I had been planning on checking it out since the beginning but something always fell on the day it was happening. Finally, after six months of waiting I got to witness it. All I can say is wow. There are not many events that can stir up this kind of emotion, and it's not just because I used to be a gogo dancer back when "topless" had just become "stopless" dancing.
The line up included Chelsea G. Summers who gave us an inside look at her first time dancing the champagne room at a well known strip club in NYC. Jennifer Blowdryer brought us tales of her first time filming adult scenes. Damien Decker's mandigo adventures were a treat in a half. I was also very excited to catch Jodi Sh Doff tell her own wild tales of being with a woman for the first time. I am a huge fan of her website and writing and fell absolutely in love with her when I found the "meet the dead boys" page. I'm really looking forward to posting some of the audio. Zoe Hansen also caught my attention with her story of heroin and sex. Of course Audacia's opener of fisting and rubber gloves left everyone laughing and with a souvenir. David even shared his first time with a beloved family "friend".
Through all of this something much more powerful was happening. I could feel it as it was happening but didn't quite get the full effect until I cam home, pulled the covers over my head, and took a deep breath. Parts of this evening I could have written myself. Long love affairs with drugs and alcohol, and dead fiancees and lovers crept back into my life. There's something quite healing about hearing other's stories, whether they be funny, or sad. I can't quite describe what I'm trying to say, all I know is that it's so much bigger than all of us and incredibly beautiful. So I leave you now with: My First & Last Time GoGo Dancing (Beware of the 4 a.m. grammar.)
It took me two weeks to learn how to walk in the shoes without falling to the ground. It took me another week to walk with the entire outfit on, and cut my hair just so. They were going to call me "Red Bettie," as most people who had seen me said I resembled the pinup queen. A week before I was to perform, my cat got scared and put a huge scratch down my face. I was lucky I didn't lose and eye. My manager took one look at me and said "What the hell did you do? You better get rid of this! This face is money!" He laughed but we both knew he wasn't joking. Luckily the tube of neosporin did just the trick.
The day of my first performance my mind went back and forth to that time one month earlier that I had accepted. There was a part of me that always wanted to do this, and then there was a part of me that wanted to be "respectable".Looking back I had no idea what respectability really was. I was nervous, cold, and barely wearing anything.
The club was different from what I expected. They had a stage and a few pin-up photographs on the walls but the crowd was mostly preppy and I knew they weren't my audience. I had a sinking feeling this was not going to go well. "Fuck it." I said. I took off my coat, walked into the bar and stayed to the right until my name was announced. "It's just Bettie Page poses" I repeated. And then the time had come, I heard my name, walked to the stage, did a few poses, and started to work the room. Impressed I hadn't broken an ankle or fallen on my face, I started to get braver. I sat on people's laps, scooted to the side of tables, and flirted with the boys and girls with white sweaters and tight jeans. One woman called me over and I sat on her lap as her boyfriend took sweet snapshots. I went to tease him by sitting on the edge of the table but sat too close to the edge. The table started to go up, I started to go down, and I caught myself quickly avoiding catastrophe. Red faced, I pranced away.
Only two more rounds to go. My best friend had come to both support me and tear me down. I was self-conscious. I've never been a skinny girl and I had gained 10 pounds since I had given up the pills and other things. My manager came up to me and sighed. "The skirt comes off, the next round." He said and walked away. "Ok." I prayed my obesity would hide itself. My best friend snickered and whispered to my manager as I took off my skirt. I was left in vinyl underwear & bra set and a cute little embroidered garter with stockings. I took a deep breath and rocked it. For all the cellulite, fuck it, for all the pudge oozing from the top of my thighs, whatever. Luckily there were a couple of guys watching that were into me. Unfortunately some, a little too into me. When you're making a base pay and mostly working for tips, the audience thinks with their one measly dollar that they can do whatever they want. On the upside, my manager was real good at keeping them from going too far.
I don't remember how much I made that night or how good my first time even was. I'm pretty sure I was far too nervous to even notice if anyone was actually watching me, but looking back I now know where it all began. With those little pin-up moves, those tiny Bettie Page poses I managed to make a career out of it.
I can't say I remember much of those days but I do remember the phone numbers written on the bills. As if I was going to remember each and every one of those guys who gave me money. I remember I spent the money on dinner and maybe a 40. We weren't too classy then. Later my manager moved in with me, and I stopped dancing, and started cooking.
Two weeks pass and it's Michael T's birthday party. Walking into the same club with half of the same crowd and another crowd that was completely the opposite, I sat down and drank my rum and coke. A clean cut man approached me and whispered. "About two weeks ago there was a cute scantily clad young lady prancing around this dance floor. Would you happen to know who she is?" I smiled at him politely. "I have no idea what you are talking about."