I tried very hard to stay out of trouble for a while.  Girl trouble.  So naturally, I worked myself half to death.  Summer ended, the holidays fast approached.  The first of them, Halloween – my favorite.  Of course, every night is like Halloween when you’re a stripper.  Sexy, naughty, barely-there costumes.  That year, I decided to do just the opposite.  Sexy, but not as revealing.  If I was going to be working, I figured I should at least have some fun with it, so I wore an original poodle skirt given to me by my stepmother (it felt very wrong every time I unclasped it and it hit the floor), with a white cardigan unbuttoned just enough to reveal my cleavage nestled into a white lace bra.  That wasn’t even the best part…

It was common knowledge that the club across the street allowed their girls to wear whatever they wanted, if anything at all.  That’s probably what always earned them the ‘Best in the South’ award many years over.  We always came in second.  Oh well.  But anything included overalls, t-shirts, jeans, pajamas and yes, even sneakers.  In my club, that would never fly: real entertainer costumes with stilettos – don’t even ask otherwise.  Of course, the club across the street had its disadvantages.  Well, one.  Weigh-ins.  This constantly worked to our advantage.  We got their leftovers because our club was an equal opportunity employer.

“Send us your too big at a size 4 girls, the big’uns and the ones with faces only a mother could love.  We’ll take ’em, we’ll take ’em all!  As long as they tip out.”

For this night only, I got special permission because, hey, 60’s girls didn’t wear stilettos and my costume just wouldn’t be right if it wasn’t authentic from head to toe.  Yes, ladies and gentleman, your girl got to wear Keds.  I can’t express the level of freedom this brought for me that night.  It wasn’t terribly busy so I had nothing but space and opportunity – to leap, frolic, run and jump to my stripper heart’s content.  But not too much, the place was only so big.  On stage I was doing cartwheels, kicks, spins…I was on fire.  And made quite a bit of money, I should add.  I think that was the most sober fun I’ve ever had in a night of stripping.  And it was well received, which was the best part.

My Halloween didn’t end there, though.  I was invited to a party with some of the girls and I was very excited.  I searched high and low for the largest set of black feather wings I could find.  I wanted to be dark and foreboding…mysterious, even.  Come to think of it, I have no idea what happen to those wings.  They were nice, and expensive…Anyway, when we met up at a friend’s clubhouse, I got a little jolted.  And uncomfortable.

Everyone looked amazing: sexy costumes, bubbly personalities – all ready for a fun night out.  I was perturbed with the fact that I was attracted to all of them.  I mean, it really hit me that there was something about each of them that just captivated me.  I fully understood how Hef felt all day, every day.  One could never be surrounded by too many women.  And then my favorite entered:  Lil’ Sexy.

I can’t even change her stage name…there isn’t another name for her except the one she gave herself.  And she was dressed as Cleopatra.  A dominant temptress.  How fitting.  She was the one performer in the club that made me stop what I was doing, mid-stride, mid-conversation, shush the customer who kept running his mouth about the champagne room…it didn’t matter.  I mean, she was the one who perfected the butt crawl – don’t try to picture it, you’ll only confuse yourself.  You had to see it.  No one to this day has ever been able to duplicate it.  Not even me, and I tried.  A lot.  She was just the perfect amount of lusciousness that made me want to pay her bills, have her babies and drink her bath water.  The 3 B’s.  Just like her: beauty, brains and boobs.  And I don’t say boobs because they were huge.  I’m not a breast girl.  I have plenty of my own and I’ve always felt that too much boob in the bed is not fun.  It’s just hard to maneuver with four of them jostling around.  Hers were absolutely, perfectly proportional to her frame.  Curves in all the right places.  A feisty attitude that won her many an admirer and plenty of their money.  And her voice.  Perfectly raspy…and sexy.  Lil’ Sexy.  ‘Nuff said.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of her all night.  Throughout the evening, I had a hard time trying to have fun.  We were in a crowded club full of ogling men and stupid girls.  I might as well have gone to work.  It was not my scene, but I was there to enjoy time with my buddies.  And I did, albeit a little distracted.  The shy me was way too afraid to make a move.  The aggressive me…well…Lil’ Sexy proclaimed heterosexuality, but every stripper has bisexual tendencies in the most properly orchestrated moment.  Okay, not every.  More like 98.7%.

I still giggle a little thinking of the orchestrated moment I got to have a Lil’ Sexy.