Occupational hazards

Stripping makes you so hard. It has to. It's like that pair of ten-inch Alexander McQueen shoes. Until your soles get calloused solid, it's going to hurt like hell to walk in them.

I like it to hurt. I like to be human. I don't want to get hard.

A job like this has three liabilities: the first is that you lose the understanding of what a dollar means. You can't help it. Four minutes of your time are $20, and 30 are discounted at $260. Four half-hour VIPs and you're already making more than people who make $20 per hour are making per week.

You start looking at stuff in terms of VIPs—a pair of Manolos? That's a little more than a one-hour VIP. Never mind that rent is three one-hour VIPs and this makes no financial sense. You know how fast you can line up those VIPs. No big deal.

This is called falling into The Life.

The second liability is what it does to your perception of men. If you're a good looking woman, you know what it means to have so many possibilities you spend your entire life shopping for someone better. It's just like that. You have men all over you all day and night long. The first stage of this malady moves in silently, so silently, you don't notice it. It's the death of the intensity of knowing someone likes you. Yeah, yeah, of course he does.

The second stage, on the other hand, hits you like a brick wall. Its name is Doubt. Do they really like you or do they just want to fuck you like everyone else? Do they really know you or are you playing the role of someone else like you do for a dance? How do you know they mean the shit they say when you hear the same shit a hundred times every night from drunk men you end up never seeing again?

Stage two manifests with a combination of Resentment, Bitterness, and Rage.

I call it heartbreak.

The third liability is a combination of the two. I remember when I was younger, an older woman friend told me to accept every date. “Why not?” she reasoned. “It's a free dinner.” I always thought this was a terrible deal—put up with someone talking with you for a few hours for food? When you're younger and have nothing to do, it doesn't matter so much. But as reality seeps in and time becomes a luxury, the idea of trading in your time for food becomes less and less sensible, even if it is the newest restaurant in town.

When you dance, weekends are out of the question, to start. Right off the bat, this dude is costing you at least $500. Is he worth it? This is why so many girls go into escorting. Until you try, you have no idea how many men will hand you money after you tell them, “I can't. I work every night. One date night is $800 less for me and I need that $800.” It's a small step to negotiating the price of sex after that.

Next thing you know, you're not dating, you're working. These men aren't boyfriends, they're tricks.

I call this The Loneliness.

I don't want to get hard. I don't want to forget the value of money or lose sight of what genuine connection feels like. So I cut the callouses. I let myself bleed.

I'll tell you one thing: it's hard.