The Story

As a friend said to me "It's a job. Be grateful you have one." Today, I'm recovering. I'm not working. I'm resting and treated myself to an Indian feast. I feel mentally and physically exhausted.

So you want to know what happened yesterday? In the great state of Texas, I learned that it is illegal for a woman to enter a strip club without being escorted by a man. What year is this, 1956? It is also illegal to dance in underwear that has not been approved by the TABC. I had to buy a "legal thong" from a specialty lingerie store across from a Walmart. The costume I decided on for my first day was a "legal" black thong (translates to double lined), black demi bra, this sexy sheer black lace piece that acted as a mini dress over the thong, and my vintage black high heels. I was aiming for a Victoria's Secret Catalog look. I bought shiny pink lip gloss and decorated my eyes with black liner and mascara. I'm a classy stripper, you know....

I had to meet with the manager when I arrived dressed in regular street clothes. He is an older overweight man with silver hair and a faux diamond earring. He looks like he could be in the mafia. He had me get dressed into my "costume" first in the locker room and had me then come to his office to sign tax forms. His office was shady and creepy, behind the bar. I sat on the chair with legs crossed in a thong and demi bra, wondering how many women had been sitting in this chair in a thong and did they have STDs?, and he talked me through the business. There is almost always one woman pole dancing in the club and the other women have to look for men in the audience to approach. This is the main and most assured way you make money and some women earn as much as $500+ a night. What you do is approach a man and ask him if he would like some company? If he's interested in you, he will usually tell you to sit down next to him. He might ask you if you would like a drink or food, which he will order from the cocktail waitress. You have to make conversation with him and make him feel like he's the center of your attention. Flirt. Touch. Entice him into wanting a private strip tease from you. $20 per lap dance. Many men request several at a time. The manager said always make sure that he pays you after each dance, or else he might screw you over with money. There are laws regarding how close you can dance (about a foot away) and he is not allowed to touch you, aside from your hands. No breast or bottom fondling allowed. He can be thrown out for that. It is up to you in terms of how often you want to sit with men. You can take as many breaks as you please and talk to the other dancers, but you won't be making money unless you're hanging out with the customers.

Some of the women are cut-throat and hate many of the other dancers. They will compete hardcore for men and try to undercut you. I met some dancers I really liked and there was a sense of comraderie developing between us, but I met some mean women. I was more scared of the dancers than I was of the men. I think some of them have lived lives of hardship, pain, drugs, and poverty. I'm not sure yet what their stories are. You have to lock up all of your possessions in a locker because someone will surely steal from you. I kept the key around my necklace hanging between my breasts. The locker room was shabby and depressing and women eyed me up and down without saying a word. Right away I knew I would be perceived as a threat, particularly when one looked at me topless and said "You're fucking hot" and right away I tried to befriend the other women and ask for their help. Inside, I was feeling panicked and wished I could be far away from this place, wished for a regular job with a salary and benefits, a job where I could keep my pants on. I could not believe that I - we - were being paid to dance topless for men for a living. There was one dancer I personally found attractive and she stood beside me in the locker room unhooking her garter belt while giving me some tips. One woman was texting her boyfriend and asked me how to spell a few words. She did not know how to spell "obviously" and "intelligence." I found myself adding "Oh, I used to be an editor, and now, I'm a stripper." I realized then that I was putting us down a notch and tried to backtrack.

I did not see lines of coke being snorted as I had envisioned. Perhaps that went on outside on the enclosed patio. I did smell pot emanating from the patio. For a seven hours, from noon until 7 p.m., I was a prancing about in thong and heels speaking to strange men, holding their hands, listening to them tell me about their lives, and having them slip twenty dollar bills into my thong as I gave them private strip teases in front of everyone else in the club. It took me several hours actually to work up the nerve and the desire to approach customers so I only made money for about 4 hours. I had to pole dance and bend down for men to place more money into my thong, which felt so fucking degrading. But pole dancing is a definite way to attract interest. I tended to attract the interest of older men, men who could be my father's age, and I think I felt more at ease with these men. Like I had more power going for me as a young woman. I was the dominant one. I felt like I was the one in control. But being gay made this sort of work difficult. When I had to give a lap dance, I would close my eyes and think of dancing for my ex-girlfriend or A* this summer, and I could go through with the physical motions. Looking over at that one woman I thought was foxy could place me a little more into a sexual mood. I tried to be present with the men, tried to intuitively find out what it is that they needed from a woman during this fake exchange based on fantasy and acting, tried to give them their money's worth and persuade them to continue spending their money on me. Many of them want women to talk dirty to them and play around with them verbally (barf). I had a total of 4 men I privately sat with, and each one offered to buy me a drink. I had a beer, a cocktail, then switched to juice and diet coke, not wanting to get drunk in the middle of the day. I gravitated to one of the cocktail waitresses from the moment I stepped into the club. She was younger than me and had dark hair and striking eyes, and we clicked. She would bring the drinks while I sat with one of my "customers," usually topless. We were talking later on and I confessed that this sort of work is hard for me to do because I'm a lesbian. I came to find out that she is also a lesbian. Finally! I was among family. I did leave with a stack of cash, not as much as I had hoped to earn, but for my first day it was not bad. I'm going to dance a few nights a week, possibly even at a different club that seems to always be crowded. You can work as many or as little days a week as you wish and you can decide on working days or nights. Part of the trouble yesterday was that it was slow. We did not have enough men in the club. I want to be working somewhere that is going to be slammed.

I drove home feeling emotionally exhausted, a little disturbed, and in shock because it's a strange place to be immersed in for 7 hours. I wanted to get the hell away. I wanted to take a hot shower and wash my hands 3x in a row. I wanted to cleanse myself. I wanted to forget about that locker room and some of the shadier people. Hopefully, sooner than later I will be hired elsewhere. This is not forever. I pray that I will find an exit out soon. I don't know how much longer I can do it, you know? Such soul sucking work. It's a definite crappy job. The manager sits around all day eating his food and drinking while women dance around him making him money. I was nothing. I was a moving statue. And it ticked me off that women are so degraded in this environment. Take me out of this context: I'm an educated, feminist, lesbian writer who does other work like tutoring students and has her own business as a designer. I've gone undercover as a stripper and one fine day I'm going to have a novel out about this.