To my 17-year-old self, this was a small fortune! And it would vastly speed up saving for an apartment deposit.
Despite only completing half a shift, I had made $357. I was stunned when she slid a pile of $50 notes into my hand. I explained myself and my migraine to the receptionist, who granted me an early mark. I only just made it through my 15-minute podium before stumbling upstairs and emptying my guts into the toilet. But I was called on stage just as the long icy fingers of pain started snaking their way up the back of my skull. I was smiling to myself on my way back to the change room to freshen up after that first wave of Privates, when familiar white dots started dancing in front of my eyes. Then another guy, then Hawaiian Shirt again.īy the time I'd performed the same striptease for each of those four men, my 15-minute routine was down pat and I knew that not only could I do this, but I could also be good at it. He did and he didn't care, booking me for a third dance. I only had a limited repertoire of sexy moves he was just going to see the same thing. They told me my body was beautiful and said those magic words, "You're doing great."Īt the end of the group show, Hawaiian Shirt said he would like to book me for another show – just me and him. I had no qualms about showing my private parts. I unwrapped myself and showed men parts of my body. I was still working part-time in the gift-wrapping department of a large store. I writhed around onstage, played with my boobs and parted my legs for them. I nodded gamely, hoping I looked a lot braver than I felt. I will be watching." On his way out, he locked eyes with me, asking if I was okay. "You keep yourselves one metre away from her at all times. "No touching, you understand?" the security guard said. I befriended a group of four men sitting close to the stage, who were delighted to learn this was not only my first night – but my first podium! They called it my "initiation" and, as I clambered down from the stage, they formed a protective circle around me and herded me to reception to book me for my first private show – known within the club as a "Private".Ī security guard walked us down a dimly lit corridor to an empty room that was to be mine for the 15-minute show. I kept repeating to myself: I'm hot I'm gorgeous I can do this. I tried my best to remember a few of Jasmine's body movements at my audition. "I can do this," I repeated silently to myself, as I danced onstage for my first podium, where customers put tipping dollars into my garter. At least I'd lashed out on a "proper" stripping bra and G-string (with side clips for easy removal), made of black spider-web mesh. My eyelids were filled in with blue eye shadow, my mouth painted a garish shade of red.
I was an awkward, pale child, wearing knee-high lace-up boots and a tight black dress I'd bought for $1 at a secondhand store, standing in a room full of bronzed, blonde goddesses with amazing boobs and bodies. They nodded vaguely as I stared enviously at their towering stilettos and sexy lycra dresses. It was very important to me that I was a "good" stripper. I felt like an imposter, as if I was getting away with something (which I guess, given my age, I really was).Īt the club, amid the clouds of hairspray and body glitter, I introduced myself to the other dancers, and told them if they saw me doing anything wrong, could they please stop me. I wandered through the dingier parts of the redlight district to kill time, fingering the fabric of the barely there outfits in sex shops, staring at the working girls on the street corners and looking at the flashing neon lights, thinking, "I'm part of this now." Too early – the club wasn't even open yet. I showed up early for my first shift after the audition. "Suzie." I turned the name over in my mind before nodding slowly. Once you pick one, you are pretty much stuck with it for your entire career, because you develop a following of loyal customers who ask after you by name.
What do each of you want to be called?"ĭeciding on your stripper name is a rite of passage. "Now, let's get your names down for some shifts, ladies. The lights back on, we dressed and lined up in front of Rebecca for our evaluation. Feeling awkward and unsure, I unhooked my Target bra and did my best to copy what she was doing. "When you feel ready, take your tops off so we can see your boobs." Aware I was being judged, but not entirely sure under what criteria, I waited until Jasmine "felt ready", took her top off, and began gently rubbing her (fake) DD boobs. The girl nearest to me, Jasmine, had worked as a stripper before, so I watched her closely, trying my best to emulate how she moved. I took a deep breath, and clambered up, gripping the pole tightly with both hands and beginning to sway my hips to the beat.
The other girls in my group were undressing and climbing onto the different stages.