Last night something happened.
Something I thought would be just a blip in on my stripperhood radar. Something I’d take like a champ and move on. Something I’d chalk up to inexperience. Something I’d accept as one of the risks of my job. Something that the part of me that likes to be in charge tried to gloss over, demanding that I not react, that everything remain ‘business as usual’, that nothing had changed. Because autopilot only works when nothing has changed. Autopilot is a creature of habit. It drones on and on, reliably, with no purpose other than to keep the outcome of every situation the same, even when circumstances are different. Because that’s what’s easy. Autopilot is lazy.
It’s funny that the laziest part of me is the part that commands control — leaving the part that senses and assesses and adapts to run complacently in the background. Until something changes that can’t be ignored. Last night, something changed.
Last night, I was stiffed.
The guy counted the money out in front of me, came to the back where the private dances are done, watched me take off my clothes and look into his eyes and smile and run my hands along my body, felt me press my full weight against him and breathe softly into his ear, told me how I was worth every penny he was going to give me, knowing full well…
That he was going to give me nothing.
As soon as I finished dancing, he jumped off the couch and started to leave. In my club, we aren’t allowed to leave the private booths until we are fully clothed. Well, as fully as a stripper is ever clothed while at the club. ‘Hey, get back here. This isn’t “Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.” I’m going to get dressed, and we’ll walk out together.’ I was fully aware that I had still not received payment, but I’ve always let the customer take the lead on when he pays. Keeping him with me while I dressed was my attempt to give him his final opportunity to take that lead. Instead, he told me how much he loved the club and would return. As soon as I was dressed and took a step toward him, he hightailed it back towards the main room.
Usually, the manager or doorman is waiting at a podium right outside the booths to collect their cut of our dance fees. No one was there, so when my customer breezed on by, I was right behind him.
Just as we were about to turn the last corner, the manager came around in the opposite direction and blocked me off. I started to say, ‘He hasn’t paid me yet’ but was cut short by a sharp look that wordlessly communicated ‘Don’t try to rip me off’.
I went back and paid my fees. By the time I got out to the main room, the guy and his friend were gone.
One of my favorite quotes related to my profession is from The Pole Story. It begins:
‘Anyone who has ever danced erotically for another knows the tremendous power she has over that person…’
There is tremendous power in having someone hand over a decent chunk of cash to spend 4 minutes in my presence. In knowing that I have something of such high value to someone that he will eagerly give me a quarter of his day’s earnings for me to pay attention to him for the length of one song.
It continues:
‘…The quickest way to rob a woman of that power is to shame her out of it.’
Last night showed me how untrue this final sentence is. The power a dancer has comes from her value. Sure, people can tell her that what she does is dirty or immoral or degrading, but that judgment doesn’t change the fact that she is very highly valued. Some girls may buy into what they say and and also start attaching those negative judgments to their value, thinking things like ‘He only wants me for my body’ (Why is that a bad thing? No one ever says, ‘He only wants me for my brains/beaming personality/infectious laugh.’ But that’s another can of worms.), but I don’t. And even if I did feel bad about having it, I’d still have that power.
No, the quickest way to rob a woman of that power is, very simply, to take that power — that value — away.
In the club, there are two situations where a dancer does not have power. If a guy isn’t interested in her, she has no value to him and, therefore, no power. I fully realise that I am not everyone’s cup of tea, so I don’t waste my time nor energy on guys who aren’t willing to compensate me for it. I find this out quickly and move on. I don’t lose power because I never had it, and I don’t need it because the interaction is already over.
The second situation is when a dancer has something a customer wants — something he values — and the two attach the same worth to that something. At this point, she is completely in charge. Then, after she has given him what he wanted, he gives her nothing. I have no doubt that my dances were worth the agreed upon price to my ‘customer’. But he withheld it anyway. In that moment, I couldn’t do anything about it. He walked right out the door, taking what he wanted, taking what I wanted and, consequently, taking my power.
I went into this industry after taking pole dancing lessons for a few months. I thought doing it naked for money would be just as much (if not more) fun than doing it in the studio. I thought it would build my confidence (not to be confused with self-esteem). But I was wrong. Putting myself out there for everyone to judge and possibly reject every time I walk on stage or out on the floor or up to a potential customer is not fun. It does not build confidence. But I love working at the club regardless of what anyone there thinks of me because I still have the power to either get them to open up their wallets for me or not give them the time of day. It’s that aspect that keeps me coming back even when I feel like a sow on stilts. It’s that aspect that makes me miss working when I’m too sick to get off the couch. It’s that aspect that seeps into my everyday life and makes me stronger.
But last night, that changed. And despite , or possibly because of, my best efforts to convince myself it was nothing, I spent most of today completely disconnected. I needed a place where I could put all of this down so that those two parts of myself who aren’t speaking to each other could make their arguments, come to an understanding, and kiss and have sloppy make up sex. Because of that, this blog about my friend’s and my commencement into the sex industry as awkward, unconventional strippers went from an idea we tossed around casually to a reality.
So here we are, the girls who catch their heels in their g-strings when they try to stand up, who slip and fall on stage, who get told they look like a horse when they walk in platform heels, who can’t help but giggle when they smack their own asses, who blush when another girl spreads her labia open in their faces and asks for a ‘cuntcheck’, who can’t figure out how to put their tops back on after they’re done on stage, who don’t normally wear make up, who sometimes jiggle too much in some places and not enough in others, who can only turn one direction on the pole, who watch their money walk right out the door.
We are the Clockwise Strippers.
~W~
The Clockwise Strippers 