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Chapter 12: Welcome to Wonderland, Bitch, Part 1
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Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 13: Welcome to Wonderland, Bitch, Part 2
He's in the VIP, so he must want dances, right?I sauntered up to him. "Hello, my name is Rose; may I sit down with you?" He obliged, and we began talking. Pretty soon, I started dancing. I was grinding on his lap, facing away from him, when I felt the unmistakable silky texture of bare skin against bare skin. About halfway through the first song, he had pulled his dick out. Now, I had seen and handled plenty of six-inch male organs before, so I wasn't afraid of it so much as I was afraid of someone (manager, other dancer, waitress, plainclothes cop) seeing an obvious dick hanging out. I turned around and started to get up and said, "Hey man, I'm not comfortable with that. You gotta put it away. Thanks for your time." I started to walk away.He quickly tucked himself back in and said, "Wait, wait! I'll make it worth your while." As I wanted to leave right then, we bartered for a bit for how many dances I would continue with. I asked for three; If I had to deal with this creep,
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 14: Unfortunate Masturbation, Part 1
I opened the front door to my parents' house without using my key. My family never locked their front door, or the back for that matter. The back yard didn't even have a fence. The reasoning was, nothing ever happened in Azle, Texas. The neighborhood was safewhite, middle-class, and filled with Evangelical Christians. My own bedroom had been built without a lock. "I'm here," I called out. "Sister!" my little sister, Mariah answered from her usual spota brown faux leather recliner chair. She had our mini-dachshund, Penny, clutched tightly in her arms, and a pair of headphones around her neck. I took a deep breath and maneuvered around the piles of junk everywhere: a discarded stationary bike that had never been used, shoeboxes filled with trinkets to send to the starving, heathen children in Africa, plastic garbage bags of old childhood clothes still needing to be taken to Goodwill (and probably never would), mounds of toys for "holiday gifts." My mother was the kind of person to
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 15: Unfortunate Masturbation, Part 2
Jeanna burst into the break room. I glanced up from Pillars of the Earth, where I had been deep into medieval England, with knights battling for honor and monks building colossal cathedrals. "Someone was masturbating in the stacks!" She looked like she wanted to both laugh and vomit."Again?" I asked. "Did they catch him?"Jeanna's eyes looked as round as full moons. "Yeah, he tried running out, and he got as far as that vacant lot next to us, but one of the other patrons tackled him."I stifled a giggle and asked, "Who found him?""Me." Jeanna's face was blooming red from mortification. "He was watching some dirty video, and he had his fly undone, and he had his thing half out of his pants and he was stroking it, so I ran to go get Kraleen. But I think he must have noticed me, because he had already left when I came back."I shook my head at the antics of The Public. "Was he…?" and I made the motion for heavy-duty wanking. "No, he just had it out and was kind of flopping it a
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 16: Boundaries, Part 1
"What are you?" asked the customer.A woman? A librarian? A stripper?"You're very exotic looking," he continued. "What's your nationality?""American," I replied, having an inside joke with myself. "What?" he asked, confused. I rolled my third eye. Put away your tertiary liberal arts education. Trying to score a table dance is not the time to explain that nationality is the country or nation of origin and ethnicity is a sociocultural heritage. "Native American," I clarified. "My grandfather was half Ottowa""Oh I'm Indian too," interrupted the blond, blue-eyed teeny bopper before me. "I'm like one-sixteenth on my mom's side. Or was it my dad's?"Sure, but you didn't grow up with a Native name, christened with a powwow, didn't grow up learning the circle dance, the fancy dance, or the dance of the 49 Warriors. You don't have hand-sewn shawls that your mother made you or a hand-carved tomahawk.He finally asked for a table dance.I don't think this is what The Great Spirit
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 17, Boundaries, Part 2
"Excuse me, ma'am?" A soft country drawl pulled me from my surreptitious homework. Describe information theory and how it relates to Boolean logic. Include references to Shannon's "A Mathematical Theory of Communication." A woman in short, blonde hair and a Louis Vuitton purse stood before me. "Yes, ma'am, how can I help you?" I asked. "Look, I don't want to seem like a horrible person," she began. This sounds promising, I thought. "But I was wondering if you could ask that man to leave," she pointed at a man wearing a paint-stained t-shirt and torn sweatpants that looked like they hadn't been washed since Clinton was president. He was snoozing in a chair.I feigned ignorance. "Do you mean leave his seat?" I asked. The woman tried to not look guilty. "No, I mean leave the building." She leaned in closer. "He smells. It's bothering my daughter who's trying to read."I leveled my gaze at this woman, who wore camo chic and had fake rhinestones on her manicured nails. She
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 18: Unlicensed Therapists, Part 1
"Your unlicensed therapists." The billboard on I-35 promised compassionate listening from scantily-clad women. This portal into the strip-club corridor of Dallas reminded men that there were women waiting to listen to anything you had to say…for a fee of course. Most guys who came to the strip club weren't perverts, sex-obsessed, or total misogynists; they were just lonely or needed a stranger to talk to. In that way, strip clubs are like confessionals: no one is going to judge you, because who are we to judge in a place like this? Most, granted, didn't talk about their problems or issues in the club, because it was a way to escape them, not face them. However, there was one guy who had no qualms talking about his troubles; turns out, he gave me some free advice which would ultimately take me deeper into the rabbit hole. David came in toward the evening, around 5 or 6, looking to drink, avoid traffic, and look at pretty women. I approached him."Hi! My name is Rose." I reached out
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 19: Unlicensed Therapists, Part 2
"But there's no really 'moving on,' is there?" I said. "The pain is still in there, deep down; you just become stronger as days go by. And realize the entire world has deep, hidden pain.""Fuckin' right." We both paused and watched Heaven jiggle to 'Anaconda.' "So." I turned to him again and pointed at him. "You're fucked up." I raised my hand proudly. "I know I'm fucked up." I spread my arms to include the entire club. "We are all fucked up, in one way or another. But we can't fix everyone. We can't "fix" anyone, including the ones we love.""Yeah, I know. I'm not trying to fix her, because I know that she's going to do whatever she wants. I know she's gonna keep on lying, keep on stealing, keep on hiding the pills, and even though I can see that her eyes are these tiny little dots, she's gonna keep on lyin' about the meth." He paused, took another drink. "But I love her so goddamn much."I knew he meant it. Sure, he was here in a strip club looking at half-naked women, but when
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 20: A Promotion in Strip Club World
Moving to Cabaret Royale felt like a promotion in Strip Club World. I saw the club for what it was: a tacky buffet during lunch, stained and fraying chairs, tables slightly sticky with alcohol and other fluids, a champagne room with no door, and a couch that looked like it had been around since the 80s, and chipped wooden stages.And yet… I firmly placed those rose-colored sunglasses over my eyes. It had three bars, (with at two open most days), two downstairs and one upstairs. A chandelier hung over the entrance hall, and a royal red carpet draped the staircase that enticed visitors to explore hidden depths. There was a huge main stage, with no pole. I was a bit disappointed that this club did not have a pole onstage. The pole was rather like a friend: always there, always reliable, always ready to catch you if you fall. The two other smaller stages which flanked it were carved like miniature pianos. Cabaret Royale charged a higher entrance fee, was three times the size of Lipstick
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