This piece is by story – check out her blog, The Story of Story.
most of the other girls sit in clusters during this part of the night. they know each other and share cigarettes. i don’t know them, i’m from far away, having ran away from home to get naked for money. i’m sitting alone near the door memorizing movements for stage.
a man walks in and hovers by the doorway behind me. i glance at him. he continues to hover. “would you like to sit with me?” i ask smiling. he talks slow and grips his soda hard. i pretend it is too dark to see him blushing with me. i speak slow back to him. there’s not a whole lot of room between us for small talk just awkward smiles. a child likeness. “would you like a dance?” i ask gently. usually i wait a little longer to ask that question but there is nothing left to say. “yes” he says softly. i hook my arm in his and we walk back. i know that i’m on stage in one more girl but there are too few laps and too many strippers to say “hold on, can we dance when i get off stage?”
he swallows hard and looks stunned. mouth open. he shook actually. and kept gulping. yes he wanted a second dance. he hasn’t paid me up front and i can’t quite figure out how slow he is. “each dance is $20, ok?” “yes”. i think to myself that i may lose money if he can’t pay but i only have one more song until i’m on stage and i can’t waste it not dancing. i just pray that he’s good for it. without warning he pulls up his shirt, quickly and awkwardly. “sometimes i do that” he says. “that’s fine” i smile and press my breasts against his belly. he shakes.
it’s my turn on stage. my shoes are off. and i’m naked. the d.j. stalls. i skip the top buckles of my heels. my little dress is tucked into my thong and i pull it out and straighten myself on stage. i’m a hot mess and the other strippers are laughing at me.
afterwards i go to him. remind me your name. it’s william. “does anyone ever call you will?” “yes” “do you prefer william” “yes” “may i dance for you some more?” “yes…” he pauses “would you like a drink first?” he is nervous. he wants to talk. so i say “…sure” i drink red wine. he drinks his soda. we talk slowly back and forth. he is a prep cook. “what is your favorite thing to cook?” without hesitation he answers “french fries”. there are lots of silences between us where we just smile and he gulps. he likes his grandmother’s cooking. he was adopted.
i dance five more dances for him. the first one i dance the way i normally do. the way most guys like it. but he is not like most guys and when i slow down he says “i like how you slowed it down” and i just get slower and slower. we look into each others eyes for a half minute at a time. i touch his neck. i move like clouds. like the earth turning. like cold sap. like something growing. my normally cool fingers are warm and i touch him. i press my thumbs into his palms. i trace his cheeks. i massage his shoulders “does that feel good?” “yes. thank. you.” he still gulps and shakes. i pull up his shirt and press myself against him and am still. this lap is all about touch. and eye contact. we smile shyly and take our breaths fully. i’m dripping wet.
at the end of each dance i ask if he would like me to keep going. politely. without the hustle. “mmm hmmm” he keeps saying and then he says how much he owes me, adding up the dances in his head “i owe you eighty after this one”.
“if there is anything you particularly like, you can tell me and i’ll do it” i say. “you’re doing really really good” he says softly.
i brush my face back and forth over his face. i stand up so slowly and put my stomach against his face. he kisses my skin. i cup him with my body so that the bouncer cannot see. i slide down and wrap my arms around his neck, put my face to the side of his. my face that feels like crying. we decide to take a break.
and i think: this is a man i could not be with. he is not clever nor particularly ambitious. he is not intellectual or funny. he is not socially adept though he is unendingly polite. but this is a man i want to give all sorts of love to. this is a man who will not get touched out in the world where sex is so mixed up. and tonight i can touch him. i couldn’t do this if i did not do sex work. but in this club in the dark corners, social norms melt away with the music, and i can lay heart to heart with him.
i remember a story i heard about another country more sensible than ours. where whores visit the mental institutions every month. the government pays for this sex, this touching, this connection. it is not prozac or ritalin. it is not in gel capsules or chewable. it doesn’t have to be taken with food. it is body shaped.
the slow, the strange, the confused, the disabled, the ill, the unstable, the retarded, the insane, the special, the different, they do not stop being human; they don’t have less yearning.
this is why i do this work. the drunkards and horny frat boys are less obvious than william in their need. but it is all the same. our culture has created a void of touch. i normally can’t find the authority to ascribe moral characteristics to sex work, but i am sure in this moment with william that this is healthy. it is full of sweetness and longing and fulfillment of that longing.
i check myself. because there is money. and i have to ask an honest question of myself: am i taking advantage of a man who is retarded? i don’t even think he is retarded but i don’t have the right word. and so i use it as a placeholder to check myself against my values.
i glean from our conversation his decision making ability. he lives with a room mate. he drives. he has worked at the same job for eight years.
he buys me another glass of wine. and we talk more. “i think i came on kinda strong there” he says. “when? why?” i ask. “well i was kinda kissin’ you” he says. i laugh “it’s okay. i blocked the bouncer from seeing with my body. it’s fine”.
i have my hand on his back because our bodies are comfortable even when our conversation is not.
when he pays for my drink he pulls out his money from a cloth bag he carries. there is a lot of it. i check myself and feel alright. he is taking care of himself in a really responsible way. he is paying for what he values. i am better than t.v., a bad porno movie, even a trip to the mall. what i can fulfill is full of worth.
he asks me two more questions. they weren’t small chat questions. they weren’t meant to make him sound like a man of character. his open face just wanted to know my truth.
are you happy here?
if you could be anything what would it be?
i answer them honestly. in a not abbreviated way. i ask them both back. he is happy most the time. “what makes you sad or not happy?” “not knowing my real parents”.
and anything that you could be? “a music composer”
in the bathroom i find myself wine warmed, my forehead pressed against the bent and battered stall crying. just because he’s beautiful and perfect and the whole breaths we take between moving and speaking have let me be beautiful and perfect with him.
back with him i say “ok. so do you know about the champagne room here?” “no” “see that room there? back there you can touch me. it’s $300 and i don’t want to pressure you but if you would like to do it i would like to do it with you.”
“well. i would want to know someone before i touched them. and i feel like we are getting there”
“i only want you to do it if you can afford it. we can do regular dances instead. i just wanted to tell you about it”
he pulls out his money and counts it. “that’s exactly how much i have. and i have enough gas to get home. tell me again how it works?”
“it’s just like the other room, we do the same stuff but you can touch me here and here and here. but not here and here”.
“okay. i would like to do it”
so i pay the bouncer man the money to use the room. and i know the bouncer man will act gruff with william because he is used to assholes so i tell william that the bouncer man will tell him the rules and will say it not-so-nice.
bouncer man says “so have you been explained the rules?” william says “kind of” “okay, well you can’t touch her anywhere where the bikini touches. if she says you can grab her butt cheeks that’s fine but no crack and no puss okay? and absolutely no kissing or licking”
william looks a little scared. “is that okay?” i ask. “yes” he says.
we go back and i sit on his lap and look in his eyes. he is shaking. and gulping. i move slowly. i pick up his hands and put them on my legs. he glances at the bouncer. i take his face in my hands and cup around his vision and tell him not to worry about the bouncer, just look at me, okay? he nods and whispers “he said no kissing” “it’s okay if i’m facing towards you so he can’t see. he really meant that we weren’t supposed to kiss on the mouth. ok?”
we ignore the music – move to our tempo. i continue putting his hands on me because he keeps forgetting to touch me. or perhaps he is too nervous. i put his hands on my belly. on my hips. on my rib cage. on my chest and shoulders. “your skin is so smooth and soft” he says.
when i rub his shoulders, he smiles into his idea, putting his hands on my shoulders and rubbing back.
for a half hour the world is a neon champagne room the carpeted wall insulating us from everything but what we chose to bring in here. when i’m not looking him straight in the face my eyes are closed.
my head buried in his neck and his hands on my back while i sway ever so slightly for minutes on end, he whispers “i think i am in love”. i pause “you can only fall in love with me for tonight. in the club. remember i am traveling through. so just tonight, okay?” “why not a lifetime of love” i pause again. i look straight in his eyes and slowly shake my head no.
and we keep holding each other in our small world.
until “story! it’s done” bouncer man calls. we emerge together. less lonely. a little shell shocked in the world of loud sound.
i sit with him. there are more men around but i still want to be near him until i’m called on stage. i come off stage. he has to go he says. i hug him goodbye. “well, maybe we could keep talking?” he says but i say no, i’ll walk him out this is a good goodbye. i blow him a kiss. he blows one back and i catch it. grinning i lay my palm over my heart. he gives me a thumbs up.
the night is lowing and i meet another man. i look into his eyes to see what he’s about. his whites are greyish, the blue hoops are whiteish and the black is blueish. a film of separateness. he says his night is winding down and i say its winding down with a lap dance and he agrees. i watch him and under my legs his face clarifies. he looks up towards me and his whites are white, his iris’ a clean and wanting blue, his pupils a clear black. i like this. i like that i make eyes change.
he growls into my ear “i think you’re taking it in the ass, honey”.
