The Start of Sober Stripper

Hello World.

I don't know if anyone will ever read this, but if anyone does please stay open minded. I've been meaning to start this for... several months now. Finally I have.

I'll start out with a few things about me. This probably won't be that interesting, but I'll get to that part eventually. I'm in my early twenties. I go to a teeny-tiny private college where I major in Literature, French, and Russian. I love studying. I love seeing my friends (although that happens very rarely). I cook and bake as much as I can. I love travelling and seeing the world. I'm very tall, for a girl that is. I don't like partying. I don't drink. I've never tried drugs, and I don't plan to. I am in a very committed relationship with the man I am going to marry. We have been together for a year and a half, and we have lived together for a year of that.

I work all the time. If I'm not in class I'm at work. And if I'm not their I'm at home sleeping or studying. I work at my school's library and as a receptionist in a medical office. So far, I'm sure, my life sounds really average. Like any other college student. The biggest difference is I work at a strip club. I am a stripper, and have been for ten months now. My friends, when they first found out, thought I was a waitress or a bartender there. I'm not the type of girl to strip. Actually I hate being naked. Before I started stripping I was only ever naked in the shower.

Here is the very brief history of why and how I got a job as a stripper. It's safe to say that I have a tense relationship with my parents. I had just finished my freshman year in college and had stayed at school a few days longer to see my boyfriend graduate. I couldn't find a job in my hometown, but I could find a job in a big city close to my college. I told my family that I would get a job and live at school over the summer, and I would be able to have the job for the rest of my college career. My parents did not like this and disowned me. They took away my cell phone, my car, my health insurance. They kept all of my things and they would not give me my passport, social security card, or birth certificate. I know it seems ridiculous, but that's actually what happened. Basically all I had left was the few clothes I had to last me the extra days on campus, the little money I had left over from the month before, a place to live, and my boyfriend. I took the weekend to cry and talk over my options with my boyfriend. He has been my main support system for the last year. The one person I can count on every day, all day, for anything and everything. On Monday I walked into the nicest, most reputable strip club in my area and asked for a job. I got the job because I had a pretty face and fourteen years of intensive classical ballet training. I had never wanted to capitalize on my looks, but I was in a jam and had to. My ballet training gave me the ability to have stage presence and entertain the way no one else could. That night I went home and cried with Jamie, my boyfriend.

Here I am ten months later. I'm not sure why I'm writing this. Possibly because I want people to know that not all strippers are drug addicts or alcoholics. I want people to know that there are some strippers that are down to earth, normal-everyday-people just trying to survive. I think I offer a new point-of-view because I am educated and I can look at the goings-on and relationships in a different light than a lot of girls. I have read a lot of research about strippers and the occupation, research on the psychological aspect, the emotional aspect, the personal aspect. It's complicated. My job should not be judged upon first walking into the club. Stay, come back, get to know the girls, and keep coming back. I can offer an opinion from a stripper that has a knowledge of the research but also experience in the field. I can also shed light on the life of a stripper and a offer a behind-the-scenes-look. I know many of my friends are curious about the occupation. They want to know what it is in real life instead of what is portrayed by television and pop-culture. On top of everything it is cathartic for me to write about work. With my friends I play my job off with humor. I do this as a coping mechanism, but my job is horrendous. It takes a psychological, emotional, and physical toll. I can be honest here. There will be a lot of humor, but there will also be a lot of frankness that may be difficult to read. I want this to be honest more than anything.

As the reader, if there are any, KEEP ME HONEST.