Although it’s true every man who comes into a strip club is a potential source of income, and therefore somewhat of a mark, it’s impossible not to like some of the customers. Occasionally I’m even attracted to them. I asked my old roommate if she thought I’d ever meet a man to date who would treat me like a lady if we met at a strip club, and she replied:
I believe she’s right, so I have decided to simply settle for dropping the pretense of hustling the men I really like in exchange for a few minutes of honest conversation and not expect or court anything else. Nobody wants to bring a stripper home to mother, right? Even if she’s a published writer and a virgin it’s too much stigma for the average man. It makes my soul bleed to admit it, though. I’m not a nice girl anymore.
I’m not a nice girl. I’m a sex worker. Repeat, believe it, stop the denials.
Saturday night I met a really amazing young lawyer from Colorado , in for a friend’s birthday party, who asked me,
“You’re way too well-adjusted to work here. What’s really going on?”
When I explained I write for a feminist magazine and I’m on the last leg of a journey of exploration into the sex industry, focusing on the apparent duality (particularly when one considers my religious beliefs) I experience, I could see his expression change in such a way that I would have believed his eyes had alighted on a goldmine in any other situation. However, because I’m a stripper and ex-dominatrix, and not doing this experiment strictly for the sake of investigative journalism or as a private sociology experiment, I simply asked him what he was doing in a profession notoriously full of people who go to extremes since he, too, seemed very even-keeled.
I explained the known phenomenon of raging sexually dominant and submissive men in law, and how my time as a dominatrix was mainly spent with lawyers. I also told him because I like staring down submissive men on the street and am looking for a dominant man in my private life I’m a lawyer magnet, since so many men attracted to codified rules gravitate to the law as a profession and seem to sense that I’m pretty kinky, too. I haven't even dated a non-lawyer in quite awhile.
He was pretty wonderful, and even though he looked pointedly and with a lot of longing at me as I ducked out of the club in my street clothes, I knew there was no point in giving him anything but a smile in parting. You can't tell me someone that fabulous is single. I refuse to believe it.
C’este la vie beautiful boy.
You know you dodged a bullet, anyway.