The online diary of a gay courtesan.

Wow. Scotty read about my (mis)adventures (see part 1), and decided he wanted to give it a go. I mean really: It’s rather like when you say, “Ew! This stinks like a dead body… Smell this!” And then you do…

I suppose he thought I was exaggerating, and wanted to see if it really was so awful. Okay. Let me put this in perspective for you. Scotty smokes, he speaks slowly, he mumbles so much that I can almost never understand anything he says, and his voice is already naturally deep and gravelly on top of all that. When I say Scotty shrieked in a falsetto, “Is it gonna make my dick explode like a sausage??!!” Anyway, you get how momentous the occasion was.

What’s funny is that I was standing on the outside this time, watching everything I’d described already: The questioning look (“How do I get my limp dick into this thing?”), the lightbulb (“I’ll give it a pump or two…”), and then the panic and fear… I laughed my ass off. It was even funnier when he resigned himself to being captured and said, “I wanna see if I can hit the end of the tube,” and KEPT PUMPING!!! I thought he was gonna pop. It was terrifying. That’s probably why I had tears coming down my face… yeah, that’s why…

So. There you have it. When I get around to getting rid of the iron maiden on E-bay (see part 2), you’ll be able to bid on a device that’s been used by two, TWO, oily strippers… mwa-ha-ha! (Read that last bit with the voice of the Count from Sesame Street in your head.)

I think what I want this blog to do, more than anything else, is help people in general realize that adult entertainment is a job and career like any other. It has perks and challenges. It has all the same salient features as any other career, but the product/service you are selling is… YOURSELF.

That can be said of any sales person though.

With that said, I want to bring attention to the fact that networking, friendship, support systems, and office drama are all part and parcel with being an exotic dancer, or any other type of adult entertainer. You need allies in this field, just like you would in any other.

I have an ally. He’s my friend. I love him like a brother. I’m so proud of him. He’s been performing now for a year, and he’s grown so much. He’s ambitious, but we keep each other grounded. We can tell each other anything, and I trust him. That’s not easy in any situation, let alone in clubs (which for some reason can attract some truly loathsome people).

At any rate, Scotty is my friend. He’s my Bubba. Wherever possible, be sure to let your friends know that they matter. Without them you are diminished as a person. Be picky. Understand the term “friend” the way the French do: You can have many fond acquaintances (connaissances) and several buddies (copains), but only a very select few friends (amis). Avoid abusing the word friend. When you call a person a friend, let that, in and of itself, be the best compliment you could give him/her.

I found out yesterday that someone has double crossed me. I don’t say that with shock on my face, but I also don’t want to come across as jaded. Let me simply say this: I’m not surprised, and yet my feelings are still hurt.

Remember this, no matter what you do, whether you plan to become a doctor or an exotic dancer, you will get back what you give out. A career is a career, and there are people involved. It makes little sense to burn bridges. So then, here is what happened. (Hopefully you will learn from it, regardless of what you do for a living and whether or not this blog will lead you towards your dream job of prancing around naked for money.)

A dancer, let’s call him Jason for pretend purposes, was stuck in a crapped-out skeezy bar. Let’s pretend that club is in Charlotte, NC. Let’s also pretend that a couple of generous guys (we’ll pretend their names are Devon and Scotty) helped secure bookings for Jason at a club where Jason could earn considerably more money on a regular basis. Let’s continue this little round of make-believe by pretending that Jason underbid Devon and Scotty for a booking at a different club, despite the fact that all had agreed to a particular booking fee. Let’s say that Jason, for some reason that makes ZERO sense at all, agreed to go to this different club for only $50. Are you fucking kidding me? What a dumb stripper! So, now Devon and Scotty can’t trust Jason, and Jason will not be working at the consistent club again for a long time, if ever. In order to get an absurdly underpriced $50 booking, Jason (and his newborn baby girl) has now lost thousands of dollars.

Don’t fuck with people.

So then – what is the moral of this story? Stupid strippers make $50 for a booking and lose out on recurring gigs that pay well, because they don’t have the foresight to see how collaboration helps everyone. No matter what your career is, you are a fool if you think people won’t find out how you have abused their trust. It is inevitable that your choices will catch up with you.

I hope Jason has lots of coupons for diapers and baby formula…