what it looked like from their perspective, but it couldn’t have been good. I couldn’t stop thinking about it! I was a member of some special club that none of them would understand. And that was cool.
Now, remember when I told you I was a lesbian? Good. I still was but I was taking a hiatus after a tumultuous end to a relationship. I was dating a guy. It was very innocent at first. Actually, it was innocent at the end, too. It just wasn’t for me. I was gay and there wasn’t much I could do about it. But, he was a nice guy and we had fun together, remaining friends even after he called me out as a lesbo. I told him what I had been up to. Partly because he wondered where all this cash came from all of a sudden, but also because I was bursting at the seams to tell someone. He wasn’t mad, just concerned. Especially after I saw an expensive top in the mall that I really wanted and proceeded to calculate how many dances I had to do minus the tipout in order to afford it. My first venture into stripper calculus. His words: “See, that’s where it starts. You’re going to price everything out by the dance.” Boy, he wasn’t too far off.
The world of stripping infiltrated my daily life so much so that I was over anxious to get to the weekend. More weekends, more sexy, more money. I couldn’t wait. Unfortunately, there were so many things that I absolutely should have waited on, or better yet, avoided altogether.