The online diary of a gay courtesan.

So, I went out last night (Tuesday Trivial Pursuit at Petra’s in Charlotte, NC) for the first time in quite a while. Every time I go out for fun I remember why I don’t. Over the course of about four hours I had umpteen random people come up to me (most of whom I had never seen before) and criticize something about the way I looked or the way I was dressed. I was on the receiving end of several cutting remarks about what I do, and I was called up on stage by the female impersonator hosting the event who said in front of about 150 people, “This is the only stripper I’ve ever known whom I would call an entertainer.” Mhm.

Here’s one exchange I had a few moments later: “You look very nice tonight.”

“Thank you. How are you?”

“I’m good. You’re that stripper, right?”

“Which stripper?”

“That guy that does all the flips and shit.”

“Oh. Yes, I’m probably that person, yes.”

“You look really hot. Can I take you home?”

“I came here with a friend. He’s my ride back.”

“Well, when you’re dressed like that it screams ‘Whore!’ I’m just saying.”

I was wearing jeans and a tank top with a baseball cap.

“Funny, I thought it was more of a whisper.”

I was pinched, poked, prodded, rubbed, humped, squeezed, and canoodled until I was just about done with being gracious. I finally settled into a nice conversation on the back patio, but before that happened I had to get ornery with someone: One boy came up to me randomly and said, “You are sooo fucking hot. But I’ve heard about you.”

“Oh? What have you heard?”

“That you’re a dancer.”

“I am a dancer.”

“Oh, well I don’t hold that against you. I’m cool with that.”

“Ah. Well, what do you do?”

“I work at Best Buy. I’m in retail.”

“Oh, well I don’t hold that against you. I’m cool with that.”

He went and sat down.

This could probably be alleviated by going out more. I am seen so seldom in my clothes that people just don’t know how to relate to me as a real person. I suppose I should start breaking down the social wall a little bit more, and letting people see me as I am. But that means I’ll have to contend with alot of sniping and mean bullshit along the way.

A total stranger walked up to me, and said, “So, did you tear the sleeves off that shirt?”

“No, it’s a tank top. I bought it like this.”

“Well, I’d like it better on a woman. I’m sure everyone else likes it just fine, but I’m straight.”

(Blink, blink… what the hell am I supposed to say to that?)

“Alright.” And then I turned away. What else is required here? I have no idea.

Part of me desperately wants to go out and be around people more (without it being in a work setting), but another part of me just rolls his eyes and thinks it’d be better to just stay at home with the cat. I like people, I truly do; however, there are times I just want to smack them. I have to admit that this is beginning to wear me out.

Probably the most hurtful non-interaction was with someone with whom I’ve hooked up several times. He kept walking by me with his head down, refusing to look at me. I finally approached him and said hello. He acted surprised to see me, and we had a very uncomfortable 30-second chat. About an hour later I left to go home. Immediately he texted me, “Sorry we couldn’t talk more. Let’s fuck again soon.” I think not.

I’ve not talked too much about the competitive nature of what I do. I’ve mentioned office drama vaguely. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever mentioned it directly at all. Perhaps a few instances here and there of “if you see others doing well, and you’re not, don’t take it personally…” But I don’t recall ever mentioning what the dressing room is like…

It’s definitely dependent on the club and the environment it creates for itself, its patrons, and its staff. PT1109 in Columbia, SC is very friendly, in my opinion. For the most part the patrons are very good natured, the bartenders are supportive of the dancers, the owner is a no-nonsense type of dude, and 90% of the dancers are laid back. Every now and then we get an asshole in there, but they don’t last long at PT1109. That bar is definitely the kind of place where attitude isn’t rewarded much, no matter how big your muscles are.

Conversely, Swinging Richards can sometimes feel like a fucking beauty pageant backstage. What a bunch of stupid drama!! And men have the audacity to call women gossipy?? These straight guys cease being sexy the moment they walk back stage and start talking… ugh! For the most part we all get along very well in Atlanta, or live and let live; however, there are a few guys who should be glad they’re so much bigger than me. There are a few who really need a good, swift kick in the butt. They tend to be the same ones who sabatoge the dancers they don’t like. Gotta watch ‘em…  I’ve also experienced some haters at The Castle in Greenville – former dancers… go figure.

It can be discouraging when you aren’t comfortable with your coworkers. It can get downright ugly when you have good reason to believe someone is actually undermining you on purpose. I know I’ve painted a portrait of myself as someone who is very nice (because I am), but I do not tolerate people being destructive to me in this particular manner. I’ve tolerated other forms of abuse, but I have zero patience for other dancers (or former dancers) doing or saying anything to make me look bad to patrons. Devon to Diva in about 2.3 seconds flat. Miss Thang does know how to raise an eyebrow at a bitchy strippa.

What then do you do? It’s best to first try to talk to the person/people in question, to make certain that there’s not a misunderstanding that can’t be fixed among peers. Most of the time instigators will back off really fast – people know when they’re in the wrong. If polite inquiry doesn’t help, then I start channeling Miss Jackson. I do this so rarely that it tends to accomplish what Southern Charm doesn’t. In only a few instances have I had to speak to a Booking Manager or some other figure of authority.

If you are going to dance at a club or event where there are other dancers, you simply have to accept that there will be competition. Scotty and I have a friendly competition – we stay in shape, we check in with each other, we encourage each other, I tell Scotty if a patron tells me Scotty is hot (and vice versa), and we are happy for each other when either or both do well.

Sadly, competition isn’t always friendly. Some people do not appreciate the value of collaboration. They are too selfish to see that they will do better if everyone on the team looks good. Would you go buy a car at a lot with one nice vehicle and 30 jallopies? Or would you be more likely to go shop at a place where the lot can offer you your choice of sports cars? I guess some strippers are just ignorant. Whatever.

If you find yourself confronted by a destructive dancer, former dancer, patron, staff member… It’s often best to behave better, so that their criticisms look empty. How can anyone believe an ugly-acting person when you yourself are so charming, polite, beguiling, sexy, and friendly to the people who are slandering you. In almost every case I have found that the person hating on you makes himself look way worse than anything he could do to you. In fact, I have had friends of haters come up and tip or compliment me, specifically so that I and others wouldn’t lump them in with the person causing the problem.

Where is the love? It’s in you. It’s also in the people who end up being sympathetic/empathetic to you for being the “victim” of malice. People tend to side with the person targeted, not the person who is being aggressive. You will probably not win people’s minds over by being confrontational. If someone says you’re gross, unattractive, dirty, stupid, whorish, etc., and you get mean… it will, on some level, confirm in the minds of others that you must, after all, be the brutish piece of trash they thought you were. Reasonable people generally can’t help but respond constructively to maturity and positivity.

You know who you are. Forget the haters. The ones you should be most dismissive of (in the kindest manner possible), are the former dancers who wish they were still the center of attention, but are not. These people are acting out because of jealousy. Whatever they are saying about you probably has no basis in reality. Let it go, and keep connecting with the people who do like you (see the flip-side to all this: “Here is the love!”).

It occurred to me, after reflecting some about my experience, at that party from last week, that there is a Jekyll & Hyde phenomenon lurking in many club patrons, gay men in particular. It also occurred to me that there is a day & night phenomenon that I want to explore for a few moments. What follows isn’t researched or cited – it’s simply my dialogue with myself about the observations I have about the patrons who disturb me most (keeping in mind throughout that what I will be saying doesn’t apply to ALL people, but is presented as over-simplified generalizations).

People associate metaphoric values to light/dark and day/night, conflating them with good/bad. I have a hypothesis: People almost seem to have it coded into their socializing DNA traits to act rowdy, or to allow their “darker” sides to come out at night. It’s too easy to say that Night is Dark, and thus people let their destructive natures blossom under the moonlight (like lillies of death, I suppose), as if night/dark is the very source of this “bad.”

I think there is a practical connection that goes way back. Without electricity and artificial lighting, your work day effectively ends when the sun goes down. Ergo, your most productive (i.e. work related) activities happen in the light. Once it’s night and you can no longer really do much, it makes sense that people would socialize at night around fires and dance, mingle, or drink. Same with the winter in general: If it’s too dark and cold to farm your land or do any work, then it is an obvious time of year to pack full of festivals and holidays in order to pass the time: Hours not devoted to work or sleep end up becoming hours devoted to play or relaxation.

What if, over the course of thousands of years, we have simply been bred to associate day with respectability and night with scandal? If you follow that line of thought, then in a religious culture that values toil above pleasure (rather than in balance with it), everything done at night becomes frivilous (and therefore non-, un-, or anti-”good”) by comparison. Everything you wouldn’t want people to see you doing, you do at night, under the cloak of darkness where you can hope for some modicum of anonymity. Night becomes a place to hide your shame or guilt.

In this way, all around the world, good, productive people rise and shine to do their respectable work. For a good portion of them there is an attitude that anything of Night must be myseterious, evil, salacious, dangerous, or immoral, since it is the time when productive people are worn out and go to bed. Night is the time of the unseen/unseeable. It is the time when those with something to hide emerge, like monsters out of nightmares.

If you look at my description of that party, it was attended by “upstanding professionals” who mostly happened to be older white, gay gentlemen. This is where the Jekyll & Hyde amongst patrons comes in. Given the way they were acting like rutting pigs at a trough, and given the wild (in some instances dangerous) looks their eyes, and given their total abandonment of all social decorum, exactly what about them should have spoken to their being doctors, lawyers, architects, etc.? How would I, or anyone else who doesn’t know them, ever guess that these grasping, slobbering troglodytes were “upstanding professionals?” If someone is an “upstanding professional,” shouldn’t that define who they are away from work as well? (I can hear it now: “I’m not an upstanding professional, but I play one from 9-5.”)

I don’t understand this dichotomy. I am the same person at night that I am all day long. I am more polite at work than I would be at my house, but I don’t resemble Janus, looking in two directions with every passing moment. I don’t divorce my noctural self from my diurnal self. I am always me. I don’t understand the outright hypocrisy of wearing two diametrically opposed masks. Which is the real you? Do you even know? Are both of them you, or does one compensate for the other? Are neither of them you, and you simply have no idea who you even are? If you, like most people I know, attach part of your identity to your profession, then what does it say about you that this identity slides away so readily when the illumination dims?

Let me be frank: There are many wonderful patrons who act just as civil at the club as they do at the grocery strore. But there is also a sizeable lot who frighten me: When I bump into them during the day, they scurry from my presence, as if I am something toxic or tainted (when usually it is I who should be trying to get away from them). At night they come slinking back with flattering apologies and small tips, bribing me to forget they were espied pretending to be respectable in some other place and time. I might play along more completely, if the dollar earned so respectably wasn’t so disrespectably tucked under my perineum with a lingering grope and a lecherous wink. When Hyde grins at me with my privates in his palm, I simply laugh inside and wonder where the doctor/lawyer/ teacher/politician/engineer is hiding.

The sun is going to rise soon… did you forget that? Or are you ignoring it on purpose? Who is the “upstanding professional” in this scenario? Is there one? The patrons I like and respect the most are not necessarily the ones who give me the most money, but the ones who give me the most hope that I am right in thinking that people, by and large, really are the ”upstanding professionals” they seem to be.

I’m in the midst of a crisis: I just realized that one of the singular events that not only helped me survive is also the single experience that inhibits me the most from growing. When a weight that helped build strength becomes a heavy burden, it is time to put it down and rest. That is easier said than done.

When I was about 10 years old I was still tiny. I was the same size all the way from 3rd grade until about 7th. I just didn’t have a growth spurt until 8th grade, which lasted me until about 11th. I didn’t change much from 12th grade through college and after graduation. Only very recently have I been able to gain muscle mass. In other words, I’ve always been small, especially compared to others my age. What is the point of all this, you ask?

My dad was fairly indiscriminate about using corporal punishment. It was random, sudden, violent, and terrifying. Generally he was extreme. After one incident, whereby I was bent forward in front of the jam of a door frame, I was struck so hard from behind that I fell forward and hit the back of my head against the edge of the frame. I was a tad disoriented, but instead of crying I got up and looked my dad in the face and said, “I will never be fat, and I will never have a mustache.” I walked away, his face stunned, feeling very powerful for standing up to him.

That act of defiance made me feel better able to deal with bullies throughout the rest of my life. Unfortunately, it also planted a seed that eventually sprouted into full-blown anorexia. It didn’t help that being a trained dancer comes with its additional weight-focused baggage, or that I had to look at myself in mirrors constantly for almost a decade. At any rate, whether I like it about myself or not, I have become, for lack of a better word, addicted to pursuing the almost unattainable standards of conventional beauty: Aspiring to it for myself, chasing after it in others, bowing before it despite the destructive personalities often attached to it…

So then, here it is: Most, if not nearly all, of my relationships have been with “hot” guys who are horrible both to me and for me. I was conversing with a friend last night. (No, I’m not abusing the term – he is a friend.) In the context of the conversation I had to look at a very ugly part of myself: I am willing to overlook all sorts of red flags, simply to have access to physical beauty and be accepted by those who have it. This has caused me no end of grief, my last relationship going so horribly awry that I’ve been single for two years as I try to regain my financial and emotional stability.

What does this say about me? I do not like this part of myself at all. It feeds a destructive cycle, whereby I give myself and others too much or too little value simply because of appearance. Am I not mature enought in mind, generous enough in spirit, and kind enough in heart to recognize how horrible that must make other people (and myself) feel?

I’m finally beginning to achieve my fitness goals, and rather than being content or pleased I feel confused and shallow. On the one hand my friend said to me that he is saddened by this attribute in me, that I focus so much on someone’s looks that I ignore his personality (or lack thereof). He didn’t mean for this to happen, but that only added to my embarrassment and revulsion at my own superficiality. On the other hand, an online acquaintance who is also an adult entertainer told me, “Let your fitness goals assist your spirit. Treat the looks as a happy side effect of nourishing the god in you.” I have to learn this, it’s not something I know how to do.

Stature has been so important to me. I had none and was the focus of life-threatening bullying. The people who had it seemed omnipotent. They were “beautiful,” god-like. I wanted that trength – it made the world safer, and made the bullies attractive, despite their meanness. My size made me invisible to the gay men who were “beautiful.” I was targeted by straights but invisible to gays. Not a good feeling.

Now I’m neither bullied nor invisible, but I feel no better. To be respected and desired because of the heavy objects I lift, rather than for the thoughts I think or smiles I share, has become a very empty reward. All that work and effort to achieve what exactly?

I put on a thong the first time just to see if I was as repulsive as I thought. In retrospect that was a catch-22: Failure would simply reinforce a negative self-imge, success would feed a destructive self-value system.

How many times have I hurt myself or others, consciously or unconsciously, because of this? How much of a hypocrite am I that I say I don’t like people being judged for how they look when that is exactly what has helped form my entire identity and is the means by which I make money? I do not regret or despise what I do for a living, because I love performing and I know that I do bring people who appreciate me some form of happiness; however, I have to also begin to understand how I can form a healthier relationship with appearances.

Everyone is precious (including me, dammit!). Everyone is a treasure to somebody. The time has come to collect more diamonds (which are beautifully faceted on the outside, but also luminous and brilliantly scintillating on the inside), rather than so many coins (which may or may not be shiny, but are flat and two-faced - one side of which is always hidden). Or does that analogy in and of itself still anchor me too much to surfaces?

I’m sorry to have to report that this weekend saw one of the more unpleasant aspects of exotic dancing come to bear on a situation at work: A potential stalker made himself known. His story to us dancers: He’s out on bail after serving 290 days while he awaits a trial for “breaking and entering,” and he is facing 15 years – life.

Alright, on the one hand this is good: He has made his dangerous persona and potential insanity transparent. Often you aren’t served up such a delicious platter of chaos with quite the same blunt finèsse this gentleman employed. On the other hand, it must be patently obvious that this man isn’t telling the whole truth: One doesn’t go to jail for 15 years – life for breaking and entering (unless one has entered said property with the intent of doing someone, not someone’s property, grievous harm). To have that kind of trial ahead of him, he must have done something pretty awful. Why he’s out in the first place is a whole other kettle of fish.

At any rate, I declined to give him private dances, sensing immediately (before his story came out) that something wasn’t right about him. His hygiene was horrible, his eyes desparate. He was far too oversexed and aggressive. He kept licking my boots while I was on the bar (which in and of itself doesn’t necessarily mark someone as bad – no offense intended to those with boot/leather fetishes), and he kept trying to put his mouth on my penis. (He tried to put my dick/in his mouth,but I said/”No, no, no…” – props to Amy Winehouse)

The newer dancers I was working with had not yet met anyone like this man and gave him dances, wherein he tried to do everything I’d expected… with the exception that he also began getting aggressive about leaving the club with us. Over the course of the night it became clearer and clearer that he was unbalanced and had the intention of following us, saying “Make sure you come get me when you’re ready to go. I don’t want to have to watch the door and run after you.” Mhm.

One dancer was feeling conflicted about this scenario, wanting the money for doing the dances. But ultimately he decided to avoid this when I told him this person would interpret the dances (even if he pays for them) as a sign of interest. As it turns out, all our gut reactions to this man were spot on.

We finagled a way of getting paid by the bar and then leaving together as a group, watching each other get into our cars and driving away. We also made a point of watching behind each other to make sure we weren’t followed. After getting home we all texted the “AOK” to make sure each person was at home, doors locked, and no followers noted.

Listen to your voice. You have it for a reason. We evolved to have this fight-or-flight response. In all situations in life you ignore it at your own peril. That isn’t to say you should be paranoid, but you must always pay attention and use good judgement (particularly in adult entertainment, which is rife with people who will take advantage of you with a moment’s notice):

When you’re faced with a stressful situation, you’ll probably notice that your heart starts to beat faster, you breathe more rapidly, your skin gets cold and clammy, your mouth feels dry, your pupils dilate and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. There are also some changes you don’t notice, like reduced blood flow to your kidneys and digestive system. If you’re really terrified, you may even lose control of bladder and bowels.

The brainstem is situated at the base of the brain and controls a lot of our automatic responses and life sustaining functions, like breathing, which we do without conscious thought. When you perceive danger, a part of the brainstem called the hypothalamus sends a nerve message to your adrenal glands and hormones like adrenaline and cortisol are released into the bloodstream, where they cause the dramatic changes described above.

The overall effect of these changes is to sharpen all your senses and enable you to perform optimally in a life threatening situation. All your blood is diverted to your muscles, while non essential systems are shut down. Surface wounds bleed less, as skin blood vessels constrict. The faster, deeper breathing brings more oxygen into the blood and this helps the muscles to work faster. Opening of the bladder and bowels reduces the need for other internal activity, lessens your weight if you flee and may put off attackers. If you end up in a fight, you’ll hit harder, jump higher and think and dodge faster than usual. In case of flight, you’ll run faster, see better, hear more acutely. - http://www.brainskills.co.uk/FightOrFlight.html