What I Learned

By Jack, Los Angeles

Despite the one hundred percent humidity and ninety-five degree temperatures, I was freezing to death. I had been on stage for the past eight years, but I had never been this nervous before. My knees trembled a little, and my hands were like ice cubes. My throat was choked with excitement and terror, but I stood there waiting to hear my name.

I looked in the mirror, and began my daily ritual: Was I too fat or too thin today? How many zits did I have? How crooked was my nose? Why did I look so pale? I swung between near-anorexia and gluttony on a weekly basis. Everyone has their demons I suppose.

Then the DJ called my name. I took a deep breath and walked out onto the stage. At first I could barely breathe, so I held onto the pole and just swayed a little. I could feel my stomach heaving, and waited to get sick. It never happened, so my first night of stripping began.

I looked at my arms, and an image of myself came into my head. I stood there like a skeleton, and began moving awkwardly to the thumping noise. My bones protruded sharply in any angle, and my skin sagged under my eyes. Someone started yelling for me to get off stage, and I deteriorated into a pile of dust.

I looked around. People were standing and sitting near me, watching me. They kept waiting. I finally realized that they had come to see me do what I do best: dance. No matter how I saw myself, I had to give them a good show. That's what performers do. I let go of the pole and started dancing.

I could hear people gasping and getting excited. They had never seen someone dance like this in a bar -- my formal training was proving to be an enormous asset right then. I turned, fell, jumped, flipped, and rotated all over the space. I forgot about those eyes, and began moving for myself.

Suddenly I felt hands on my body. People were waiting to give me money! I took it, and kept performing at a break neck level. The spectators loved my movement, and I fed off of their lustful attention. I was actually good at this.

Over the course of the next few months, my self-esteem and confidence came to life. Stripping saved me from my bouts of weight-induced depression, and allowed me to be a flirtacious cock-tease. It was so liberating. Then I started making mistakes.

Men were offering me money for my services. At first I simply said no and was done with it. But how well do the pillars of morality stand when a beautiful face comes along to undermine their stability? Not very well evidently.

Tricking offered me the opportunity to experiment. I found that I was not a bottom, but that I preferred both roles. I made money, friends, and excuses. I also began making more mistakes.

The same career that had drug me up from my lows was now dragging me even lower. Many of the dancers had regular clients, and I admired them for being both desirable and attainable. They enjoyed fucking other men, and they felt no shame. I found that this was not the direction for me.

The intimacy and allure of my body crumbled. I no longer enjoyed sex. The meaningless acts sucked away my newly established self-esteem, and I began to think that I was dirty. Something had to change -- I decided that I needed some time to contemplate my choices.

When I stopped tricking, I began enjoying my job again. I quit once I was ready to move to Los Angeles, and I've done fairly well as an overqualified, underpaid receptionist. That is a respectable position isn't it? At times though, I wish I was dancing seductively on that bar again. The environment was dark, sexy, dangerous, filthy, and enticing: everything temptation should be. Everything I wanted to be. I left that rotting place far behind. I still miss it.

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