Dancing for Dancing’s Sake

Crushes can be such a beautiful thing. There’s nothing quite like that passionate, breathless infatuation-- that aching desire to know every physical and intellectual nook and cranny of your beloved.

Dale was in to see a different girl Saturday evening. He hadn’t texted me even though he’d asked me to send nudes Friday. When I got to work I sent him one of my old locker room photos. I’d put off the request for twenty-four hours. I’d considered telling him no, but Dale was in a volatile state. Every time I’ve seen him lately he’s looked even more unhinged.

Brittney was chatting with Uma in the locker room about how “over his shit” they were. For some unknown reason, it seems he’s been emboldened to act worse and worse. I could understand why Kylie had been distancing herself from him.

Dale arrived fuming. He had just purchased two new iPhones: one for himself and the other for Kylie. After setting up his new device, he had discovered the iPhone Message Stories feature and realized he could access even more of Kylie’s massive digital footprint. Shortly after this discovery, Kylie blocked him from viewing her stories. To make matters worse, she had also had her friends block him from viewing their stories on the off chance that Dale might dig around for other means of scratching that insatiable itch for endless contact with Kylie. It’s as if any bit of privacy she might want was insulting to him. For Dale, privacy = secrecy = lies. I understood her need for privacy. Dale was sustaining her lifestyle, but if Dale caught wind that Kylie was seeing other men, enjoying her life, there’s no way he would handle it well. It’s not in his nature. Dale was as prickly as the unshaven stubble on his chin.

Dale Don’t you think that’s unfair for her to block me, after all the money I give her? And I just got her a new iPhone!

Me: Having some privacy is important. Maybe cut her some slack?

Dale looked at me as if I too had become the enemy, picking sides in this truly confusing situation.

Dale: She shows her story to everybody else! Why not me? Hmm? When I give her so much money and I gave her some early Christmas gifts! Where’s the appreciation?

Me: I thought you two were doing well since you had that date Wednesday?

Dale: I thought we were too, until I found the stories. Another girl showed me how to see them and all I wanted was to listen to Kylie sing in her video but I couldn’t get the sound to work, so I thought I could try it again when I got home— come to find out she blocked me! So I never even got to hear her sing!

If he wasn’t so deranged it would have been such a pure intention— just wanting to listen to your dream woman sing. But Dale was irate. He wasn’t the chipper flirt he’d been when we first met. He was grim faced and forlorn. It seemed like he hadn’t slept properly in a few days. I was almost scared. He was a man teetering on the edge and I didn’t know what he was capable of if he snapped. Maybe he was harmless, maybe he would strangle you and keep you as his corpse bride until your body rotted away. I just knew it was not my turn to deal with him. He took his usual seat in a VIP booth. I sat on the small stage a few feet away from him scrolling through my phone when Brittney came over to me to talk shit.

Me: He’s acting super crazy right now.

Brittney: And he’s always wearing the same thing every time!

I hadn’t noticed it, but she was right.

He always wears the same blue and white flannel button down over dark blue denim jeans. Sometimes he shows off one of his two expensive Swiss watches, but aside from that, nothing about Dale ever changes from week to week. Was he funneling all of his money to Kylie, one Gucci bag at a time?

Dale: I replaced everything they stole!

Me: I’m sure she appreciates that.

Dale: Well she’s got a funny way of showing it! I told her to send me more pictures, but she hardly sent any!

Me: That’s great! She sent you pictures!

Dale: Except she only sent me one! She didn’t even send me a special one. And I found out she had taken videos of her trip to Mexico and was sharing them with everybody else! She didn’t even show me first, and I paid for the trip!

Me: That’s unfortunate.

Dale: Since she decided to block me, I deleted my account, and unsubscribed from her OnlyFans. That’ll show her, right?

Me: I guess that’s fair.

Dale: Now we’re taking a break, I think. She hasn’t texted me since.

I couldn’t believe I was speaking to a fifty-year-old man. I felt like I’d been dragged back to grade school engaging in this tit-for-tat pettiness. I tried to imagine Dale’s ideal situation with Kylie, but I couldn’t because I knew he would only escalate any compromise she might make. Dale wanted to possess Kylie as best he could, and he had no patience for her boundaries.

---

Marcus started responding to my Instagram stories in rapid succession augmented by a few direct follow up texts. I was sitting on the small stage across from Dale, waiting for the night to begin. The club was mostly empty, and had been since I arrived, aside from a few stragglers lingering in the periphery. I’d made a conscious decision to work a shift without filling the night with regulars. Lately I’ve been quite lucky: I’ve been making all of the money I need for my weekly quota in a single night. While it’s incredible to have this level of monetary security, it has left me in a bit of a pickle as a writer. My entries could entirely focus on the five people who provide the majority of my income. I spent a few weeks exclusively entertaining regulars, but came to the realization I missed having to hustle. Don’t get me wrong: I needed the break. I was burned out and struggling through a significant mood dip during that period, and my regulars allowed me the space to pull through. But since bouncing back, I felt a renewed vigor and excitement for the grind. I missed dancing on stage simply enjoying the music and the feeling of flight as I spin around the pole pretending to be weightless.

Marcus texting me wasn’t a bad thing. I knew he was trying to get my attention and permission to come by. I knew he could make my night, but I wanted to make my own night. It was a privileged conundrum. I looked down at my phone.

Earlier he’d texted me to congratulate me about the number of people tuning in to my podcast. He’d just begun listening earlier that day as he twiddled his thumbs at an auto shop, waiting for his car to be serviced.

Him: I need to listen to more of them.

Me: SuaveXXX episodes are great, and Soldiers of Pole, Sita is also a rockstar.

Him: FYI, having dinner with a beautiful woman… aka my wife.

He was texting me while he was out having dinner with his wife. I didn’t know if he was bragging in his way, about his love and adoration for his wife, or if it was an attempt to please me. Maybe neither was the case. I don’t know anything about Carol or the nuts and bolts of their relationship. I didn’t want to take him away from his wife. I felt bad for Carol, but I also realized I know nothing of their relationship dynamics. What is a marriage after over thirty years of dedication? Does Carol turn a blind eye for her own sake? I couldn’t imagine how Marcus and Carol navigate the world as a well established unit with two well adjusted daughters under their belts.

Him: How are the prospects tonight? Encouraging??? Room for one more?

Me: Aren’t you having a date night?

Him: Yes, but we are home now. The physical function no longer works, lol.

Me: You don’t go down on your wife?

Him: I should right? But it has never been reciprocated!

I thought it was funny: a whole life lived where you’ve never sucked a single dick. What is Carol’s world like? Does she masturbate? Does she keep a vibrator? Does she get off to porn or does she have a vibrant erotic imagination? My stories are full of nearly invisible women: flat drawings illustrated by the men who love them. I’ll never know Carol’s voice or what she looks like curled up at night with a half finished mug of tea and book in hand.

Me: You should! I mean just enjoy the moment and ask her to reciprocate, but like ask her tomorrow instead of in the middle of things.

Him: Sure. Understand I have been asking for 30 yrs.

Me: Oof lol well.

Marcus and Carol are slightly older than my parents. I couldn’t say whether or not my mom has ever given a blowjob, but knowing her probably not. I hate the idea of certain sex acts being considered “dirtier” than others. I’m a slut and every now and again a whore. I take pride in my prolific love life and the variety of sex acts I’ve performed in my young life, but I don’t represent the average Millenial by any measure. There are plenty in my generation who still consider oral sex to be debasing, even in the year 2019 of our lord. Still, I felt compelled to side with Carol. I understood Marcus’ frustration, asking for years for something so simple. What if a blowjob was the ticket to rectify his erectile dysfunction? Kidding. While a blowjob is surely not the remedy, I personally could not imagine sticking with someone who refused to explore getting freaky with me as we age and change.

Me: Is it a generational thing?

Him: Yes. Not a ladylike thing.

Me: It’s funny how enjoying sex less is generational. But she accepts oral?

Him: Of course. Both openings were welcome.

Me: Haha hell yeah.

I could tell he wanted me to feel he was wronged. I don’t understand monogamy or marriage, it seems like such a downer. Some people envy the quaint couple who started as high school sweethearts and stay together until they part. Their first and last of everything, never curious about anything more. Carol was Marcus’s first and to some degree, only. Marcus was not Carol’s first. I envy those champions who have slept with a couple hundred people. I was happy Carol was enjoying cunnilingus and rimming. I personally am ambivalent about penetration. Of course it’s a terrible knock to a man’s identity and I don’t want to undermine the difficulty in asserting one’s manhood in the face of sexual dysfunction. Society is so quick to revoke masculinity. Men spend their whole lives fighting to maintain their position as Men only to lose it without ceremony.

I didn’t want Marcus to show up because I wanted to struggle a little, plus I had a few of my less generous regulars lined up, and I didn’t want to neglect them. I wanted to talk to people and win over strangers. I wanted to dance on stage until my arms gave out. I didn’t want to cut myself off from everyone and everything else, because if there’s one thing my momma taught me, it’s to never depend on a man. It’s better to depend on a network of men, lol.

Nonetheless, Marcus showed up and took a seat at the bar in a leather jacket and a t-shirt. I’m so accustomed to post work Marcus who’s always clean and pressed that I forget that he’s off on the weekends.

Marcus asked if I would be willing to dance with him, and I agreed. He bought an hour and we talked. He had on a short sleeved shirt that showed off his trim biceps. It was nice to see that Marcus seemed to be taking care of at least that part of himself. He’s a compulsive self-sacrificer, often at his own expense and on the flip side, also at the expense of others. Initially, Marcus had kept a physical distance with me during our dances, but I felt it was a silly barrier to have with a stripper. I gave him permission to touch and enjoy the erotic aspects of our relationship, which he accepted after some hesitation.

Marcus: I talked to my wife and daughter about finding a therapist, since they both had therapists they adored. I’m listening to you, Selena.

Me: That’s really positive. I’m proud of you.

And I sincerely was. He keeps me updated on his progress.

Before turning to a professional, he had tried confiding in some of his friends about his desire to end it all, only to receive some of the most reductive responses. One woman who considers herself to be something of a spiritual healer responded to Marcus’s hypothetical question of “how to help his brother who’s in a dark place” with a “just give him an hour with me and I’ll set him straight!” Another compassionate soul, a male friend of his declared his brother should “grow a pair, and get over it.” Okay Boomer. I couldn’t imagine my friends responding that way. How did the Boomers make it this far without offing themselves? They all seem to conspire to sabotage their emotional, physical, and sexual health, and for what? For appearances?

Marcus and I chatted for an hour, and at the end I excused myself instead of accepting his continued generosity. I felt a little guilty. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or ruin our relationship. I also felt a pang of What The Fuck Am I Doing, walking away from money just to intentionally work harder to make less money? If I was a cold hard hustler, I would have stayed and milked the situation, but I had to come to peace with the reality that I wasn’t just there for the money. I was working for the experience and love of the job.

I watched Marcus buy a room with Brittney and Marisol after I walked away. He wasn’t ready to go home. Was it lonely having an entire life he couldn’t share with those closest to him? But also on a less somber note, who wants to end their Saturday before midnight?

After my dance with Marcus, I spotted Evan sitting in his usual spot off to the side of stage one. I’ve had a harmless little crush on Evan for a minute. He’s a middle-ish aged white man with a white goatee who wears black tracksuits and black baseball caps. I think what drew me in was the way he thwarted my expectations. He’d sat at the periphery in one of those armchairs where people who want to waste your time and avoid paying for their entertainment sit. I’d spent a solid portion of the night ignoring him. I’d thought he was one of the Eastern European time wasters who don’t know how to tip, but after I’d exhausted all other options, I tried my luck with him. He was visiting from Toronto and ran creative for an indie music label. We talked music and art, testing the waters to see how much insider lingo the other would understand. It was a contest of who was the most esoterically informed, and we came out about even. It’s not often I get the opportunity to talk to people tuned into my realm of interests when I’m at the club, so I relished the opportunity and got his info with the intention of somehow roping him into hiring my friend out in Toronto for one of his design jobs.

That was in May. The second time I saw him, at the start, I wasn’t sure it was him. I’ve talked before about having White Man Face Blindness, and at that moment I wasn’t sure if it was Toronto Indie Label Daddy or if it was just another white guy with a penchant for black tracksuits. Black Tracksuit Daddies is definitely a genre I’ve become well acquainted with living in LA. Danny has similar stylistic sensibilities. I’ve never seen the man rock a color in the span of our nearly two year relationship. I walked up to Evan and half squinted at him.

Me: Are you from Toronto?

Him: Yes! How did you know?

I was glad I wasn’t going crazy. I hadn’t seen him in months, but my memory is sharp and he’d made an impression on me. I’d told my friend about him and my scheme to set them up for some kind of collaboration. Nothing had come of it, and I was disappointed but not surprised. I spend a lot of time trying to connect my friends to various club daddies who could use their various artistic skill sets but it’s yet to pan out.

It’s funny how casual lap dances are. I’ve danced with hundreds of people and I couldn’t pick half of them out of a lineup. I wasn’t put off when Evan didn’t remember me. For me, it’s an opportunity to make a second first impression. Evan and I danced again, but after this time we started talking more consistently. I shared my digital footprint with him, and he took an interest in my artistic trajectory. I appreciated his insight and validation. He showed up a month or two after that moment and we danced again. It was in the middle of our dance that he whispered into my ear.

Him: Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have no idea how many times I’ve gotten off to your pictures.

In Danny’s words, “it was super fucking hot”. I felt honored and aroused simultaneously. I love being part of people’s erotic imaginings, especially people I like. Cut to many months later, and we’ve become friends with a side of sporadic lap dances. A month ago, Evan moved out to LA to really push his label with the goal of an eventual buyout by a larger entity.

Evan and I chatted for a bit and then danced. I didn’t have as much time to shoot the shit with him at that moment because I spotted a few other regulars floating about. I caught several more VIP’s and enjoyed plenty of time on stage. It was refreshing. I felt invigorated and relished the moment until my energy began to dip. My arms were jelly. I scoped out the crowd and all of the prospects looked too young or too cheap. Additionally, Marcus had bought my night. He tipped me so generously I technically could have walked out after the dance with him, but I was there to be there. I returned to Evan’s lap. He thought I was either returning for his benefit or to solicit another dance, but neither was the case. I needed a break and I enjoyed his company.

While I appreciate when people understand the necessity of the monetary aspect of these kinds of relationships, sometimes I feel hurt by the assumption that I’m always soliciting. Sometimes I just want to sit with someone who I know won’t shoo me away. I assured Evan that I wanted nothing from him at that moment. I could tell I was about to tap out. It was nearly 2:30 a.m. and I’d arrived at 5:30 p.m.. I had no obligation to stay. I’d had my fun. I could have made choices exclusively for the sake of profit, but I chose the experience. I don’t always love my job, but some nights, there’s no place I’d rather be.