Monday, February 21, 2011

Are you ready for the sex, girls?

 Well I'd been working "hard" at my "job" and still hadn't seen it pay off -I wasn't making it rain like it says you can do  in the hip-hop songs;  I  was more like  making it drizzle.  Indeed,  the only bottles I was popping were ones of Tylenol PM to help go to bed at night and ease my achy feet.

  I wanted to figure out what I was doing wrong, so I asked my hot Bi friend Billy to come watch a show with me  at the club to observe and critique it.

Oh, was this boy hot. Leonardo Di Caprio before he got all bloated and fat  hot. Shirtless  Jim Morrison in leather pants  hot. Bleached shaggy hair. Big blue eyes. 6'2. Lean. Young. "Curious." Hot.

  Billy's most memorable moment,  for me, was the night he tried cocaine for the first time, then looked over  at me sitting  indian-style on our cheap oriental carpet,  pock-marked from  the cinging stubs  of 10,000 left and right handed cigarettes,  and boldly announced: "I've decided to become an addict."

Ha Ha. What did he say?

"I've tried this and it's how it's gonna be"

"That's not how it works." I giggled and groaned. What a Naiff.

"Addiction's  not really about choice..." I went  on, "Besides, why don't you stick with the weed?"  I felt somewhat maternal to him, being about four older, and didn't want to steer him towards street narcotics. They weren't really my thing anyway. I liked marijuana and hallucinogens. I'd do a little powder if it was around, but I didn't, you know, seek it out.  I didn't like how cringey it made me feel and how it kept me up all night.

  "No, I like cocaine. I think I love it."

"Well, then just say it's your 'drug of choice,' no one wants to hear you call yourself an addict.  For God's sakes, this is the first time you've ever done it. How can you love it so much?"

 But he was determined to become a "cokey monster" and plunged in head first. B/c he was Bi, he was already way  into the Rave and Underground scene and  went to all  the Gay Bars in the  area, where alas it was never too hard to find,  being associated  as it was with physical stamina, debauched pleasure enhancement, and (most importantly) exclusivity. He was a young enough (20)  that he still  had  plenty of friends who were in their late teens who'd been diagnosed  w/ ADD, so he could target  them for their Ritalin stashes  when ran out of the good stuff.  He gleefully referred to both  it and Adderall as "Diet Coke."  (I've never understood this mentality. To me, if you're going to do your drug , do your drug. Don't do what is ALMOST your drug. That's how you get yourself into trouble. Looking for synthetic substitutes. Why waste time and money on anything other than the real McCoy? But that's just me)

  Little did I know this new found affection for harder drugs would eventually lead to our being targeted by the piedmonst police for a truly terrfying early morning SWAT raid and  consequently  losing the  six bedroom mini-manse  us ten university  degenerates inhabited, but, there was probably little I could have done  about it even if I had  known. When people make up their mind about things it's hard to change it for them.

I digress.

I drug Billy to the club and he watched me do my two song sashay. The first song was about the "tease," where you got to strut around a little and maybe even throw in some quality moves, the second  was where you "dropped that top"  then went hunting for lotsa da casha.

Billy watched attentively. When  I went backstage to change he watched a few other girls so he could check out their moves & size up my "competition."

I came backout in sweats and sat with him and drank a freshly soda-gunned water with lemon and ice.

"Ok, so whadya think?

"That part where you crawled across the stage?

"Yeah, that was an improv"

"Always do that part when you're on."

"Oh yeah? If it was so great how come nobody came over and gave me any money?"

"Well, first of all, this place is a dive, you aren't going to make any money until you go to a classier joint."

"Classy." I mumbled. MMMhmmm,  this business is all about the "class."

 "Billy," I scolded,  "nothing gives your lack of class away faster than using the word 'classy.' You want to say 'sophisticated.' Say, 'I need to work in a more sophisticated establishment.' "

"Yeah, that too" he smirked.

"Oh , and another thing I noticed?" he continued  "You don't give lap dances. That's why you're so poor. Guys are only going to give you a few dollars while you're onstage; they're saving their money up so they can buy a lap dance."

"Lap dances are disgusting," I said, hypocrtically appalled.

"Elizabeth, WHERE are you? I mean, where do you think you are?"

I glumly cast my eyes down on the table. "I know, I know."  I  reluctantly admitted, shaking my head.

"So when you crawl across the stage also look the men directly  in their  eyes. b/c that makes it about a thousand times sexier. I couldn't believe how much that turned me on, and I never think of you that way."


"I  could only do that b/c it was you! I don't want to look some *stranger* in the eyes while I crawl towards him practically naked! Are you kidding me?"

"I'm telling you, it's the eye contact. That's what makes it good"

"Goddamnit. Okay"

"After you left, that really tall girl, the one with those catwalk stems, she actually put her hands together like she was praying and begged for one."

"I mean, she knelt down beside this guy and *begged* him to buy a lap dance from her. So maybe you should try that."

"That WORKED?"

"Yes. Sure did."

"Sooooooo basically the advice you're giving me is to do more crawling and begging."

"Hey, this ain't the Met."

"Oh God, let's just get out of here. I have class in the morning. Real Class. Company Ballet and I don't want to miss it. I need to get up early and stretch."

"You didn't get enough stretching in tonight?"

I eyeballed him with the cold, dead puplis of a shark. I wanted  to be heard and taken seriously.


I can't do this, I thought.  Recent cold dead eyes notwithstanding, I'm not enough of a predator. And I  certainly don't want to spend my life begging and crawling.

"Come on, let's go watch Marigold do her show over at the Silver Fox. Maybe she can get you on over there, You clearly aren't  making any money or having any fun here."

"You can say that again."

"Plus, she has better coke."


"Well she DOES."

"Not during the school week! You're gonna flunk out!"

"Just a little won't hurt me."

I sighed.

"I've created a monster.  Or  more specifically whoever bought you that first bag did. But, I  still shouldn't have done it with you...that's just as bad.  Now I'm offically a bad influence. IN SO MANY WAYS. Ok, yes. let's  leave. This place has lost it's luster. Like it ever had it. I'll go get my tip-out."

"Don't forget how CLASSY you are!"


 I  got my money and grabbed his hand as I ran out, and tried to pull us both out of oblivion.


  1. I've only visited a strip club once, maybe twice, and that was with a friend who found it sort of addicting. Myself? I found it sort of depressing. Maybe it was not a "quality place," but the repetitive movement and look of feigned "come hither" slathered over blank detachment had me thinking "my God(s), she's as bored as I am." This is not a judgement of anyone making a living this way or enjoying this line of work but I recall my friend George, at a Scotch tasting, having similarly depressive impressions. George said it was "like visiting a really fine gourmet grocery store, where they take out these beautiful cuts of meat, hold them a few inches away from you so you can get a really good look, and you really want that, and then they put them away."

  2. glenn, RIGHT on, I can tell you know howit really is. thank you so much for readng this regurgitated spew-it means so much to me!

  3. Not to speak for the whole group, but I for one would like another installment please!

  4. you got it! tune in tomorrow! :-)

    ~thank much <3 ~