Body of Indulgence

Body: [bod-ee] noun. 1. The material structure of a corporal being. 2. A collection of work. Indulgence: [in-duhl-juhns] noun. 1. Gratification of desire. 2. A penance sold by the Church as a remission of punishment for sin.

[yourlastconfession-blog]

Call Me Devil | Friends In Tokyo “I’ll steal your soul. I’ll eat you whole. Ain’t no other way. They call me Devil, and you should be afraid.”  Though this is only one of many recent additions to my setlist, it’s definitely a favorite. It may or may not be my new theme song.

[lovelywhore]

[yourlastconfession-blog]

This is so true that I have actually started to employ it as a tactic at work. I've kept track of the number of men who engage me at the club when I make myself available, or make it obvious that I'm interested in interacting with them. I've also kept track of the amount who want to talk to me when I am otherwise engaged. The numbers aren't even close. Far more dudes pay attention to me when I am purposefully NOT paying attention to them. So now I do it on purpose. When new clients come in, I go and sit next to them but immediately pull out my phone and scroll through twitter, or bring a book and start reading. Without fail, they will find some excuse to interrupt me within 10 minutes. Without. Fail. Honestly, it even works if I'm just talking to a co-worker. And I'm not too polite to use that shit, because, fuck it-- I'm there to make money and if I can turn your bullshit patriarchal instincts into cold hard cash? Serves you the Fuck right. The fact that I can actively utilize this pattern of behavior to my advantage-- the fact that it's prevalent enough to be subverted-- means two things. 1. It's entirely too common. 2. You have zero grounds on which to argue its existence or the validity of this article. So save yourself the trouble, respect the lived experiences of women, and don't.

[yourlastconfession-blog]

It's not perfect (I'd love it if it were a bit more intersectional-- all bodies can pole dance, not just female bodies) but it's a good start.

[theunflinchinggaze-blog]

I Looked At A Rapist In The Mirror And Saw Him Smiling Back.

(TW: For discussion of sexual abuse/rape) *This piece has been published with permission of the referenced ex-partner. Other relationships may have been slightly altered to protect specific identities.* The first time I was sexually assaul...

I was a feminist before I was a sex worker, and though the years I spent as a sex worker only confirmed (what I perceived as) our culture’s desperate need for such a movement, it is the veracity of article’s like this one that unequivocally prove it. 

Until we are able to admit to the flaws in the system we will never be able to fix them. Unless we are willing to gaze, unflinchingly, upon ourselves (and the monsters within) change is forever beyond our reach.

[yourlastconfession-blog]

[reblogging here from my Pagan blog for relevance]

[yourlastconfession-blog]

I need feminism because...

We live in a patriarchal, mysogyntic culture. Experiences like this one aren’t limited to the strip club. (Minor TW: I reference sexist/mysoginistic behavior and themes, and relate sexist language used against me.)

It’s night. I am walking along the street with my partner on our way to dinner. We’re on vacation in a small touristy town in upstate New York.

As we walk along the crowded street, we pass a few rowdy bars from which drunk folks spill out on to the sidewalk. To get through the crowd we need to split up, with my partner walking a few steps ahead of me. I notice a group of particularly drunk guys stumbling out of one bar. One of them turns back to the doorway and shouts something to someone inside– I assume a friend of theirs. His words are something along the lines of “hurry up and get your ass out here!”

I don’t know why, but I know that when I walk by, these men are going to find an excuse to engage me. I am right. 

As I pass, the one who shouted into the bar reaches out and roughly taps my shoulder with the back of his hand. He does not even say hello or ask my name before putting his hands on me. It’s probably a result of his intoxicated state, but he deals this ‘tap’ to my shoulder with enough force to throw me momentarily off balance.

“Hey,” he says, pointing to the bar. “Do me a favor and tell my friend in there he’s a pussy and he needs to finish his drink so we can leave.”

I keep walking, though I slow. I can’t keep myself from turning over my shoulder to reply. “It sounds like you want to insult your friend,” I say, still moving. “But considering I both have a vagina, and enjoy them, you probably want to ask someone else to do that for you.”

His brow wrinkles. I can see him trying to think his way through through the sentence. It’s not the reply he expected. His friends begin to notice that he’s got the attention of a woman on the street. They amble over.

“What?” He finally says.

I stop and turn to face him. “You just put your hands on a complete stranger and asked them to use a part of their own body as an insult to your friend. That strikes you as perfectly acceptable behavior?”

His face sours. He doesn’t grasp the meaning behind my words, but he’s starting to get the gist. “Wow, you’re a bitch, huh? Why you gotta get nasty?” One of his hands starts to raise, almost as if hes unaware of it, and begins to reach towards me.

“All I did was ask you for a favor. Cunt.”

I stop talking. But I don’t run. I can’t stop staring at what looks like hatred plastered all over his drunken face. I am transfixed by this expression. It’s twisted and gnarled, like a knothole in a tree, and when beer dribbles out of his mouth, even as he reaches for me, I can’t help thinking of dark, sticky, sap.

Dimly, over the rush of what must be the sound of my own blood in my ears, I hear the voice of one of the other men in his group. It exclaims something in a strangely hopeful tone, and it takes my brain a minute to decipher the words, “Wait, you like vaginas?”

By this time my partner has noticed I’ve stopped. He returns down the street to stand behind me, though he doesn’t say anything. The eyes of the man whose hand is now inches from my throat focus on the movement behind me, and I know he’s seen my partner. The gnarled tree vanishes. His hand drops to his side. I am stunned to realize that he is apologizing.

To my partner.

“Oh, man, is she with you? Sorry bro, I didn’t know.”

Later, during dinner, my partner explains why he didnt interject into the confrontation, saying that he “could tell I had it under control”. I am secretly glad he thought so, and glad I have a partner who doesn’t get jealous, and doesn’t feel the need to get into a macho pissing contest with every dude who makes a pass at me.

He also keeps asking me why I’m shaking. Why I’m not eating the expensive dinner we looked forward to all week. Why I can’t focus.

He doesn’t understand when I want to go home early and why I ask to take a cab on the way back instead of walking. Doesn’t understand when I crawl into bed. Doesn’t understand when I curl up with a book and disappear for days.

I have never felt more alone.

[therealkaira-deactivated2013042]

[yourlastconfession-blog]

God damn Jenyne Butterfly and her perfect perfectness.

[yourlastconfession-blog]

[yourlastconfession-blog]

160 isn't big at all, that guy was an idiot lol

That might be the case, and he's definitely an idiot, but you're missing the point. It doesn't matter how "big" someone is. Weight is not a yardstick with which to measure beauty. One more time for the cheap seats: WEIGHT IS NOT A YARDSTICK BY WHICH THE EXISTENCE OF BEAUTY (OR WORTH) CAN BE DETERMINED. We live in a culture that diefies the skinny and belittles the large. But i@t's not about an actual standard of beauty; it's about control. It's about policing the bodies of women. Yes men above a certain weight deal with some measure of body shaming as well. but the overwhelming majority of abuse is aimed at women. Yes, that dude was a complete idiot; not for thinking 160 is "heavy", but for thinking weight matters AT ALL. And for believing the patriarchy that's been telling him since birth that his opinion of me matters and should be voiced publicly. For thinking he has the right to police the body of another.Sexism and male entitlement folks. This is what it boils down to.

[dreamybrowngirl-deactivated2015]

The first time a customer tried to lick my nipples during a dance

When customers try to lick my nipples during dances now

[yourlastconfession-blog]

Idk why there are so many of these today but I am 100% ok with it.

[gifak-net]

[comebacksznldn-blog]

Me when clients want to kiss

[strippingbrujas-deactivated2015]

True

[yourlastconfession-blog]

GPOY

[lagunabend]

[yourlastconfession-blog]

Conversations with Dumb People: Edition Billionth

Dude: Aren't you a bit... heavy to be working here? No offense or anything, I just mean... you're noticeably bigger than the other girls.

Me: True, I am 160 pounds. But that's 160 pounds of awesome and your opinion of me doesn't even hold half that weight.

[strippernotes-deactivated201812]

Beauty, Part 2

Friends,

This is the second part to a two part series about beauty…read the first one here.

At a meeting a few weeks ago, the “perfect” stripper, a young, short, blonde hair, blue eyed, coke bottle figured dancer, proposed a new rule. The rule being that every dancer must wear make up, even if it’s a little, to work. Everyone, the manager included, either cringed or held their tongue. I broke the silence with, “That’s getting to a whole other subject…!”.

The politics of beauty is a hell of a thing.

Beauty standards, what’s acceptable and what’s not, are totally subjective. And it’s certainly not the club’s job to tell a dancer what to wear, whether it’s make up or otherwise. One dancers overly made up look could be another dancers everyday look. Who’s to say what is reasonable?! Moreover, stripper pretty versus model pretty versus girl next door pretty versus “exotic” pretty, our culture finds these to be different types of beauty. 

Being a black model-type dancer like myself, I get told I’m beautiful all the time, but at the club my supposed “beauty” doesn’t serve me. Since I’m not “stripper pretty,” i.e. having the assets that customers deem desirable for strippers like a big butt, boobs, over the top make up or hair, I often get looked over. It also doesn’t help that I’m black. Many customers simply aren’t interested in my skin color even if they are interested in my face, body or personality. And even if they do like me, they may feel pressure to select a different dancer because they don’t want their friends to know their taste. 

Because of this I know I work harder than other dancers to make money. Because of this I hate the direction that my club is going in, “a nightclub with adult entertainment”. It means that I have to play into a stereotype of a black woman which is just insulting to me. It infuriates me to no end. I’m not going to buy butt or breast implants, all I can do is do over the top make up since my hair is already weaved up. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I can make money, shit I’ve been making a living as a stripper for 7 years. But that doesn’t mean my looks don’t get in way. 

This is the sort of stuff that makes me sad, makes me want to quit dancing. I don’t want to feel bad about myself or my earnings because I can’t convince someone to let go of their preconceived notions of beauty.

xx

SN

[gothicstripper]

But honestly what's the point of going to VIP if you can't fuck?

What’s the point of going to the zoo if I can’t ride the fucking giraffes????

[yourlastconfession-blog]

I'll just leave this here...

[yourlastconfession-blog]

Conversations with Dumb People

Guy: what are you looking at?

Me: You.

Guy: *looks uncomfortable*

Me: Does that bother you?

Guy: I thought I was supposed to be the one looking at you.

Me: Is that what you thought? Honey, you don't come here to look. You come here to be seen.

[dimepiecebarbiee-deactivated201]

[clubpatron]

Come on, guys.  Most of you are leaving less for your dancer than you did for the waitress who brought your meal at Olive Garden.  And which one’s presence did you really enjoy more?  Give it up where it’s due. 

[yourlastconfession-blog]

PREACH.