My First Time
My first time on stage I was nervous, my palms were sweaty, my legs were shaking. I held onto the pole for dear life, hoping that I would not fall from under my 7-inch plastic heels. I shimmied around the pole trying to manage dancing while struggling to keep my balance. I felt as if I were blushing as I slid off outfit. The hungry stares of men felt like they were piercing my heart.
When I got off a stage I walked around for tips. As I was snaking my way around the bar a guy jumped out of his place and pulled me away from a customer I was hustling for a lapdance.
“You are beautiful!” He seemed to yell at me with an amount of enthusiasm usually reserved for football games, not the strip club.
Still holding onto my forearm he pulled me into the champagne room. He was older, I guessed 60. Wrinkles worked their way over his face. He only had a tuft of hair remaining, much like a cabbage patch doll. He obviously worked out from his rock hard body, which was unheard of for someone his age. He was a reformed gangster from New York. Trying to make it in the trash business the right way in Philadelphia.
We sipped cocktails while he rubbed my aching feet. He was kind. We just sat and talked. I told him about myself. My story. He was fascinated by me. Hypnotized by my southern sweetness. I had won him over. When our half an hour in the champagne room was finished he handed me his card.
“I’d really like if you called me.” He said.
Customers did this on a normal basis, but there was something about him that made it different. At the end of the night I cabbed it home. My nights earnings tucked into a garter still on my leg. The sharp smack of the cab door in the cold night echoed across the Philadelphia row homes. I clicked open the door and entered back into my shitty little life.
The house was empty. Being there alone in the night frightened me. You see, I was living with a guy I had been dating for several months. It was cheaper than trying to live on my own. He was sweet. Something that I seemed to love. I crawled into bed and passed out from complete exhaustion.
The next day, I pulled the card out from my purse. Dialed the number. That’s when it happened. I had just hooked myself a sugar daddy. The true meaning of the word. He began coming into my work every shift I worked. Giving me money and bringing me presents. I was hooked. I became addicted to my new sweet tooth.
