Ready For Those Flashing Lights

This is me. I've come a long way, baby. If you knew me before becoming a stripper and didn't see me till now, you wouldn't recognize me. Hell, if you saw me three months ago, you might not recognize me now. But that's a different story.

The first time I ever went to a strip club, I was freshly 18. The red lights mercifully masked how much I blushed. I gushed awkwardly to my friends about the dancers' amazing shoes and how could they possibly stand, let alone dance in them. I saw bootie popping for the first time and my head nearly exploded.

The second time, I was in college. An obnoxiously charming man, soon to become my boyfriend for a few years, bought me my first lap dance while our friends squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. It was amazing. I was and am pretty much all about men, but the sensuality was undeniably overpowering and enjoyable. I understood why men paid for dances even though they never (I thought) got to have sex with the girls. It was something else. I never forgot the way she moved, how she slid over me, and I would spend years sometimes trying to imitate her in mirrors when no one was around.

The third time, I was quite drunk. Very, very drunk. In Vegas. With girlfriends. I remember buying the birthday girl a lap dance from the biggest, scariest man in the place, and trying to get one poor girl to come off her stage and dance with us girls since we were tipping and the lame men there were not. I think she did. The rest is a blur.

The fourth time I went into a strip club, I came out with a job. I called the number I saw on the Craigslist ad looking for dancers, and was told it was okay to come in that afternoon to audition. My lack of experience was fine, just wear nice under wear and bring high heels. I drove past the small, windowless building to park around back. Not because I was afraid of someone recognizing my car, but because I was afraid of anyone seeing me pep talking myself. I popped a Zanax, and went over what I'd learned scouring the internet for how to do this.

I would move slow. Even slower than I thought I should, because everyone says the number one mistake girls make is moving too fast, too jerky. I would pick a slow song, to help me out. I would remember to move my hips, and to show off my ass, no matter how unworthy of attention I think it might be. I would be sure to walk sensually, not high-stepping like a show pony (something I would later learn is typical of unexperienced dancers and the thing most likely to elicit embarrassed laughter from the dancers watching you audition).

Because of licensing laws in Seattle, I didn't take any clothes off. But I did saunter cautiously from one pole to the other, where I would glide my hips from side to side before doing one turn around the pole, for the duration of "Paparazzi" by Lady Gaga.

The song seemed to last forever... I remember a constant chorus of "slow down" in my brain, and a vague sense of excitement. I was really doing this. I was going to work in a strip club. I knew it not because I was confident I'd be hired, but I knew right then that I was going to do what it takes to get this job and be good at it. The small taste of what being on that stage could be had me bewitched already. The other girls had watched with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, but they hadn't laughed. The two men in the audience had watched, but didn't tip, which I'd later learned was standard. It could've gone a lot worse. When I stepped off the stage, I was shaking. My heart was pounding. I had watched myself in the abundant mirrors, and felt confident that I had managed to not look like an idiot.

I wanted to go again.

After a quick conversation with the pretty woman that owned the club, I was hired. She liked the idea of having a more punk, rocker looking girl on the staff (my hair was purple, black, and lavender at the time), and gave me a schedule and instructions on how to get my license. She assured me I'd learn how to dance as I go. If I got licensed in the morning, I could work that night. And I did. I spent my last $250 getting that silly piece of paper calling me an "entertainer" and I've been working as a stripper for my main occupation & hobby ever since. That was about two and a half years ago.

Before I started dancing, I didn't know I was pretty enough to do this job. I didn't know that I could be the biggest fish in a pond full of gorgeous girls. I didn't know I could dance, I didn't know I could seduce, or charm. I didn't know I could walk up to complete strangers and start up conversations. I certainly didn't know I could be more comfortable being naked in a crowded room than I feel in my pajamas at home.

I didn't know a lot of things. Before I sat down and started writing this post, I had no fucking clue how I'd start off this blog. But here we go. And now, I finally got this blog set up so I can share some of the things I keep learning and doing. I want to tell you how my first night at work went, why I love my job, and how I move around in 8" heels. I want to explain to you why I love my job, what I think about other types of sex work, how I'm a feminist, how I decided I wanted to dance, and why my customers deserve some respect (unless they earn otherwise). I want to tell you about what makes my job hard, about the days I come home crying, about my injuries, about the people who have insulted me because of my job, and why I still wouldn't trade it for any 9-5 I know of. I also want to tell you things that might help you in life outside of stripping, like how to wear multiple pairs of false lashes, how to give your significant other a lap dance, how to buy a stripper pole for your home, and why your husbands and boyfriends come to see me (and if you should be worried or upset about it if they do).

Got a question you think I should answer? A topic you'd like to see me post about? Hit me up: asktheshowgirl@gmail.com If you want to find out what club I'm working at or hire me for a private engagement, I'm afraid that's not an option at this time.

Want to put a few bills in my virtual g-string? There's a link to my Amazon Wishlist in the lefthand column, anything I receive that's wearable I'll post pictures of to share the wealth.

Please forgive me a little awkwardness, as I decided it was more important to get started posting then to spend tons of time getting it to look perfect. If you have a suggestion on making the blog better, again, hit me up:  asktheshowgirl@gmail.com

So, yeah. Hi. I'm Dixie. Need some company, sugar?

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