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Chapter 15: Unfortunate Masturbation, Part 2
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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
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 21: Seducing Nolan
When I came home that evening, I felt tired, but energized enough from the successes of the day. I had only had three customers, and between them acquired $400 in beautiful green bills. My fingers smelled like money. Unlike the bathroom, which smelled like shit.Literal shit.Loki, Nolan's pet ferret, was allowed to roam around freely during the day out of his cage. I saw the sense in giving the poor animal a bigger space to explore for eight hours. Nolan claimed that ferrets could learn how to poop in their cages, like cats using a litter box.You obviously cannot, I thought at the furry, snakelike beast. Globules of ferret poop dotted the bathroom floor: by the toilet, by the bathtub, in the bathtub, near the closet. I felt my anger swell when I saw a line of shit in the closet, near the wall. Loki tunneled through his playground of t-shirts and blue jean pants. Ripping a handful of toilet paper off the roll, I began to pick up the tiny turds. I breathed through my mouth to
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 22: Money, Money, Money, Part 1
"And coming up next is Rose, stand by, Rose," shouted the DJ from the booth. Languorously, like a cat stretching from a nap, I slid by body down and off the customer one last time. "Thank you for the dances," he murmured, reaching for his wallet. "You're most certainly welcome," I replied. I loved this moment, the reaching for the back pocket, pulling out a brown, faded leather wallet, stuffed with cash and credit cards. I relished the opening of this vessel of identity and funds, unfolding down the center like a book. He took out five twenties, and I tucked them into my Crown Royal bag, which was already stuffed with my stage tips. "Thank you very much. Please come back and see me." I trailed my hand down his chest, drawing an invisible heart with my finger. "Of course," he said. He stood up, adjusted himself, and walked toward the exit, while I sauntered my way to the stage. As I stepped on, I felt the return of the demented courage I felt the first time I danced. I was
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 23: Money, Money, Money, Part 2
"Keep up the good work," a man dressed in blue jeans and cowboy boots told me, slipping a five into my t-back as I walked past. From my time onstage, I had a whole hula skirt of 1s, 5s, and even a stray 10."Thanks, baby," I replied. "Do you have anyone right now?" He took a sip of his whiskey. "I do, indeed, handsome." My boobs glistened with just the right amount of sweat. "Well, when you're finished, stop by. I'll be waiting.""Then I won't be long," I purred. I drank the intoxication of literally having a queue of men waiting for me to dance for them and get paid for it. The first time I took home $400 in a single day was surreal. I had to count it again in the apartment, just to make sure it was real. $500 almost made my hands shake. I loved the silky texture of legal tender slip through my fingers, as my teller-muscles quickly and effortlessly counted a stack of 20s.Now, it wasn't as though I were taking home that amount every single time I went to the club; I definit
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