An End To War: Pt 3

From that night on, Juan began visiting me every Tuesday. It was like Tuesdays with Morrie, except with less dying and more tits and twerking.

We would alternate between dancing and talking depending on the mood. The flow was easy and never judgmental in either direction. Sometimes you want a dance. Sometimes you want to talk.

Sometimes as my relationship with a customer grows more intimate things begin to change. I mean intimate in the sense of getting to actually know me. As a stripper, I can avoid talking about myself in any meaningful way most of the time. People love talking about themselves, whether or not they want to admit it. If you’re able to give off the energy of being genuinely interested, most people will talk your ear off. I like to divert conversations away from myself for a number of reasons: 1. Because my internal monologue is hella dry. I’m most often thinking about the political landscape of wherever my customer is from, rather than something sexy. The less I say, the less likely my customers will catch on to the unsexy reality of what I’m really thinking; 2. Because I don’t need strangers to have access to the real, vulnerable me. It’s necessary to keep a degree of psychological distance between myself and the people I provide services to. Having boundaries allows me to preserve a separation between work and my personal life, which is crucial when one’s labor is all about providing intimate services; 3. People feel seen when they are encouraged to talk about themselves. A lot of people carry their insecurities into the club, which can impede their enjoyment. When you affirm your customers by making them feel interesting and important, they come back to you not only for the sexual rush, but also for the ego boost of your affirmations.

But all of that goes out the door when it comes to my long term customers, and sometimes that creates a problem. Some people have too much empathy, and while this is normally a fantastic trait, in the strip club it can be a real boner killer. When my customers check in too much, they often hyper focus on gauging my reactions rather than on their own enjoyment. In theory, this is sweet, but it’s a bit like focusing too much on whether your massage therapist needs a massage. Maybe they need one, but you’re the one paying for a session right now, and focusing on their need for a massage at a later date isn’t helping your enjoyment of the massage you’re paying to receive right now. A lot of customers get wrapped up in how I’m doing, and forget that I am a sex worker who is doing sex work of my own voalition. I give lap dances because I want to give them and I enjoy doing a good job. I am happy when my customers are enjoying themselves. The best way to make me happy is to be indulgent, have fun, and tip well. When I’m Selena, I just want to be easy breezy. I don’t want to think about anything other than the work at hand. Which is why it’s nice when customers understand and follow the rules of strip club engagement and make sure to enjoy the erotic.

Juan is brainy, but at the end of the day, he still enjoys me grinding on his lap in between conversations.

“I respect the work that you do. There’s nothing wrong with it, or with enjoying it.” Juan said as I unclasped my bra.

“I agree.” I said, as I straddled his lap.

He cupped my breasts, staring at them with a look of awe and admiration. I spend a while grinding against him, until I sensed his body relaxing. Juan works late nights and early mornings. I could see the fatigue in his eyes. I gently massaged his neck as he leaned a cheek against my arm.

“Do you normally date men or women?” Juan asked.

“I date whomever. It depends on the person.” I replied.

Normally when I say this, my customers follow up by asking, “but which do you like more?” And that’s fair because I do not exude straight energy. My sexual orientation is a shrug emoji. I don’t know what I like until I see it, which can be threatening to straight men, especially at the club where they so desperately want to feel wanted. But Juan wasn’t shaken at all.

“I’m the same way! If I’m attracted to you, I’m attracted to you. It doesn’t really matter if you’re a boy or girl.”

I leaned in, excited. Finding fellow bisexuals at the strip club is always heartening.

“I love that!” I said.

“I’ve been with women and men. People used to make me feel bad about it, but I never understood why. My sisters know, and they don’t judge me. My oldest sister is the same way.”

“I’m happy you’re able to be out to them.”

“Did I ever tell you that I used to do drag?”

“Really?”

“When I was younger, my mom sent me to fashion school and I learned how to sew, do makeup, and walk the catwalk. The director was a flamboyant gay man, and he had us all walk in heels so that we would know what the models would feel. That was the first time I wore makeup too.”

“I feel like men should all try wearing heels. It’s an illuminating experience.”

“I agree. It was so fun. I was pretty good at it too.”

“Did you ever pick a drag name?”

“Yeah! I went by ‘Juana’.” Juans eyes lit up as he spoke, grinning mischievously.

“When was the last time you did drag?”

“Probably fifteen years ago now.” Juan replied, looking up as he counted in his head, “And then ten years ago before that. I started when I was about sixteen, back when I was skinny. Then I stopped when I enlisted and didn’t come back until after, and I had gained a little weight then, so I started playing a more curvy, voluptuous woman, with lots of attitude and sass.”

“Do you have any pictures from then?”

“No. I don’t like taking pictures of myself.”

“Aw. I wish I could see what you looked like then.”

“One day I’ll come here in drag and surprise you.”

“Are you sure you feel safe doing that here?” I asked.

I wanted to see him dressed to the nines as Juana, but presenting as anything but cis at a strip club is dangerous. The management at my club isn’t bad as far as clubs go, but I worried about Juan getting teased or thrown out. I also didn’t want it to be treated as a joke. As much as drag is about comedy and camp, the idea of being trans presenting and getting teased for it felt uncomfortable to me. It’s fine in safe spaces, but the strip club is not a safe space for gender queer expression.

“I’m not worried about anybody messing with me.” Juan said, his eyes flickering.

He thought I was worried about physical violence, but it wasn’t that. I wasn’t worried about people hurting him. Juan is a formidable man. It was more about how little I wanted to facilitate a situation where people joke about “cross dressing” or “men in dresses” i.e. trans women. It’s a slippery slope, and the strip club is not a place where people have nuanced discussions about these things, most of the time.

“I just don’t want people to treat you differently here.” I said.