Once upon a time, there were little cartridges called VHS tapes. These tapes went in a machine you had at home, and you could record shows or play shows that were already recorded. You could buy these tapes, or you could rent them from a store. Before them, there were Beta tapes and movies on reels. Some of these things are still being used in some places, but they are not that common. Most of us now download shows or movies, and there are still people that use DVDs. Most companies do not sell VHS tapes anymore because there is not a market for them.

     The sex industry, like it or not, is still a billion-dollar+ industry. You might wonder why, if I am so pro women’s rights, that I might support the sex industry. It is because in that market, hopefully, it is a fair exchange. I am pro consensual, adult, informed prostitution and wish male gigolos were better educated. Sadly, the ones I have met just remind me of the creep that was just hitting on me at Home Depot.

     I have listened to the conservatives’ points of view that the sex industry demoralizes and dehumanizes women. Here is a news flash—men treat us that way anyway. Sexual harassment, being used for sex, molestation, and rape. These are not new issues, and these problems have been going on well before porn went into print, and sex videos could be played in your home. Teen pregnancies have been an issue since the beginning of humans. Only in the past, taking a 13-year-old bride was not only legal, but it was usually arranged by her parents. Men have been taking women by force, bullying them, intimidating them, lying and beating them into compliance to have sex long before women willingly started participating in the sex industry.

     I knew when I decided to write that I wanted it to be full disclosure. No more secrets. I am pretty open with men if I feel I want them in my life. I disclose what I perceive to be potential problems that might come up. The fact that I was a stripper for over decade is one of those things. I think they have the right to know. It is generally agreed that that information stays between us. I knew that this section and the rape section would be the hardest for me to write and to have out for public view and judgement. This also means these are the two subjects that certainly NEED to be in this book.

     I was 17 and living with a guy. I worked two jobs and did my damnedest to keep the bills paid. He occasionally picked up a side job, but mostly I paid the bills. We were having a night out. I was going out with the girls, and he was going out with the boys. The girls and I went here and there, and then I saw my car parked outside a strip club. I had the girls circle around and pull in and sure enough, that was my car. I went in and found the guy I was living with laying across the edge of the stage with a dollar bill erect out of his mouth. A gal was crouching down to pick up the bill with something other than her hands. I had never been in a strip club before, so I was a bit shocked. I calmly tapped him on the shoulder and clearly stated that I did not approve. I then left. The fight later contained my complaints of me giving him money for him to go give it to another woman and him explaining that there was nothing wrong with that line of work. He continued over the next month explaining that stripping was a legitimate business, that I was pretty enough, and I should not be such a prude. He went to see his family, and I found an ad for a club.

     When he got back to town and found out I was working at a club, he lost it! There was no way he was going to be with someone that would work in one of “those places”. This is, by the way, is the problem. Men want us to participate, but if we do, we are defective. It pisses me off when cops round up all the prostitutes but do nothing about the Johns. Those girls would not be ½ dressed out in the cold if some guy was not wanting their services. Even in the bible story in John 8:2–11, the woman was caught in the act of adultery, so she should be stoned. If she were caught in the act, there would have been a man also committing adultery. Either the sex industry is acceptable for all willing participants or stop using the services. If it is not okay for women to participate, then it should not be good for men either.

     To set the stage, it was the 80s. Things were much different back then. I was barely covering the bills and needed to find a way to make more money. The ad I found was for a club out of town, so I thought no harm done if I give it a try. I took what to me was my sexiest outfit. It was an oversize sweater, but again it was the 80s. I was only 17, but my birthday was not too far away. I had been using my driver’s license to buy cigarettes illegally since I got it, so I was not worried about passing the age limit. (Back then, all IDs were the same direction, and age restrictions were rarely enforced. People assumed if you gave them your ID, you must be of age.) There was a moment of an interview. He did look at my ID, but clearly did not check my actual birthday. Then he asked what song I would like to have played for my audition. I do not remember the song I picked, but I remember being backstage nervous. The other girls were sweet and reassured me the audition was just a formality. My song played, and I went out and froze. I kind of pulled it together a bit. I started to dance, but nope. I ran off the stage straight to the bathroom and lost pretty much everything I had eaten that week. Embarrassment may not kill you, but it can make you lose your lunch fairly quickly.

     I went home, cried, and then went back to a job I hated the next day. I tried practicing dancing at home and thought I should give it another try. I made another appointment. This time the manager seemed entertained. He suggested I have a drink with him next door to loosen up. I was underage, but I did a shot with him anyway. I did feel a bit looser, so we went back over to the club. Again, my song came on, and I stepped out onto the stage and maybe held it together for 10 seconds this time, then off to the bathroom I went again. I should have known better than eating. The girls were sweet, saying that it was ok, and not everyone can do this type of work. I apologized to the manager and went home. A couple of days later he called. I was surprised and apologized again. He said he is fully aware that I am not going to be a dancer, but they could use a waitress. That I could do! The tips were great, the girls were sweet, and they even tipped me out as well. It was a fun job.

     Over time, I was asked to clean the stage mirrors and maybe dance a bit in between sets with all my clothes on of course. It did get me used to being on the stage. They did a little clothed $5 dance, change up, occasionally. If there were more men than women, they would sometimes ask if I would fill in, so I got used to dancing around the guys. It was fun. The best part was that the owner of the club was an old burlesque dancer, back when they stripped down to pasties. She believed stripping is not about taking your clothes off; it is the art of the tease. She was an incredible instructor. There were girls that did fantastic pole work, and I could hold my own there too, but the tease became my specialty. That state changed the laws, and the club had to close, but now I had a skill set that let me send money home for the siblings.

     Where I had been working, you had to be so many feet away to remove any clothing and absolutely no contact at any time. My first club was also run by a woman, so the rules were designed to protect us. The laws just on the other side of the border allowed touching. In all the years I worked in the field, I could never stand being touched, not my hand, not my shoulder, and definitely nothing else (this is probably due to the molestation.) In some places, the laws stated no contact, but the club or girls would allow it. I could not work in those clubs either. Working in new clubs gives you the best financial advantage. Most clubs have a string of regulars, but they spend the most money on whoever is new. This means traveling is a good idea. There were three clubs I preferred: Vegas, San Diego, and a small place in Oregon. My instructor taught me that it is a show, a presentation, not just getting naked. These three clubs had actual stages that you could perform on. I think they also put me at the safest distance from the customers as well.

     I was good, exceptionally good. My record was $800 in a single set, two songs. What made that impressive is that I only stripped down to bra and panties in a fully nude club. It seems like there was a bet between the bartender and someone else that I did not need to take my clothes off to make money. It was my favorite bartender, so I had to prove him right. My real selling point, though, was jokes. I could tell a joke on almost any subject. I was also a great listener. Most of the men that came in wanted to spend time with someone, so being an ear for them to talk to gave me an edge. I would listen to them for a bit and ask them if they wanted a dance. If they said no, I would explain that this is my job, and I needed to go make money. More often than not, they would pay me to just sit there and listen to them. It was not a bad life, but I knew it was not sustainable.

     Being a dancer is expensive. Most clubs do not pay you; you pay them to work there. You are classified as an independent contractor. You also tip out the bartender, waitresses, DJ, and if they have one, the house mom. Looking good all the time is also very expensive. It was $200 every time I had my hair done and that happened every few months. My nails were perfectly manicured at all times, and make up can get very expensive. The dresses and outfits as well could get spendy very fast. The rest of my money went home.

     I had abandoned my siblings and felt horrible. I primarily lived in Vegas. There were fancy cars, big houses, and extravagant restaurants. I was constantly invited to parties with wealthy and famous people. I was living a dream lifestyle while my siblings had very little. I sent my mom every penny I could for years so she could pay the rent, buy food and hoped my siblings would have a better life. I would run back home whenever my sisters wanted or needed me. I would take them shopping and try to be there for them the best I could. Every visit home broke my heart. I told myself back then that there was nothing I could do; I was just a stripper.

     Vegas gave me exposure to the life I did not want. I was born trailer trash, and you would think that having all that money and those extravagant things would make me happy, but it did not. It was a façade. When I had run into men from work, out and about, they would make passes. I would remind them that that was my job; it’s not who I am. That seems cold, and I was. I was very cold. I would sit and listen to men for hours complain about their wives and girlfriends while making passes at me. You do that for even a few weeks, and you learn to not care. As much as traveling works to your advantage in the club field, attachment works to your disadvantage.

     I did try dating a few times, but it was easier to just keep a lover. I chose the vet that I told you about that has PTSD as well. He lived out of state and he had a cute little cabin off the beach. We had a longstanding rule that we could see other people and would call to see if the other was available for company. We did this on and off for about 12 years. I would visit for a weekend, or week, and go back to my life. He was sweet and a great cook. Eventually, he got too attached and kept asking me to stay. I could not do that. Although spending time with him occasionally was nice, it was not the life I wanted either.

     It has been a long time since I have thought about those days. It was Post most Traumas, but Pre-Flashbacks. Now that I am thinking about it, my attitude back then was completely standard for someone with PTSD. Other stories are echoing in my head of how other PTSD sufferers spent years not caring about anyone or anything. They would keep themselves closed off to anyone that tried to get close to them. I did my time in that cycle too.

     Dancing was not sustainable for many reasons, the main one being I hated putting on a show every day. I loved dancing, that part I enjoyed, but pretending – I hated. The men did not come in to get to know me. They were there for self-gratification, and I knew it. That was the equitable exchange. They would pay me to listen, and I pretend to care… in a pretty dress.

     Statistically, this was my fate. Children, especially girls that are raised in extreme poverty, molested and raped repeatedly often end up in the sex industry. I think it is a combination of indirectly learning from life that all your good for is sex and abuse. My Aunt and Uncle that took me in were very sweet and had talked about me going back to school, but my brain couldn’t wrap my head around that; and I was trailer trash after all. I didn’t run away per say, but I didn’t think I earned the life they offered. I hear this is often a problem with children that have been extremely abused, they (we), feel detached and uncomfortable being in a safe home. It kind of feels like being dropped on a different planet where the language is the same, but the words have different meanings… Besides, I needed the money to send home so my siblings could eat.

It took a while to get out of the circle. What came next, I couldn’t have fathomed…