Back to the Feet

So the foot party went well. I was only there for 2 hours and I made a decent amount of money. This is partly, I think, because I was missed. The few regulars I have threw money at me to see me again. I still can't fathom the fact that I GET PAID TO GET MY FEET RUBBED.

And it was good this time. All foot guys, not a single dude secretly there for a blowjob. At least the guys I spoke with. And i got a $50 tip for having awesome feet!

Part of me is interested in my response to foot stimulation in a sexual setting. While I admit that the massages feel good, they don't really work for me in a sexual way. But at the same time, I can understand how it might. I generally don't give too much credence to new age practices but I am beginning to think there is something to reflexology: when certain parts of my feet are touched or caressed I can feel it on different parts of the body. ONE of them has to affect my ladybits.

On the otherhand, what if I do find that  I like it? I think the reason I am so comfortable with the foot fetish work is that to me it is decidedly non-sexual. Maybe it is best to not mess with that...

Oh well, you know what, I shouldn't say there were no creeps. There was one guy there - halitosis man. He was happy to see me again and to tell me that he spent all this time jacking off to me. Gee, thanks. And then he tells me he is going to try to set up a private session for he and I because he really REALLY wants to watch porn with me.

And then he stuck his tongue down my throat before I could dodge him. But he was just a 5 minute blip on a pretty normal (you know, for a fetish club) night.

Feet, the remix

Well, it seems that the Foot club is back up and running. I got an email informing me that although they had run into some undisclosed issues, the bed eggs (both male and female) had been weeded out and they were going to return to their roots: no more lapdance party or "super private" nights.

Phew.

So next week I will be going back to the club for the first time in a long time. Hopefully it will be fun, like it was when I started, and not the "i'm going to pressure you for a blowjob" bullshit it slowly turned into.

We shall see.

What do you call a girl who can't make it as a stripper?

Poor. Very. Very. Poor.

Yeah so as it turns out, stripping is WAY more emotionally taxing than I thought it would be. I admit that dancing is hard work, but I've been taking pole classes and I find it very enjoyable. And what better way to use your newfound pole dance skills than to take it to the club and shake your ass for some dollar bills? Really, the whole thing seemed to make sense.

And then I walked into the club.

Good lord. Those girls. It was like, not a single one could look you in the eye. Not for shame; I mean not one was sober enough to be able to actually look you in the eye. I went back into the dressing room and watched a girl try to put on lipstick for over 15 minutes because she kept missing her mouth she was so out of it. But as I walked onto the floor, I saw why. The ass grabbing and titty groping, yeah, that I expected. But i watched guys restrain the girls heads and shove their tongues in their mouths. I saw them take their dollars and reach around, burying their hands in the crotch of the g string, and not the string that was offered. How do you tactfully handle that?

And then the dancing. God. My issue is that I am a dancer. So I got up on that pole and I danced. I moved to the music. What i did not do was lay on the ground, spread my legs, and smack my labia over and over. Listen, I am a healthy twentysomething with, what some might say, is a overly healthy sex drive. And in my entire existence - from the moment I discovered masturbation till RIGHT NOW - I haven't touched my own vagina as much as those girls touched themselves in one song. Also, that thing every stripper can do where they can clap their ass cheeks together? I can't do that.

And even after all that, I was still like, ok, well, I can learn to love my labia, maybe I can work here one night a week. But I inquired and was pretty much told, yeah honey, you don't have what it takes.

Can I just say how humiliating it feels to be told "you are not good enough to be a stripper." I mean, let's be honest, I think in the back of every girl's mind there is the thought, lurking, that well, if it ever comes down to it, i can rub my tits in a guys face for money'. But no, Craftitute, you can't. YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR STRIPPING.

This on the heels of being turned down by a grocery store for a cashier position because I didn't "have the skills or qualifications" they were looking for. Uh what? You just make change and press buttons! I HAVE A DEGREE. I CAN DO BASIC MATH. It's really enough to make you want to jump off a bridge. Or go occupy something.

What totally sucks though is that I had come up with a plan. I was going to work two or three nights a week somewhere (like a strip club) make as much as I do at my stupid job now (only $300! Surely you can make $100 a night a strip club) and use my free days to volunteer at one of the museums in town and the zoo. Because I realized I miss working in museums. And I can't get a job because I have no network. So if I had the time to spend a year volunteering, then they would know me and I would know when jobs are open and I could at least get an interview. But without working for free, I think I'm screwed. And I can't afford to work for free unless I can work off hours somewhere else.

Or I will find my tent and go occupy wall street.

greetings from la

oh right. this blog. just when I had a good idea my life became somewhat normal, no more fetish clubs or creepy modeling gigs.

dont worry though, that era of normal is over.

I am writing now from a starbucks in malibu. (fact: a week ago I had no idea malibu was a real place) why? you may ask. well I found out my loving boyfriend was in fact sleeping with a girl from Jersey (as if the cheating wasn't bad enough), I cut my hair off with a kitchen knife, and booked it west.

 

now I am waiting to meet a photographer with whom I have been talking online since I started modeling all those years ago. does malibu have nudity laws? lets hope not, because all I have with me is my makeup kit. I am excited.

however, dear readers, I know that is not why you are reading. and I wont disappoint. Friday  I am dancing in an amateur night competition at a local  strip club. because the prize is 500. and mamma needs that. I went in to fill out paperwork before I headed west and everyone told me what a great look I had. What I am saying here is that there is a real chance I will be a stripper before the month is out. and... I think I am excited by this fact.

in other news the owner of the foot fetish club emailed us this past week. suddenly we are no longer able to have parties in his space. also he "cannot talk about it." I smell a prostitution bust.  i knew it had been close at hand for some time. I am just so happy I got skeeved out enough to stop working there before ut went down.

Want vs Need

I guess it's important to say that I consider myself a feminist. Not to go into all the history, but depending on what theory you subscribe to (if you subscribe at all), I am a third wave feminist. This is partly based on age (after all, I am only in my 20s) having grown up with the idea that girls can do anything boys can do, not only from my own mother, but from teachers and TV and battle of the sexes challenges in gym class. So yeah, being a girl has always been an okay thing. Glass ceiling? Yes. It's there. But no one I know makes any money, so I can hardly cry foul about that in my experience.

Now, generally, 3rd wavers are known for not being opposed to sex work. Where as my mother's type of feminism requires any utilization of the female body to be regarded as 'demeaning,' I have always struggled with that notion. What could be demeaning about using your very own body to support yourself? An accomplished stripper has always seemed like the ultimate woman to me. You're a perfect specimen of feminine beauty and men are willing to pay to look at you. Hasn't this been in vogue since Aphrodite? And if you so desire to engage in more than longing looks? Well, good for you. Sex is fun and it feels good and if people are willing to pay you for that as well? There are plenty of girls for free at the local bar, yet you are something so exquisite they are willing to pay for YOU.

Not demeaning in the least.

And so working at the club has always seemed okay to me. Sure, people are weird, and I've had requests for situations that I wasn't interested in participating in. But that is part of the beauty: you bat your eyes, smile coyly and say thanks but no thanks. I have always been in charge. And when I made enough money to make my evening complete, I pack my things and go.

Now things are different. No longer am I there because I want to be. I'm there because I have to be. This money is my income. I need it. It pays my rent, buys my food, keeps my heat on during these 4 degree nights. That realization struck me as I left Real Job last weekend and walked to the club. And I felt ill. I didn't want to go. I cried tears that burned my face in the subzero wind and felt utterly defeated. Because the money wasn't something I simply wanted, but needed it to survive. How much harder it is, to refuse a request, when the money they slip into your palm is going to feed you for the next week.

And once everyone in the club, guys and girls alike, started to comment on how good I looked and how I must "have been busting ass at the gym" to lose that much weight in two weeks, refusal stopped being an option. Because I haven't been busting ass at the gym. I just haven't had money to eat.

So yeah, when creepy old guy gives you $100 to make out with him for ten minutes, what do you do? I guess on the bright side I know many of the girls there make that amount of money through many more illicit means. Should I be flattered? There is something to be said about that, I guess. First base with me is worth the same as 3rd with other girls. But that is also very... weird. I'm certainly no prettier, no sexier, no more interesting than any of the other girls there. It is unnerving.

Also there is this orchid blooming at Real Job that smells exactly like creepy old man's breath. Orchids aren't known for their fabulous fragrance, but I'm haunted by this particular halitosis orchid. It taunts me with my shame.

And this is when sex work stops being empowering. It smothers you in the mantle of no other options and that is scary. Because i feel optionless. I've sent SO MANY resumes and cover letters into open positions in my field and have not even had the courtesy of a rejection letter. And, quite frankly, I'm REALLY accomplished in my field. I should at least be getting a round one phone call.