It's funny how life works. I had sex with a few guys while I was in high school, during a very vulnerable moment in my life and I was called a slut. Then I moved onto become an exotic dancer, where men paid to see me undress in front of them and suddenly the perky C cups on my slender, athletic body made me one of the most well liked and highest paid dancer at a small stripper club in LA. No one called me a slut then. Nope, they called me anything but that. More like Baby, Honey, Sugar, Sweetheart, and Shorty.
Being idolized like that by men, being wanted so badly by even complete strangers definitely gave me a sense of empowerment. I knew they were just being that way to me, just to get into my pants. If I got in bed with them, they would just screw me and leave me. But leading them on and never giving them anything, other attention - I owned them. I could make them pay me for anything I wanted and not even have sex with them. They couldn't just use me and walk away. But me living that life didn't last for long. The owner of the club was my boyfriend. 9 months earlier I was the next big thing when I walked into his club. But, two weeks into my 10th month, when a new bottle blond walked in the door with her fake DD cups - she became the next big thing at the club and I was made an outcast almost immediately. She had my boyfriend, my job and stole my Louis Vuitton pocketbook from my ex's apartment. Before I left town, I went back to his apartment to get her face acquainted her face with my fist and his balls with my foot. They could have everything else, but they couldn't take my Louis Vuitton bag.
For yet another time, I was rejected by someone I really cared about. I was still young, foolish...and heartbroken again. So I began enjoying my drinking and marijuana all over again. I left that club and got a temporary gig with a bigger strip club, that had a higher paying clientele. But, I was a leftover from a smaller club, so my tips dropped down to literally pennies on the dollar. My hours sucked. I had to leave a nice apartment to live with a roommate, who was also a dancer, in a cheesy section of L.A. The aunt that I had originally came to live with lied to my family back in Ohio and said that I had ran off and that she didn't know how I was doing. But, she knew. She just couldn't face the fact that she really didn't care.
One night, after I stripped at my new club in LA, a very sweet black man, Julian Dickerson, approached me and asked me if I was interested in doing nude pictures. Oh he was as sweet and as kind as could be. He was very convincing. I wouldn't have to work as hard for tips from customers or work in a second rate exotic dancer club for the money. I could do still and get some residuals off of Internet sales since men don't buy magazines like they used to. He was an porn actor himself, starred in a handful of low budget porn videos. He said that I had beautiful skin and didn't look drugged out like some of the other women who flipped from porn films to nude modeling - or vice versa - in order to pay for their drug habit.
Not all the girls were drug addicts or alcoholics. But at some point, you eventually do turn to them if not to just go out and have a good time, then at least to numb yourself to the reality that millions of people, including your friends and family may eventually see you on screen having sex.
I wasn't going to do that. I told Julian no videos for me. But I didn't have a problem showing my cookies off to a camera lens. What's the big deal? We all come out of some woman's pussy.
Being idolized like that by men, being wanted so badly by even complete strangers definitely gave me a sense of empowerment. I knew they were just being that way to me, just to get into my pants. If I got in bed with them, they would just screw me and leave me. But leading them on and never giving them anything, other attention - I owned them. I could make them pay me for anything I wanted and not even have sex with them. They couldn't just use me and walk away. But me living that life didn't last for long. The owner of the club was my boyfriend. 9 months earlier I was the next big thing when I walked into his club. But, two weeks into my 10th month, when a new bottle blond walked in the door with her fake DD cups - she became the next big thing at the club and I was made an outcast almost immediately. She had my boyfriend, my job and stole my Louis Vuitton pocketbook from my ex's apartment. Before I left town, I went back to his apartment to get her face acquainted her face with my fist and his balls with my foot. They could have everything else, but they couldn't take my Louis Vuitton bag.
For yet another time, I was rejected by someone I really cared about. I was still young, foolish...and heartbroken again. So I began enjoying my drinking and marijuana all over again. I left that club and got a temporary gig with a bigger strip club, that had a higher paying clientele. But, I was a leftover from a smaller club, so my tips dropped down to literally pennies on the dollar. My hours sucked. I had to leave a nice apartment to live with a roommate, who was also a dancer, in a cheesy section of L.A. The aunt that I had originally came to live with lied to my family back in Ohio and said that I had ran off and that she didn't know how I was doing. But, she knew. She just couldn't face the fact that she really didn't care.
One night, after I stripped at my new club in LA, a very sweet black man, Julian Dickerson, approached me and asked me if I was interested in doing nude pictures. Oh he was as sweet and as kind as could be. He was very convincing. I wouldn't have to work as hard for tips from customers or work in a second rate exotic dancer club for the money. I could do still and get some residuals off of Internet sales since men don't buy magazines like they used to. He was an porn actor himself, starred in a handful of low budget porn videos. He said that I had beautiful skin and didn't look drugged out like some of the other women who flipped from porn films to nude modeling - or vice versa - in order to pay for their drug habit.
Not all the girls were drug addicts or alcoholics. But at some point, you eventually do turn to them if not to just go out and have a good time, then at least to numb yourself to the reality that millions of people, including your friends and family may eventually see you on screen having sex.
I wasn't going to do that. I told Julian no videos for me. But I didn't have a problem showing my cookies off to a camera lens. What's the big deal? We all come out of some woman's pussy.
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