You never forget your first time.

My blood red, open toed heels squeaked on the beat up wooden floor that the club called their stage. It looked like one giant splinter fest waiting to happen. After spraying the cleaning cloth for the poles, I came to standing, my legs feeling wobbly. “Damn heels,” I muttered to myself. Upon taking a couple of steps, I came to terms with the fact that I would be spending most of this audition on the floor. I was okay with this, it would allow me to show off my flexibility. But first the poles needed my attention. From behind the dj booth, Kyle announced my audition in his signature drawn-out manner, and my song began. I cleaned the first two poles at the front of the stage more slowly than the others. Starting high, as far as I could reach, I wrapped the cloth around the metal. The rag made it’s way down, creeping gradually to the base. Bent in half now over my legs, I swiftly threw my head back, attempting the well known “stripper hair flip”, and nearly lost my balance. Saving myself from embarrassment, I turned around to tidy the pole behind me. “Pretty cool to have four poles on this stage.” The ones in the rear of the stage were spaced further apart, and it looked like they were going to be easier to dance around. I tossed the unsavory pole rag to the side of the stage near the staircase.

 It was time.

 My right hand reached for the pole and gripped firmly. The cold metal molded to my flesh, and it was ineffable. Sexual, phallic innuendos aside, the feeling was not only exhilarating, but inspiring. Taking a couple of steps around, my confidence got the better of me, and I threw my outside leg just a tad too hastily in front of me, and around the pole.

 “Fuck! That’s fast.”

 I was sure the audience saw my surprise. But this was all new to me and it was no secret to anyone watching. I tried again, not really doing any better. Although this time my spin was more controlled. The poles were stationary, meaning they did not move or spin. The dancer moved around them. I came to a sitting position at the base of the pole, propped up on one hip, my free hand rising to my head to run my fingers through my hair.

 “Be sexy. Make it sexy.”

 But making any eye contact with the audience was difficult because the stage lights were blinding the shit out of me. So I remembered my training -- focus on one spot in the distance, and stick to it. A few customers approached the stage and threw some dollar bills, but they didn’t stay. Was that normal? Oh god, I had NO idea what I was doing. My song now halfway through, and in my moment of panic, I crawled to the middle of the stage and did a split. There was a moment of silence, accompanied by applause and cheering.

 “Oh shit! They love it!”

 I turned over to my front side, and pushing upwards, brought both feet to the back of my head to create a triangular shape. More clapping and shouting this time, and the beautiful noises filled the club, as several other customers brought more money to the stage. Switching positions to lay on my back, my hips circled and waved in the air, and I eagerly felt myself up. Every inch of my body tingled in delight, as my fingertips trailed along my sides all the way up to my unpretentious titties. With goosebumps covering my almost naked flesh, I brought myself to my knees and stared directly into the audience, preparing to remove my bra for the very first time in a public place. I hesitated. Would my tits be too small? What if I get boo-ed?

 “No, you have to do this,” I encouraged myself, “You’ve come this far, there’s no turning back!”

 My fingers reached for the clasp that was the only part separating my insecurities from reality. The hook-and-eyes that secured the garment clicked, and bra was quickly off.

 I waited.

But no boo-ing transpired, only clapping and shouts of approval. With two flips of my head, hair whipping in identical circles, I rested on my backside once again, re-positioned my ass towards the audience, and stuck my legs in the air. I knew that my movements were rough, but my eagerness to have the opportunity to perform again, on a stage in front of an audience that appreciated my talent, drove me. I really wanted to get this job. Shaking my legs vigorously, my curves jiggled in delight as the crowd roared, sharing their excitement. A huge, toothy smile spread across my face, and despite my unsteadiness from an intoxicating combination of adrenaline and nerves, I came to standing, managing to not fall. A small bow was taken, and my new born baby calf legs carried me to the stair case.

A Blast From The Past

I will always be eternally grateful to my Ballet training, as well as treasure my fond experiences, and love for classical dance. But sometimes what you believe may be the correct route for your life, might not be exactly what you need after all. This is one of the reasons I created the style, "Ballet Sensual". An almost hypocritical style of dance and movement, combining the most classical and un-classical of arts.
This is a very abridged version of my dance history. It may offer some insight into why I became the dancer I am today.

Do what's right for you.

Enjoy your life.

Be strong in who you are.

All that mattered to me was becoming a ballerina. When I was 8, my Mom and Dad enrolled me into gymnastics classes. I didn’t care that I was a “natural”, “destined to go to the Olympics” (my instructor told my mom often). Every floor routine, flip, sequence on the balance beam or bars, I would add my own flair, a little twist, twirl, anything that felt natural.

“Don’t do that, Lindsey!” “Stick to the routine!”

I didn’t care. Who were they to tell me how to move? Even my mom, one of my greatest supporters would chastise me for being different, unique, free-thinking. When I explained to her that all I was interested in was becoming a dancer, she seemed more understanding. But gymnastics was still on the agenda. You see, being home schooled didn’t exactly always offer a vast array of classes. The home school group my siblings and I were enrolled in, offered courses that were on a group rate, making the price either very cheap, or next to free. Discount aside, tell that to a kid, and they don’t appreciate a good deal. I just wanted to dance. It wasn’t until I was almost 12 that I had the opportunity. So until then, I sat in my room, scouring library books, stretching as best I could (with the little education I had, internet not yet being available to the general public). My folks recognized my passion, and occasionally chatted amongst themselves. Month after month, year after year. Every empty space, grocery aisle, empty field, drive way. . .even in the swimming pool, I practiced what I saw on my video tapes and in my books.

My passion and drive were insatiable. Fast forward a few years, Ballet and Dance classes now weekly taken and thoroughly appreciated, my parents get the news that we will be moving to Japan, working for the Department of Defense. I was irate. How would I dance in Japan? Were there even existing dance classes? (Looking back, it amazes me how the general education of the American population really is completely inadequate). My mom and dad reassured me that there would be, but I had my doubts. I was crushed, this was my dream. And after waiting for so many years? I made myself a promise. I vowed that no matter what happened, or how many years I was made to wait, that when I grew up, I would become a professional dancer. To my surprise, my training was continued overseas, and funding was more prevalent. We were re-stationed, moving from Japan to Germany. And instead of attending a regular academic college, trade college schooling for Dance and Performing Arts was available off post, for young artists with passion and drive. After 3 years, at barely 20 years old, I made the decision to move to Ireland to continue my education in Cork City. Under the direction of Alan Foley, and his incredibly competent board of teachers, after only a few months, I was also given the opportunity to dance in his company, The Cork City Ballet.

But somewhere along the way, something didn’t feel right. I was being made to dance in ballets and numbers that I didn’t really enjoy. My body began wearing down, as my soul slowly suffered. This was forced movement. The conditions for constant weight loss and the need to be technically perfect was excruciating. Was this was what being a Ballet Dancer meant?

Love In Unlikely Places

Someone from my past once told me,

“when you least expect it, you will

find love in the most unlikely of places.”

Sounds like a load of crap, right?

Well I can tell you this -- It’s not.

 When I first met Jake, I was only concerned with two things: caring for myself and my son. Allowing the existence of another person into this equation was of no interest to me at that time.

 But I had no option. . . because Jake isn’t one of those types of people one can easily forget.

 He stood there, behind the barrier that separated the dj booth from the rest of the club. In his own little castle, ear phones adorning his reddish blonde hair. I passed by the dj booth as I normally would, work bag en shoulder, cup of coffee in my opposite hand. Recognizing that we had never worked together, I turned back around to introduce myself.

My outstretched hand decided to do the talking for me. My vocals chimed in a few moments after.

 “I’m. . .Sierra. Hey.” Smiling, I waited for him to respond.

 “Jake. What’s going on?” He seemed very hyperactive and preoccupied as he fiddled with cords and the sound system.

 “Nice to meet you, we’ve never worked together, are you new?” His hand met mine briefly with force.

 “Oh! No, not new.” He chuckled nervously. I wondered if he was on something. I mean, it wouldn’t have been the most unlikely of scenarios.

 “Cool. Well, I’ll let you get back to it. . .”

Jake interrupted.

 “How long have you been working here?” He asked, now more interested than a few seconds ago. His eyes were a piercing blue-green beautiful. He intentionally locked them on mine, the intensity almost too much to bear. I felt as if I was being tested. Maybe to see if I was “real”. So many phonies in this business, so what he was doing seemed sensical. They looked like the ocean with little black boats sailing through the calm waters. My brain knew a response was needed, but my body had frozen. Not from fear, but captivation. This man was not only confident, but also well spoken, and not afraid of life. Damn it. My attention this one had.

 “Um, only a few months, actually.” I set my bag down and took a sip of my lukewarm coffee.

 Walking directly to the dressing room would normally have been my M.O. for the evening. Gathering any thoughts, feelings, or cares that had been collected during the day, and shoving them into a massive box, to be locked up until I left early the next morning. To me, this was just as important as putting on my face, dressing up, or even stretching. And am I ever a fan of stretching. Having your head in the game was vital.

Keeping this in mind, I knew this conversation would have to be brief.  

 “So where are you from, or currently living? Are you close, or do you drive far?” Damn you sound like a creeper, Lindsey. Why the fuck was that your first question?

 Jake didn’t seem weirded out at all, as he arranged the tools of his trade behind his wooden wall.

 “I’m not far, actually. In Marion, just 15-20 minutes from here. You?”

 “Carbondale.” I paused, considering what else I could use to create small talk.

 “Been there long?” I knew this would go nowhere, as most people would have lived in one place most of their lives.

 “No, no.” He looked up with a silly grin as he attempted to hold in a laugh.

 “I’ve moved around often. A LOT. Too much probably.”

 “Oh really? Me, too. I was a civilian military “brat” for about 10 years, I’ve lived in Japan, Germany and Ireland.”

 Jake paused, looking up at me, not in disbelief, but in awe. I had caught his interest now, and he committed wholeheartedly to this conversation. I was sure of this, upon his full-body turn towards me. His elbows now resting upon the large rail of the dj booth, our bodies only inches apart from one another.

 The pure, electrifying energy he emitted

could have brought a body back to life.

Who was this person? Was he even human?

 “I can barely even count all of the places I’ve lived. Some were only for months at a time.”

 As Jake rattled off towns and cities in almost every state in the U.S., I really started to wonder, is this guy for real? Was he trying to pull a fast one on me, just to get in my pants? But the more he rattled, the more fervently I believed every word that exited his mouth.

He wasn’t lying.

 Minutes went by, and more dancers came and passed as we chatted about music, travel, acting, life. When the time read five minutes ‘til opening, I had no choice but to leave.

“We have way too much in common,”

I eerily thought to myself,

almost as if I had been here before.

 “But I’m more professional than that, and don’t want to date co-workers. Plus, he’s probably with someone, anyway. And I have no need for another faulty relationship, that’s for sure.”

I convinced myself all the way through the dimly lit corridor, down the dirty steps to the dressing room door.

Time to put a lid on this box.




(See how the story unfolds, in my book -- "From Pointe To Pole, A Dancer's Journey")
. . . on shelves soon!

My First Pole Dance Competition Was NUDE

My first Pole Dance competition was NUDE.

“Miss Nude USA” and “Miss Nude International” opened my eyes to the world of naked art. A memorable and inspirational time in my life. Loads of gorgeous, naked entertainers, featured performers and travelling porn stars surrounding me as they mingled in the dressing room, prepared for their acts, autographed body parts, and posed for photographers for porn magazines.

 Within the first 4 months of getting into the industry, I decided to enter “Miss Nude USA”. I learned a few pole tricks, had previous theatre experience, and I had danced for over 15 years. I really wanted to be a part of something fresh and exciting. Something where I could combine all my performing arts passions.

 This would also be my first time dancing FULLY nude. Up to this point, panties stayed on, and I liked it that way. Safer, in my opinion. Nobody sticking their fingers places you don’t want them.

 But this was the perfect opportunity to lose the thong and gain that confidence I so desperately craved.

 “If you can dance fully naked in front of a club filled with randy
men and women

. . . you can probably do anything.”  

 That said, it’s not for everyone. However, competing nude in these competitions taught me things that I have now realized are not only invaluable, but also not always common knowledge or information that is readily available. Not even in the Pole Community. So if you’ve made it this far, just sit back, relax, and enjoy the read. Because I’m going to tell you exactly what competing nude taught me (and include a small excerpt from my book.)

‘’ Miss Nude USA.’’ Chloe loudly spewed into my face, seeming irate that she was made to say it twice.

 ‘’Are you doing it or what?’’

 ‘’I still don’t know what it is, Chloe, or what I would need. . .’’

 She interrupted rudely, which didn’t surprise me at all. I had actually anticipated it.

 ‘’You’ll need a show,’’ She stuck up her hand and pointed to each of her phalanges. ‘’Costumes, music, props, some tricks, and a theme behind all of it.’’

She forcefully took a drag off of her cigarette.

 ‘’Oh yeah, and you also have to get naked. Hence: Miss Nude.’’

 Chloe gave me a sly grin and look of playful distaste, most likely insinuating that I was a prudish goody goody. I played along, continuing to lightly apply my makeup.

 Sitting on the makeup table farthest from dressing room door, Chloe smirked and fiddled with her boobs inside of her bra. It was far too small for her, and was overflowing with cleavage. She finished her cigarette and put it out in the nearest ash tray, which just happened to be the one sitting directly across from my right arm. The manner in which she extinguished it told me this: ‘’I’ve won.’’ She jumped off of the table, causing a small earthquake effect, and casually strode away. Before she could reach her own table, I replied.

 ‘’Yeah, that sounds like something I’d be interested in.’’

The bosom-y diva swung around. I carefully analyzed her reaction as I finished my makeup, pretending not to care.

 ‘’Yeah?’’ She lit another cigarette, more elegantly this time. One hip popped as she brushed a strand behind her ear. Her hand fell onto her popped hip, and she took a deep drag. Almost too much for even the almighty Chloe to take in, and she struggled with it on the way out.

 ‘’Definitely.’’ I responded after a couple of seconds. ‘’It sounds like a challenge.’’

 Now finished, I gathered my things for going out onto the floor. I had been at the club a little over a month, and was beginning to get the hang of things. Chloe and the other girls knew this, and had (recently) become a little more intimidated. Stripper etiquette aside, there was an underlying competitive nature about this industry. I had no problem with it. Everyone had to hustle to make their living, it was just the nature of the game. But underneath all of the cutthroat and ambition, were some strong, talented, sacrificial and self-sufficient women.

 ‘’Girl, are you ready now or what?’’

  She walked over to me and stood just inches away from my face and smiled.

 ‘’Are you ready, fucker?’’ She asked in a more polite tone, her button set on repeat, apparently very eager to get out to her audience tonight.

 I didn’t say a word, but returned her playful grin. I stood, and we walked out of the dressing room, side-by-side.

 Dancing and competing naked gave me confidence. It also taught me a lot about costumes, reveals, and props. What should I take off when, what needed to be underneath to tie all costume pieces into the theme? How many  different things could I use to pour, spray, smear or spill onto me, and which movements would make me look as sexy as possible in the process? Which pole moves would impress the judges the most, and how to keep them both dynamic and relevant? I learned to move smoothly, how to be sexy, playful and perhaps even silly at the same time. “Sex on stage”. . .but also so much more than that! I saw it as an art form, just waiting to be tapped into.

 If you’re reading this, and you’ve never seen a nude competition, please search the internet, until you are able to find a video of one (if any even exist)! They are not only something of our past, but also our present. “The present? How is that possible? We definitely do not get naked in Pole Competitions now.”

So here’s what I mean.

 My first Miss Nude Pageant, I created a set that involved a nurse theme, 80’s rock music, and a whole lot of fake blood. I had a blast! And so did the audience and judges, because I won first for my division. So maybe blood pouring down my naked, nipple erect chest, and onto see-through white panties make it look like that time of month had just happened. Who cares? It was a hit. (I then proceeded to cut my panties off at the end of my act).

 A few years later, I was watching random competitions videos on YouTube, and I came across a video of Bailey Day, one of the most gorgeous, amazing dancers in Pole Dance today. And she was doing a very similar act in Miss Pole Dance Australia (did you all see the size of her syringe?!). Was I upset? Hell no! I was thrilled. And chances are, she probably never even saw my videos or photos in CHERI magazine all those years ago.

My point is this. . .Modern-Day Pole and many competitions have been majorly influenced by Nude Pole Competitions and Pageants (e.i. “stripping”).

And it’s not a bad thing at all!

(Here are more examples)

THE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN NUDE VS. MODERN POLE COMPETITIONS

1. THE WORK.

 Most people don’t realize how much work it is to be an entertainer. How much effort and time goes into a single show. Costumes, makeup, lighting, props, routines. Even underwear! Successful dancers also abide by exercise and diet regimens. Now, by no means do I mean starvation or 300 crunches and push ups every day, but healthy eating to keep your body going at it’s maximum potential (and also just keeping your ass in shape). No one wants a flabby stripper or dancer.

 In my experience, the amount of work that is put into a good feature entertainer’s show, compared to a routine in a modern-day pole competition is almost exactly the same. Both exotic performer and athletic competitor will train for months, even years, to achieve what they’ve learned. The networking is never-ending. Appearing at events is everything. Creating a character is key. All of these things and more we share in common.

 2. CLOTHING OPTIONAL?

 Not really. Even though (obviously) one competition is naked, the other clothed, both require costumes and props. So, yeah, nude competitions and pageants are a sexy, even raunchy, over the top type of show, and many Pole competitions are typically more focused on athleticism. Then there’s also an in-between combination of the two. BUT, the majority of these shows require costumes and props. Some may come off sooner than others, some may not come off at all. But we as performers, put so much effort and time into our costumes, and they can be the key that ties our theme, music and concept together. So clothing is not optional. At least not in the beginning!

 3. THE PASSION

 We do it to inspire, to make people feel something. Ranging from sexy/exotic, to dramatic, to comedic dance, I’ve seen it all present in both worlds, naked and clothed.

 4. THE POLE TRICKS AND DANCING

 Let’s just face it. There are too many similarities to even count.

 5. IT’S NOT ALWAYS ABOUT THE MONEY

 Many dancers enter and compete in Nude competitions for exposure and publicity. Yes, the titles and winnings are always nice and a fantastic goal, but they also want to meet agents, brands, companies, celebrities, etc. It’s key to network in the adult entertainment industry. And in my opinion, in our current Pole community as well.

 

I have deeply fallen in love with both Pole Competitions and Nude Pageants since the start of my Pole journey. And I will continue to compete in both for as long as I can, even if I'm not always "in it to win it".

 Do what you are passionate about, no matter what. Strip those clothes off, until you’re as naked as the day you were born into this world. Or keep your clothing on and dance your heart out.

  It’s all beautiful, it’s all art. It’s all Pole.

Titles include:

 1st place Miss Nude USA, Newcomer Division

 1st place Miss Nude International, Newcomer Division

 “Best Tricks” and “Best Ass”
1st place "Pole Olympics", Penthouse and CRC clubs, 2016

Give 'Em What They Need

"Give 'em what they need."

  Stripping isn’t for everyone.

 I entered the world of adult entertainment, knowing what it could entail. I walked through that door with not only an open mind, but a heart that had been broken more than once. So many people believe that the industry is the root of all evil, corrupting all who step foot into its clutches. NOT TRUE. Myself, and many others (including friends), are living proof that it’s not all partying, drugs, alcohol, and physical/mental abuse. This is our job, our income, our passion. We not only enjoy what we do, but we also have many perks (pun intended). So in this entry, I’m going to give you a small taste of what I experience on a daily basis. It’s not all fun and games. It’s rewarding, and it’s also hard fucking work.

 I pulled up to the parking lot, and maneuvered my little silver dodge into a random spot and shifted into “P”. My hands on the steering wheel, gradually released their iron grip and relaxing, slid to my knees. I sat and stared at the outside of this large building with almost zero windows, and only doors for outside light to peep through. A deep breath in, slow and cool, and out again. Wondering how many other girls in the past do exactly what I do before each shift. I like this, though. Leaving the outside world behind before immersing myself into the club atmosphere, it helped. Another deep breath...and...okay. That was all I needed to exit my car and grab my shit from the passenger side, close my car door and lock everything up.

 “Breathe in that industrial air. Mmm, mmm, delicious.”

 “No door guy today. That’s safe.”

My mood reeked of sarcasm, which wasn’t abnormal.

The lack of staff as of late was a little disconcerting. My hand reached for the faux brass handle. Before the door even cracked, a mixture of cigarettes and stale beer seeped through and entered my nose cavities. I walked through the first set of double doors, and then through the second. This was the “employee entrance”. Now the smell was even more pungent, and I imagined having a black light wand, scanning the carpet, walls, doors, etc. They were all heavily lined with the ashy-alcohol residue.

 “Hey, Heidi.”

 Calvin greeted me from behind the front counter. He looked unbelievably bored. It was only 3 pm in the afternoon, so I wasn’t surprised. Customers didn’t start showing up until 7. That’s when the dinner/after work crowd came in.

 “What’s up, Calvin.”

I smiled, wondering if he would even see me in the dim lighting.

 “You need anything today, Heidi?” Calvin asked, genuinely.

 Calvin always made sure I had everything I needed. He also made sure I always had my fix. Candy fix, that is. If the vending machine was out of skittles, he made sure I had plenty for my upcoming double shift. Yeah, I’m a work-aholic. Being in the club for 14 hours isn’t my idea of a good time, especially considering I don’t do drugs or drink (not judging anyone who does).

But the facts were still this: more money was to be made if a dancer worked one and a half to two shifts. Plus more regular customers were seen, gained, etc, etc. Such a never-ending cycle of now normalcy. But still better than working 5-6 days a week, at a normal job.

 “This is now my normal”, I told myself. And I was O.K. with it.

 In the beginning, there had been a sense of otherworldliness. A constant thrill. Adrenaline rush. I still experienced this, but not nearly as often as before. Going from “real jobs”, to getting naked for loads of money, doing what I love most: dancing. Miss Nude Pageants, nude modeling, the world of constant photoshoots and being asked to be filmed, taken home...wanted. After feeling unloved and unsexy for SO long, it was nice. And even though I did not always take up all offers, it made me feel like I was someone. Society loves doing that...making someone feel unwanted, unloved, unneeded, useless, unforgettable. Deep down, I knew I was none of these things, but I had almost started to believe it was the truth. People need to be made to feel. To feel important, not insignificant. And I enjoy doing this.

 Yes, it’s true, I enjoy making people feel loved. And they pay me for it. So sue me. It’s something that needs to be more present in our everyday lifestyle, our culture, but very few people actually come to this realization on their own. Or figure out how to break the cycle.

 “Later, Calvin, I will definitely need some later on!”

 “Cool, I’ll get them on my break.” Calvin replied.

 (I tipped him every time he made a run for me, so in the end we both won).  

 That’s really what this business is about, though. Making each other happy, feel respected...not being a douche. And the dancers and employees who are assholes? I’ll just say this--they don’t last for long. They may make money initially, but as far as a long-term career? Doubtful.

I climbed the two steps that lead to the upper platform, which was the main part of the club. Waved at the bartender as I passed, nodded to the girls on the side stage, greeted the dj inside his booth. Something I also made a point to do, was weigh the crowd and scan for regular customers that may be there waiting on me to arrive. Only one potential client, and not even a for sure bet. Still, it could be advantageous to hurry and get ready.

The song I walked in on finished as I passed the Dj booth, and Spicy, put the mic to his mouth. I opened the dressing room door, Spicy’s voice echoing through the club and trailed behind me into the dressing area. Only a few dancers were actually present for their shift today. I gathered this from the lack of bags, street clothes and other belongings not strewn about. Most entertainers would store their things in their private lockers, but 90% of the time would leave behind at least one or two items. This was a pretty safe club, not much theft occurred between girls. They knew they’d get sacked. Zero tolerance for theft, open drug use and fighting. It’s one of the better clubs, and every shift I walked into, I realized how lucky I am.

 “...My next entertainer on the number one stage...Kylee. Go say hello to our lovely Kylee.” Spicy’s voice over the dressing room speaker came through semi-audibly. “Bad To The Bone” was Kylee’s first song, one of my all time favorite oldies.

 “Great choice, Spice”, I thought to myself as I found my spot at the one of three circular vanities, and started to unpack. I say unpack, because I take almost all of my costumes home with me at the end of each shift, just in case some dickhead decided to break into my locker. Jake also packs my meals for me so I don’t have to spend a lot on food whilst working. Such a sweet boyfriend I have. But seriously, he’s fucking amazing. Dating someone who used to be an entertainer and dj himself, who still performs, is one of the coolest, more surreal things that has ever happened to me. He understands the job because he's been there himself.

 The key for my locker was still in my clutch from the last shift, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Although my costumes return with me every night/day, my shoes are still stored in my locker. Kind of impossible to dance without them in this place. It took me a good while to learn how to dance in stilettos, but now I love stripping in heels. I opened my locker and took out the towel that’s always placed carefully (dirty side down) onto my seat. Am I OCD? Yes. Am I a clean freak? No. But this place is filthy. Seriously, all clubs are gross, no matter how gorgeous looking, how much money comes into them, or how popular they are. They are nasty.

 “I love your pink hair!” someone from behind me yells.

 “Oh, hey Lacey”, I smiled at her. “I didn’t recognize your voice, how are you? And thank you for the hair compliment.”

 “I’m alright. Bored. I’d love to dye my hair grey at some point.” She informs me.

 “You should, that would be really pretty on you.”

Lacey removed her waitress corset and put on a hoodie, then headed to the dancer/waitress bathroom. She checked her face in the mirror and then back out to her spot at the vanity.

 “How’s it been in here this week? I’ve been gone for several days.” I asked, actually curious to know.

 “Oh. So terrible, girl. Fucking shitty.” She made a face of disgust.

 “That bad? Fuck. That sucks.”

Lacey rolled her blonde, mid-length hair into a bun, grabbed her phone and started scrolling. I shut up.

 Working in the industry wasn’t nearly as amazing as it had once been “back in the day”, but I still managed to make good money. I constantly wondered if it was my approach. And I knew that friends of mine were doing decently also. At least 1-3 grand a week was not abnormal if you worked for it. Or course girls giving extras made more, but I wouldn’t know anything about that. I don’t judge what others do for money. But that wasn’t for me. I’ve never felt comfortable giving that much of myself to a stranger, or even someone I’ve known for a while. Plus, I really like my job, and girls who get caught sucking, fucking, etc, they got fired automatically. So in my opinion, not worth it. Plus, if I decided to go that route, I’d get a bodyguard, go to a hotel, and name my price. I wouldn’t put out for $100, $200, $500, or even $1,000 dollars. I can make that money without doing any of the above. It’s all about how you present yourself, manage your time, and most importantly, how you treat your customers. When I tell other dancers this...that they don’t need to put out to make money, sometimes they act surprised. I guess it’s because I was trained and taught by “old-school” entertainers, in a small hole-in-the-wall club in Illinois.

It’s amazing how much the industry has changed.

 Before the recessions, money was flowing like water in clubs across the nation. Making 3,000 dollars in a shift was not unheard of. Buying new cars, houses, property, and living like a rock star was the norm. Currently, it’s still better than your average job, but if you're not on your game, it isn't by much. The key for me is my character and making my customers feel appreciated. Between those two things, and managing my time during my shifts, I can walk out with several hundred to a grand, no problem. 
But... IT’S HARD WORK. 
Don’t be fooled. You can’t just waltz into a club and expect it to rain on your first set. But on a Friday, Saturday, even Sunday night, it’s not unlikely. As long as you play your cards right.

 After I unpack and get dressed (my makeup is always done at home), I go to the DJ booth to get my name put on the board. That way my stage set is in rotation and I can start dancing. Being seen is another important factor. Not only seen on stage, but walking around the club. If no one knows you’re there, how will you start making money? So I sit at the bar or by the DJ booth, warming up, chatting, just looking like I’m having a semi-decent time. The moment I stop smiling, that’s when the cash stops flowing in. Grumpy dancers are no fun.

 A guy walks up to me, middle aged, white hair, friendly. He asks me how my day is going, and I tell him my shift just started. He’s wondering when I go on stage again, and I inform him it may be about 30-40 minutes. He offers to buy me a drink and I tell him I’d like a sprite (seems lame, but nobody wants a sloppy drunk. Middle aged guys actually like the fact that I don’t get drunk.) I introduce myself and ask his name (sometimes happens later in the conversation). The bartender brings us our drinks, he pays, tips a couple of bucks, and turns to face me.

 “Would you like to do a dance?”

 “I’d love to have some fun with you” I reply, very coy, smiling.

 

 I know nothing about him, other than the fact that he wants to spend more time with me. We walk to the private area, and I take his hand. I want him to know that I am an affectionate person. We arrive at the private counter, and he’s asked to produce 5 dollars for a dance wristband, which will be his “golden ticket” in and out of the dance area for the remainder of the evening. He pulls out five ones, paper wristband placed onto his person, and we enter the first booth available (I tend to go to the nicest one, not too far back because those are notorious for being filthy and unpleasant...in other words, “sticky”. Which could be anything from booze for bodily fluids).

 I can tell this man has some class, because he doesn’t balk at it. He doesn’t want his dick sucked, at least not at this moment. He just wants a dance. A good, old fashioned private dance. I ask him if he’s interested in doing three songs for $100 dollars. He says he is. We do the three songs, he tells me to keep going, and we dance for three more. We’re now at $200. He’s not quite ready to stop, and asks me if three more dances is okay with me. I shake my head yes, and smile making eye contact, sitting on his lap and caressing his neck. After the third set of dances, he says he needs to go home now. I don’t ask him any questions, but thank him for the dances and for spending time with me. He looks satisfied, that makes me happy. As we walk out of the private area, he tips me another $100. This seems unrealistic, but it’s not. $400 dollars and approximately 30 minutes later, and I’m elated. Because not only have I made money, but I’ve done my job the way I wanted to do it.

 The night goes on, I dance on stage several times, finding two more guys who want something similar to the first. As it gets later into the wee hours of the night, the requests become more...intense. Sometimes I turn down men (and women) who ask me for more than what I want to do. Sometimes I’ll play along and get as many songs out of them until they realize I’m not putting out (depending on how rude they are to me).

It’s all up to the dancer. So you probably see where I’m going with this. The stigma is not 100% accurate. Have I been in uncomfortable positions that I didn’t necessarily want to find myself in? Yes. Have I ever been forced to put out for a customer? No. 

I greatly enjoy my job, and I’ll never apologize for getting paid to make people happy and feel loved. They need it. We all need it.