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And this is the part where you go, “Oh Mary, I thought you were getting better, going to do something useful in life now.” You hang your head and let out a sigh, shamed for me and my entire life even though it’s not yours and most of you have no right to.

Straight fact no bullshit truth of the matter is; I have twenty dollars to my name. Twenty. I can’t pay my coming electric bill, water bill, or even turn on my fucking gas. I’m fucked, with a capital F.

So Nicole takes me looking for a waitress job. Try two clubs, not hiring waitresses. I get it, the summer is kind of slow. Most cliental consists of stupid little college boys who don’t even have their daddy’s credit card to make up for their epic money making failure. So me and Nicole go into this other club called “Dollhouse.” It’s not really ritzy, its very laid back but not ghetto, that’s the kind of club I like. Reminded me of a cross of Baby Dolls and Lipstick in Dallas. Plus, “Dollhouse”? Come on. Everyone knows Mary and her fandom obsessions…

Not hiring waitresses, but the manager is trying to convince me to dance. Which, I expected. However, once getting to talk to him I find out just to get a license in Atlanta it’s $370. So I was like okay, I can’t strip, I need to waitress. And he said no, everywhere in Atlanta, anyone working in a strip club needs to get that, even down to the bathroom attendant. So fuck it, I need money immediately. There is no question about that, and if I’m gonna pay an assload of money to waitress, I might as well dance.

Nicole’s not happy, but she wants to get paid back. She’s fronting me the money for my license, getting it tomorrow. Come Friday, Mary’s back on the pole.

Now I know I’m going to get disappointed DMs, IMs, Emails and the like from some of you. All I can do is apologize, I tried, but I’m in a shithole. I seriously can not do anything else.

The manager asked me why I didn’t strip anymore. I told him I had a meth problem, but now I’m clean and have gained almost twenty pounds. I’m self conscious about it. I’m gonna have to borrow money from Nicole to squeeze my ass into a corset. But he was a really friendly guy, the girls didn’t seem like complete wankers, so I’m gonna do it.

And to be honest, as much as I should feel bad about it… I’m excited. None of you understand how sexually driven I am as a person, and I don’t even mean about sex. I don’t enjoy sex so much as I enjoy the flirtation, the manipulation, being someone else, having power, and talking anyone into doing anything. I’m so good at it, but only when I’m … well, I’m not going to be “Faith” anymore. I turned that name to shit, lots of bad memories… so I have a new name, which I found out is available. Guess what it is, I’m sure everyone will know lol.

I want to get pretty again. I want to look at myself in the mirror and have that condidence of I’m the shit, I’m gonna make money. Because I can, and I will. And it’s fully nude, which I miss SO MUCH, and I know that’s probably strange for a lot of you. But I do, I miss dancing nude.

The hair, the makeup, the outfits… I miss it all.

And most of all, I miss the money. Though, Atlantas a little cheap ass. $10 lap dances everywhere in Atlanta. The VIP room is $200 for a half an hour, which I can sell like cake, so it shouldn’t be a problem. If I can convince guys to buy a $300 bottle of non alcoholic champagne bottle (that I get no money from by the way) just to get off stage all night, then I can sell myself for $200. Really really isn’t hard.

I’m the stripper your surprised by, the complete honest shit that comes out of my mouth. I talk very freely about fetishes, I geek out about my fandoms, I order your ass around and for some reason… you like it. I’m like bondage Barbie with a touch in insanity, it either intrigues or scares, and even if your scared you still end up turned on by it.

And I just MISS IT.

So fuck it, I do what I do, I do what I know how to do. I have another job and that’s all fine and dandy even though I’m not getting paid for it anymore since I got paid upfront for a bit, but hell, I enjoy it so it’s all cake. Everything is fucking cake.

I just want to be that other side of myself again. I need to feel the power and the control. God… I’m just… I need it. And I’m gonna get it back.

Labels: strip clubs, strippers, stripping

A million things to do. A million more I could do. A shaky hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes in front of me and I flick the lighter a couple time to make it produce a flame something close to useable. A glance over at the purse on the coffee table as I take my first inhale. I close my eyes, trying to calm down. I was beating this before, wasn't I? A flash to Wednesday night.

"Hey, you got any shit?"

I look up at the dancer in front of me, "I... no. I haven't felt the need to."

"Can you get some?"

"Yeah, I cam make some calls for you." Temptation. Oh, the temptation. Half of me decided to get some for myself. Fortunately, everyone was tapped out that night.

Get drunk, go home, pass out. Forget the temptation. I'm okay, it was just because the opportunity was there. I'm a sucker for opportunity.

Flash to Thursday afternoon. Nap time. The phone goes off, once, twice. Finally on the third time I get annoyed and drag myself out of bed.

"WHAT? I was fucking sleeping." Is how I answer it after I see who's calling.

"We're coming over, people are meeting us over there in a couple hours." [edited to removed names]

"What? No, my house is a fucking disaster."

"Then clean it."

"Fuck, fine. Jesus, what is this, a huge dope meeting?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Half awake, freaking out making my house presentable for company for an hour or two. The phone rings again.

"Nevermind, we gotta go back home to the kids."

"Are you FUCKING kidding me? I just cleaned my entire goddamn house!"

"Sorry, go back to bed."

Aggravated sigh. I can't sleep now. My minds on dope. Back to the computer, do something fandom related, it'll keep my mind off of it.

A chapter written of my Parker/Sophie fan fiction. It was painful to get through, and didn't enjoy writing it at all. I'm having a problem now, I can see it. I knew this was going to happen.

I finally sleep, though I'm up at 6:30am. How did I fuck up my sleep this much? I used to never see daylight.

Something else. Do something, anything. Find a way to contact Beth, there we go. Hours of searching, nothing but her Scientology courses she completed and a website that's entitled "Beth Riesgraf Photography". You need a password to get in it. I think I remember reading somewhere that she did photography, I couldn't remember.

I had the thought to try to bypass the password, hack it somehow, just to do something to keep my mind off things. But I've never been able to hack anything in my life. My skills with a computer don't reach that kind of level. I'm no Hardison.

Yeah, I would just make a Leverage reference.

Maybe she has her photography somewhere else, it's worth a shot. So I type in [something, I wont say cause I don't think I should have been able to do this] into my searchbar, and accidently find the backdoor into her website without needing a password. Whoops, but oh well.

Click on it, one album, nothing else. Nothing to even confirm that it's actually the right Beth Riesgraf I'm looking for either. I give up, forget it. I've never tried to try to contact an actress before, and I am finding this far too difficult to do. I had half a thought to just create my own fansite, fuck the official title, but I still don't have nearly enough information on the woman to attempt it.

Dope, I need dope. Phone call. They'll be over in a couple hours.

Fuck it. I need to be able to think again. I need to stop shaking and scratching myself. I need to be able to get shit done, and I can't do it like this anymore. I lasted I think a week and a half or two weeks this time. I can't remember. But I'm getting better, slowly.

Labels: addiction, beth riesgraf, dope, leverage, meth, strippers

"Don't spike my drink or anything while I'm gone."

It was a joke, really it was. I laughed, I turned away, and I went to talk to the DJ for not even a minute to change my place on the dance rotation. We were having a really good conversation, and he seemed to really like me. I was sure I was going to get at least a couple dances off of him.

I went back to the table, and he was gone.

Bathroom, probably.

I wait... five minutes pass. Where is he?

I walk up to the door girl, "Did you see a while guy with a bald head leave in like the last five minutes?"

"Blue shirt?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah he burned out real quick a couple minutes ago, practically ran out the door."

Well, that was odd. And unfortunate. I sigh, and take my drink he bought me over to the bar to scope out my next victim. I find one, and I take a sip of my drink, though practically finish the whole thing in one gulp. Can't go over to the next guy with a drink, now, can I? He wouldn't buy me another one that way.

I make a face. Ew, that tasted really fucking nasty. Like...

Chemicals.

Oh shit. Seriously, now?

I give the drink to the bar back. "I think someone spiked my drink, it tastes nasty, can you dump it?"

"Shit, are you serious?"

"I'll be okay," I reassured. Famous last words.

I let the DJ know before I go on stage that my drink was possibly spiked, and that if it hits me real hard when I'm on stage I'm going to have to get off and go sit in the back for awhile. The same are you okay questions and concerns ensue. I keep insisting I'm fine.

Stage. First song.

About half way through I started to get lightheaded. I shake it off, and just grab a firm hold on the pole so I don't fall over. I got this, I came to work today, and I'm going to make some money.

Oh shit, the floors starting to move a little.

First song ends, and I go back behind the curtain. I'm breathing heavily, leaning against the wall.

"Faith, are you okay?"

"Water," I gasp out. "Gimme some water, I'll be fine."

He goes to get water while I do my second song. Not even a minute through I know I'm done. I'm about to fall, pass out, something I'm not going to like. I crawl my way back through the curtain.

"I can't do this, tell Bill, I need to go sit down."

And I leave, without even knowing if it's okay that I'm skipping. Fall into the chair, hold my head, curse the mother fucker, cough, light up a cigarette, take a drag, lay my head down for a minute, out cold.

This isn't the first time this has happened. I've had it happen to me three times in Dallas, but all in a low class run down strip club that was my first club. You expect those kinds of things to happen there. It's ghetto prostitution drug central. Hell, I even got drugged once as a customer. Now that's fucked up.

"Faith!" I'm being shaken roughly.

"What? What?" I say incoherently, and raise my head up to look at my managers face.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?"

"Some asshole slipped something in my fucking drink," I mumble back.

Now, I knew this was coming. Bill isn't the most compassionate man in the world, and yet while he'll as a whole be nice to my face, I know he calls me a fucked up dope feign behind my back, and tells my friends I just use them. We've had words regarding that shit, but nevermind that.

"That was a stupid fucking thing to do, you don't leave your drinks with customers!"

"I was gone for less than a fucking minute!" I yell back, as best as I can without overworking myself.

"Well sit back here and drink water, then get back to work." Asshole, really. Why I continue to come back to that club, and build the clubs myspace and website for him, is really beyond me.

"I'm not tolerant to downers, I feel really fucked up."

"That's your own fault."

Of course it is, isn't it always though? Jesus.

I pass out a couple times, am woken up a couple times, in my hazed out unconciousness I remember hearing Bill yell about a dope feign, which I come to learn later was about me. Really though, I didn't know it was about me then, otherwise I would've said something back. However, I know so many damn girls in that club that do dope, and because I was half unconcious, I didn't dwell on it.

"Mary, are you okay?" Alex asks as she shakes me to wake me up.

"No, I fucking hate downers, I fucking hate bald headed assholes, and I'm fucking pissed off."

"Maybe you didn't get drugged, are you coming down?"

"NO! This is NOT how I feel when I come down, damnit!" I yell out of exasperation, thankfully it was only me and her in the dressing room.

Plus, I slept the whole night last night. Eight hours. I woke up and did some dope, yes, however I never start to come down for at least 15-20 hours afterwards. And only six or so hours had passed since then.

I think Bill thought I was coming down too, the fucking dick. If I was coming down, I wouldn't fucking come to work, that's just half retarded.

I end up back at home before eleven pm, and pass out for about an hour. Wake up, some more dope. There, now I feel much better.

I'm still mad though. Not for being drugged really, cause hell that shit just happens, but because I was actually in the mood to work and make money last night, even though I already paid off my motel for two weeks and still had $350 left over. I just wanted more money. More more more.

I have a headache right now, I blame the GHB I took to make myself pass out.

See how well that one worked out?

Labels: dancing, date rape drug, drugged, ghb, ice, managers, meth, strip clubs, strippers

I barely ever dream. Or rather I should say, I barely remember my dreams. When I do it tends to be random bits and pieces, like something that is probably irrelevant to the entire dream, like for instance my dream a couple nights ago that involved a purple hamster. That was the only part I remembered, though I did not remember what this hamster did, or if it was mine, or anything else of that sort.

That was not the case last night.

I got home drunk, posted the blog last night, and promptly passed out around four thirty, which is good for me considering I usually end up staying up straight through TNTs morning line up of back to back Angel and back to back Charmed.

The dream felt like I was asleep for hours, that's how much it consisted of. Of course I know dreaming changes every ninety minutes or so if your in a light sleep, and therefore cant last any longer than that, and hell it's even rare that they last over a half an hour. Or at least, that is what I've read in the past. I'm starting to actually think now that I had two different dreams, because I can't seem to remember the connection, though I was sure when I woke up that there was and it flowed into one another seamlessly.

The only thing I remember from the so called first dream would be this girl I used to work with, Cassie, was in it. Now, I had a huge crush on her when I first started working with her, back in say, April or so. I was never with her, because she was dating another woman, which I think she is still with right now. Anyway, to be honest I never figured out if I was drawn to her because of her sexual presence, or more for the fact that I wanted to be like her.

This woman was a lesbian goddess, and no, I don't use that title lightly. She was stunningly beautiful, the most amazing dancer you will ever see in your life, she was a great flirt even when she wasn't trying. She seemed to captivate or intimidate anyone around her just from her presence. Self professed straight women would gladly give up their lesbian virginities for her. She was just that fucking good. Women who never spoke to her in thier life wanted to get to know her more than anything.

I admire that, I want to be that... but I also want to tap that. It's confusing, honestly.

Damn, I'm gonna end up going into background here so the significance of her in my dream is understood. This damn entry is going to be much longer than previously anticipated, good thing I'm not intoxicated this time, it's much easier to write when sober. Surprise, surprise, I know. To be honest, I've always wanted to analyze my attraction to her, because it's something I've never expirenced before, and you'll find out why near the end. But I think that's another reason why I'm going to get very in depth with this.

Anyway, I swear the first time I ever spoke to her, I asked her out on a date. Laugh if you will, but hell I give myself huge props for having the balls to even ask. I had watched her on stage alot previously, since I find myself attracted to women that can dance well and have amazing stage presence, probably left over from when I was a hard core dancer. That dream has since faded with my will to pursue it.

Anyway, to get back on track, I asked a customer to buy me a lap dance from her. From my expirence, women that are great on stage suck at lap dances, and vise versa. She was not the case at all, and gave me the best lap dance anyone has ever given me, outside of the ones I'll get groped, made out with, or fucked during. She I guess gave me the best sensual dance, which to me deserves alot more props.

Afterwards I know I asked her out for something casual. I was intimidated by her, I'll admit that. But I knew if I didn't ask and get over it than nothing was ever gonna come out of anything. You can't start a car just by staring at it, after all.

"Whenever you have a day off, I'd like to take you out to lunch or something."

I said it, and she smiled, and said that would be nice. I breathed, and thanked all the alcohol in my system for allowing me to open my mouth instead of just gawking at her like some sort of idiot.

We never did go out, and for awhile I went back to the intimidated place where I couldn't talk to her. Then I remember one day I got shitty ass drunk, we had been talking off and on for a couple weeks, innocent flirting I guess, and I pinned her up against the wall by the DJ booth. I wish I could remember what I said, but I don't. All I remember is that my friend at the time, Crystal, later said in a sort of shocked awe that she looked intimidated, and that she's never seen her look intimidated by any woman in her life.

I didn't understand it, but it gave me an ego boost. But then again, what doesn't anymore? Point being, I intimidated her. Flirting went on for months, we started doing double dances together and I remember one day we had a customer in VIP give us both four hundred dollars each to just dance for each other. We did nothing explicitly sexual, no kissing, no touching outside the normal double dance ranges, but it was so fucking hot. We ended up having a stack of napkins on the table next to us, for clean up purposes.


I think that's why I liked her so much. She could make me so turned on that I could barely stand it, without even touching me sexually. But was even better, was that here was this lesbian goddess, and she was intimidated by ME. I remember asking her once why she was..

"I've just never had someone purse me like this before, it's usually the other way around."

"You don't like it?"

"I never said that." Smirk, of course.

Okay I'm going far too into this, anyway, I need to make my point, and quickly. Point is, she ended up getting a serious girlfriend and nothing happened. I moved on, started dating another woman there named Diana, though still obviously had an attraction to Cassie, and Diana knew it. No complications arose besides the occasional smart ass remark from Diana about me wanting her, and that was fine.

I got fired from that club, and didn't see Cassie for I guess about three or four months. I still thought about her on and off, and it weirded me out. Fuck, it still weirds me out, but we're not done with the story.

I come in to the club again with my friend Dani, we're just there as customers, getting drunk and getting rowdy. I got some dances from Diana, and we talked a little while, some of which included my newly acclaimed meth problem. Diana knew I did meth while I still worked at that club, but it had turned into doing it once every couple of weeks to two or three times a week, and therefor I started to refer to it as a problem rather than a recreational thing.

I went to go get a dance from Cassie before I left, but she refused to dance for me. I was drunk, high, and confused. She sat on my lap and refused to let me move, and slapped me in the face.

"What the fuck...?!"

"That's for being a fucking idiot, Mary."

I delivered a message to her earlier from a mutual friend we had, that she knew had a huge dope problem. I told her casually that's how we met. Hence why I got slapped. And not once mind you, it happened a lot during our conversation, aka her lecture.

She used my real name alot in the lecture, and it slightly weirded me out. I doubted she even remembered it, and I asked alot why the fuck she cared.. it was just... odd. The last thing I expected from her was to refuse to take my money and would rather sit there and tell me how much she's seen me decline since I left, and that I can do so much better in my life.

Diana slapped me later too, after I told her what happened in my confused state, and asked her why the fuck she didn't slap me, after all we used to be in a relationship and me and Cassie were barely scratching the friend line. She just slapped me and asked if that was better. No, of course not, but Diana was never really good at the emotional things, just physical.

Anyway the ENTIRE point of my long winded explination is that I still think about her. I still dream about her, rarely sexually though, she just seems to be there. Hell even earlier today I was talking to this hot ass dancer and when she spoke to me her voice sounded exactly like Cassie's. It's odd, and it makes me feel weird and slightly uncomfortable. I just don't understand how I woman I had no relationship nor sexual relations with, keeps popping up in my mind. It weirds me out because I feel like some kind of stalker... only like, mentally. I hate it, and don't know why it happens or how to fix it.

I seriously need a therapist.

Anyway, onto the dream, the first part consisted of Cassie being in it, and all I remember is that she was with a friend, whom I can't remember, and somehow paint dripped on my head, and she left her cell phone. Yes, pointless, but I still wanted to analyze the whole... thing, earlier.

My REAL point about the dream was this.

I was driving with a new friend I guess I met at a club, and we were going to work, but we got lost. I remember seeing a truck pull off to the side of the road, and then suddenly my friend did too. I asked why, but before she answered the passenger door was opened and two men started grabbing at me.

I screamed, I kicked one in the face as another groped me roughly, trying to tear off my clothes. I screamed for my friend to do something, but all she replied with was that she was sorry, and that she had to.

I got away, that I remember. I had grabbed my knife from my purse and ran as fast as I could. One caught up with me and I stabbed him in the gut. All I remember was thinking that I wasn't going to let anyone take me again like this. I stabbed him again, and again, and ran faster. Blood was all over my hands, but I didn't care. To me, these men were nothing more than animals, besides that, anyone that ever threatens my safety makes me have the automatic reaction to attack to make myself safe again.

The man stumbles, and I relize I have no where to go. I jump in the back of the car, and the other man was sitting in the drivers side. I put the knife to his throat.

"DRIVE MOTHER FUCKER OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! NOW!"

He didn't oblige. The other man was getting closer. Getting desperate, I slit the man in the drivers seat's throat. The other man was at the window now, and opening the door. I have blood all over me, but I feel savage, and I knew this other man had to die...

And then I woke up. Scared as all holy fuck, I woke up at 7:30am. I grabbed my knife in my purse and just kind of huddled on the couch. After getting my wits about me, I went to the computer and looked up dream interpertation. I had never had a dream like this, and I wanted to know why I had it.

"To dream that you have been raped, indicates vengeful feelings toward the opposite sex. You are feeling violated in some way. Something or someone is jeopardizing your self-esteem and emotional well-being. You feel that someone or something is being forced upon you.

To dream that you stab someone, indicates your fear of betrayal and your untrusting nature."

I guess the past couple days events effected me more than I thought, and I guess I wasn't over my paranoia of betrayal. It's funny, you think your past thing, and it turns out you're not.

I had more to write about work today, but I think this is long enough for now. It wasn't that interesting, unless you count the fact that both me and Dani left work tonight, on a Friday no less, with seven dollars each. That has never happened to me. Well, it has, but not for probably about six months. Yeah everyone has their bad days, but today was just horrible.

I'll leave it at that.

Labels: confusion, crushes, dream interpertaion, dreams, fear, haunting, lesbian, paranoia, past, rape, stabbing, strippers

I didn't write yesterday, I couldn't write yesterday, I was so mad... so fucking mad.

Me and my friend went to Jaguars in Ft. Worth. My first day back to work in over a week since my paranoia... attack, I suppose. Worked a night there, fucking loved it. I saw my old makeup artist, and we bonded over Lady Gaga, meth, and old times. The DJ loved me, the housemom was alright, the girls that I talked to were real nice... and fuck I loved working nude again. I left there with more money than most of the girls.

The manager walks up to me.

"Before you leave, I need to speak with you in my office."

Alright, that's fine. I figured it had to do with the scarred up, cut up disaster that my legs were. He saw me undress, and saw the war zone that was my legs. I cover them with boots, I'm not stupid. But to be honest, that's all I thought it was. I'm in his office.

"Have you considered working day shift?"

"I don't work day shift." I'm not a whore anymore, thank you.

"Well I don't mean to be rude or mean in anyway but... You need to lose weight before you come back here to work night shift."

I stare at him, he's kidding me, right? I know he's not but... seriously?

"I made twice as much money as my friend I came in here with, and she's half my size. I make my money."

"I'm sorry."

I'm sure you are mother fucker. It's managers like you that got me on my drug addiction in the first place. Just another Art... just another fucking Art. That hedgehog looking bastard.

I cried in the car. I did, like some pussy ass punk bitch, I cried.

"I'm so sick of being fat!"

"You're not fat," She tells me.

"BULLSHIT! This is the third club we went to work at that I got rejected because of my weight, how is that I can work at all the nice clubs in Dallas, but I can't in Ft Worth, yet Dallas has bitches twenty times hotter than this shit hole?"

Back to work tonight at Ft Worth Gentleman's club. The only nice club in Ft. Worth that will hire me. Thirty girls... not enough customers to satisfy all of us. Me and her would walk up to tables together, and yet the man would chose me.

ME. An overweight freaky ass looking chick that looks like if you fuck me I might kill you in the process, over my friend who's a little skinny pretty blonde girl. What is going on in the world?

I don't understand it. She does, but I don't.

"It's because you look seductive, you look like the opposite of the wives they're going home to, and I look too innocent."

Deja vu. I said this to a customer yesterday at Jaguars. Why older men like me. I was talking out of my ass, I guess it might be true though.

"I cant do this anymore."

"Yes you can, it always fucking blows over the holiday season."

She doesn't understand how shitty it is. Even last year when times weren't this bad it still sucked. She wanted to resort to prostitution. I try like hell to talk her out of it.

"You won't be able to look at yourself in the mirror every morning, trust me."

"I don't care."

You might not now, but you will. Oh my god, you will. You think you can handle it, you think it won't matter because of how much money your making, but after a couple of months it eats your alive. I only do it if it's an issue of survival, no other time. It's disgusting, and beneath girls like us.

She still doesn't care.

"I can't do this anymore, Mary!"

I sigh. "Fine, I'll fix this, but you best know I don't want to fix it this way."

After this week, it's day shift for us. It's whoring ourselves to those rich buisnessmen stopping in on their lunch break. God knows this is the last thing I wanna do, but she needs the money, and she won't be able to learn how to do it without a teacher.

I hate this, god I fucking hate this.

I don't want to do this again. I grew out of this a year and a half ago.

I'm not a whore anymore.

Labels: crying, drugs, fat, money, prostitution, strip clubs, strippers, whores

And this is the part where you go, “Oh Mary, I thought you were getting better, going to do something useful in life now.” You hang your head and let out a sigh, shamed for me and my entire life even though it’s not yours and most of you have no right to.

Straight fact no bullshit truth of the matter is; I have twenty dollars to my name. Twenty. I can’t pay my coming electric bill, water bill, or even turn on my fucking gas. I’m fucked, with a capital F.

So Nicole takes me looking for a waitress job. Try two clubs, not hiring waitresses. I get it, the summer is kind of slow. Most cliental consists of stupid little college boys who don’t even have their daddy’s credit card to make up for their epic money making failure. So me and Nicole go into this other club called “Dollhouse.” It’s not really ritzy, its very laid back but not ghetto, that’s the kind of club I like. Reminded me of a cross of Baby Dolls and Lipstick in Dallas. Plus, “Dollhouse”? Come on. Everyone knows Mary and her fandom obsessions…

Not hiring waitresses, but the manager is trying to convince me to dance. Which, I expected. However, once getting to talk to him I find out just to get a license in Atlanta it’s $370. So I was like okay, I can’t strip, I need to waitress. And he said no, everywhere in Atlanta, anyone working in a strip club needs to get that, even down to the bathroom attendant. So fuck it, I need money immediately. There is no question about that, and if I’m gonna pay an assload of money to waitress, I might as well dance.

Nicole’s not happy, but she wants to get paid back. She’s fronting me the money for my license, getting it tomorrow. Come Friday, Mary’s back on the pole.

Now I know I’m going to get disappointed DMs, IMs, Emails and the like from some of you. All I can do is apologize, I tried, but I’m in a shithole. I seriously can not do anything else.

The manager asked me why I didn’t strip anymore. I told him I had a meth problem, but now I’m clean and have gained almost twenty pounds. I’m self conscious about it. I’m gonna have to borrow money from Nicole to squeeze my ass into a corset. But he was a really friendly guy, the girls didn’t seem like complete wankers, so I’m gonna do it.

And to be honest, as much as I should feel bad about it… I’m excited. None of you understand how sexually driven I am as a person, and I don’t even mean about sex. I don’t enjoy sex so much as I enjoy the flirtation, the manipulation, being someone else, having power, and talking anyone into doing anything. I’m so good at it, but only when I’m … well, I’m not going to be “Faith” anymore. I turned that name to shit, lots of bad memories… so I have a new name, which I found out is available. Guess what it is, I’m sure everyone will know lol.

I want to get pretty again. I want to look at myself in the mirror and have that condidence of I’m the shit, I’m gonna make money. Because I can, and I will. And it’s fully nude, which I miss SO MUCH, and I know that’s probably strange for a lot of you. But I do, I miss dancing nude.

The hair, the makeup, the outfits… I miss it all.

And most of all, I miss the money. Though, Atlantas a little cheap ass. $10 lap dances everywhere in Atlanta. The VIP room is $200 for a half an hour, which I can sell like cake, so it shouldn’t be a problem. If I can convince guys to buy a $300 bottle of non alcoholic champagne bottle (that I get no money from by the way) just to get off stage all night, then I can sell myself for $200. Really really isn’t hard.

I’m the stripper your surprised by, the complete honest shit that comes out of my mouth. I talk very freely about fetishes, I geek out about my fandoms, I order your ass around and for some reason… you like it. I’m like bondage Barbie with a touch in insanity, it either intrigues or scares, and even if your scared you still end up turned on by it.

And I just MISS IT.

So fuck it, I do what I do, I do what I know how to do. I have another job and that’s all fine and dandy even though I’m not getting paid for it anymore since I got paid upfront for a bit, but hell, I enjoy it so it’s all cake. Everything is fucking cake.

I just want to be that other side of myself again. I need to feel the power and the control. God… I’m just… I need it. And I’m gonna get it back.

Labels: strip clubs, strippers, stripping

A million things to do. A million more I could do. A shaky hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes in front of me and I flick the lighter a couple time to make it produce a flame something close to useable. A glance over at the purse on the coffee table as I take my first inhale. I close my eyes, trying to calm down. I was beating this before, wasn't I? A flash to Wednesday night.

"Hey, you got any shit?"

I look up at the dancer in front of me, "I... no. I haven't felt the need to."

"Can you get some?"

"Yeah, I cam make some calls for you." Temptation. Oh, the temptation. Half of me decided to get some for myself. Fortunately, everyone was tapped out that night.

Get drunk, go home, pass out. Forget the temptation. I'm okay, it was just because the opportunity was there. I'm a sucker for opportunity.

Flash to Thursday afternoon. Nap time. The phone goes off, once, twice. Finally on the third time I get annoyed and drag myself out of bed.

"WHAT? I was fucking sleeping." Is how I answer it after I see who's calling.

"We're coming over, people are meeting us over there in a couple hours." [edited to removed names]

"What? No, my house is a fucking disaster."

"Then clean it."

"Fuck, fine. Jesus, what is this, a huge dope meeting?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Half awake, freaking out making my house presentable for company for an hour or two. The phone rings again.

"Nevermind, we gotta go back home to the kids."

"Are you FUCKING kidding me? I just cleaned my entire goddamn house!"

"Sorry, go back to bed."

Aggravated sigh. I can't sleep now. My minds on dope. Back to the computer, do something fandom related, it'll keep my mind off of it.

A chapter written of my Parker/Sophie fan fiction. It was painful to get through, and didn't enjoy writing it at all. I'm having a problem now, I can see it. I knew this was going to happen.

I finally sleep, though I'm up at 6:30am. How did I fuck up my sleep this much? I used to never see daylight.

Something else. Do something, anything. Find a way to contact Beth, there we go. Hours of searching, nothing but her Scientology courses she completed and a website that's entitled "Beth Riesgraf Photography". You need a password to get in it. I think I remember reading somewhere that she did photography, I couldn't remember.

I had the thought to try to bypass the password, hack it somehow, just to do something to keep my mind off things. But I've never been able to hack anything in my life. My skills with a computer don't reach that kind of level. I'm no Hardison.

Yeah, I would just make a Leverage reference.

Maybe she has her photography somewhere else, it's worth a shot. So I type in [something, I wont say cause I don't think I should have been able to do this] into my searchbar, and accidently find the backdoor into her website without needing a password. Whoops, but oh well.

Click on it, one album, nothing else. Nothing to even confirm that it's actually the right Beth Riesgraf I'm looking for either. I give up, forget it. I've never tried to try to contact an actress before, and I am finding this far too difficult to do. I had half a thought to just create my own fansite, fuck the official title, but I still don't have nearly enough information on the woman to attempt it.

Dope, I need dope. Phone call. They'll be over in a couple hours.

Fuck it. I need to be able to think again. I need to stop shaking and scratching myself. I need to be able to get shit done, and I can't do it like this anymore. I lasted I think a week and a half or two weeks this time. I can't remember. But I'm getting better, slowly.

Labels: addiction, beth riesgraf, dope, leverage, meth, strippers

"Don't spike my drink or anything while I'm gone."

It was a joke, really it was. I laughed, I turned away, and I went to talk to the DJ for not even a minute to change my place on the dance rotation. We were having a really good conversation, and he seemed to really like me. I was sure I was going to get at least a couple dances off of him.

I went back to the table, and he was gone.

Bathroom, probably.

I wait... five minutes pass. Where is he?

I walk up to the door girl, "Did you see a while guy with a bald head leave in like the last five minutes?"

"Blue shirt?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah he burned out real quick a couple minutes ago, practically ran out the door."

Well, that was odd. And unfortunate. I sigh, and take my drink he bought me over to the bar to scope out my next victim. I find one, and I take a sip of my drink, though practically finish the whole thing in one gulp. Can't go over to the next guy with a drink, now, can I? He wouldn't buy me another one that way.

I make a face. Ew, that tasted really fucking nasty. Like...

Chemicals.

Oh shit. Seriously, now?

I give the drink to the bar back. "I think someone spiked my drink, it tastes nasty, can you dump it?"

"Shit, are you serious?"

"I'll be okay," I reassured. Famous last words.

I let the DJ know before I go on stage that my drink was possibly spiked, and that if it hits me real hard when I'm on stage I'm going to have to get off and go sit in the back for awhile. The same are you okay questions and concerns ensue. I keep insisting I'm fine.

Stage. First song.

About half way through I started to get lightheaded. I shake it off, and just grab a firm hold on the pole so I don't fall over. I got this, I came to work today, and I'm going to make some money.

Oh shit, the floors starting to move a little.

First song ends, and I go back behind the curtain. I'm breathing heavily, leaning against the wall.

"Faith, are you okay?"

"Water," I gasp out. "Gimme some water, I'll be fine."

He goes to get water while I do my second song. Not even a minute through I know I'm done. I'm about to fall, pass out, something I'm not going to like. I crawl my way back through the curtain.

"I can't do this, tell Bill, I need to go sit down."

And I leave, without even knowing if it's okay that I'm skipping. Fall into the chair, hold my head, curse the mother fucker, cough, light up a cigarette, take a drag, lay my head down for a minute, out cold.

This isn't the first time this has happened. I've had it happen to me three times in Dallas, but all in a low class run down strip club that was my first club. You expect those kinds of things to happen there. It's ghetto prostitution drug central. Hell, I even got drugged once as a customer. Now that's fucked up.

"Faith!" I'm being shaken roughly.

"What? What?" I say incoherently, and raise my head up to look at my managers face.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?"

"Some asshole slipped something in my fucking drink," I mumble back.

Now, I knew this was coming. Bill isn't the most compassionate man in the world, and yet while he'll as a whole be nice to my face, I know he calls me a fucked up dope feign behind my back, and tells my friends I just use them. We've had words regarding that shit, but nevermind that.

"That was a stupid fucking thing to do, you don't leave your drinks with customers!"

"I was gone for less than a fucking minute!" I yell back, as best as I can without overworking myself.

"Well sit back here and drink water, then get back to work." Asshole, really. Why I continue to come back to that club, and build the clubs myspace and website for him, is really beyond me.

"I'm not tolerant to downers, I feel really fucked up."

"That's your own fault."

Of course it is, isn't it always though? Jesus.

I pass out a couple times, am woken up a couple times, in my hazed out unconciousness I remember hearing Bill yell about a dope feign, which I come to learn later was about me. Really though, I didn't know it was about me then, otherwise I would've said something back. However, I know so many damn girls in that club that do dope, and because I was half unconcious, I didn't dwell on it.

"Mary, are you okay?" Alex asks as she shakes me to wake me up.

"No, I fucking hate downers, I fucking hate bald headed assholes, and I'm fucking pissed off."

"Maybe you didn't get drugged, are you coming down?"

"NO! This is NOT how I feel when I come down, damnit!" I yell out of exasperation, thankfully it was only me and her in the dressing room.

Plus, I slept the whole night last night. Eight hours. I woke up and did some dope, yes, however I never start to come down for at least 15-20 hours afterwards. And only six or so hours had passed since then.

I think Bill thought I was coming down too, the fucking dick. If I was coming down, I wouldn't fucking come to work, that's just half retarded.

I end up back at home before eleven pm, and pass out for about an hour. Wake up, some more dope. There, now I feel much better.

I'm still mad though. Not for being drugged really, cause hell that shit just happens, but because I was actually in the mood to work and make money last night, even though I already paid off my motel for two weeks and still had $350 left over. I just wanted more money. More more more.

I have a headache right now, I blame the GHB I took to make myself pass out.

See how well that one worked out?

Labels: dancing, date rape drug, drugged, ghb, ice, managers, meth, strip clubs, strippers

I barely ever dream. Or rather I should say, I barely remember my dreams. When I do it tends to be random bits and pieces, like something that is probably irrelevant to the entire dream, like for instance my dream a couple nights ago that involved a purple hamster. That was the only part I remembered, though I did not remember what this hamster did, or if it was mine, or anything else of that sort.

That was not the case last night.

I got home drunk, posted the blog last night, and promptly passed out around four thirty, which is good for me considering I usually end up staying up straight through TNTs morning line up of back to back Angel and back to back Charmed.

The dream felt like I was asleep for hours, that's how much it consisted of. Of course I know dreaming changes every ninety minutes or so if your in a light sleep, and therefore cant last any longer than that, and hell it's even rare that they last over a half an hour. Or at least, that is what I've read in the past. I'm starting to actually think now that I had two different dreams, because I can't seem to remember the connection, though I was sure when I woke up that there was and it flowed into one another seamlessly.

The only thing I remember from the so called first dream would be this girl I used to work with, Cassie, was in it. Now, I had a huge crush on her when I first started working with her, back in say, April or so. I was never with her, because she was dating another woman, which I think she is still with right now. Anyway, to be honest I never figured out if I was drawn to her because of her sexual presence, or more for the fact that I wanted to be like her.

This woman was a lesbian goddess, and no, I don't use that title lightly. She was stunningly beautiful, the most amazing dancer you will ever see in your life, she was a great flirt even when she wasn't trying. She seemed to captivate or intimidate anyone around her just from her presence. Self professed straight women would gladly give up their lesbian virginities for her. She was just that fucking good. Women who never spoke to her in thier life wanted to get to know her more than anything.

I admire that, I want to be that... but I also want to tap that. It's confusing, honestly.

Damn, I'm gonna end up going into background here so the significance of her in my dream is understood. This damn entry is going to be much longer than previously anticipated, good thing I'm not intoxicated this time, it's much easier to write when sober. Surprise, surprise, I know. To be honest, I've always wanted to analyze my attraction to her, because it's something I've never expirenced before, and you'll find out why near the end. But I think that's another reason why I'm going to get very in depth with this.

Anyway, I swear the first time I ever spoke to her, I asked her out on a date. Laugh if you will, but hell I give myself huge props for having the balls to even ask. I had watched her on stage alot previously, since I find myself attracted to women that can dance well and have amazing stage presence, probably left over from when I was a hard core dancer. That dream has since faded with my will to pursue it.

Anyway, to get back on track, I asked a customer to buy me a lap dance from her. From my expirence, women that are great on stage suck at lap dances, and vise versa. She was not the case at all, and gave me the best lap dance anyone has ever given me, outside of the ones I'll get groped, made out with, or fucked during. She I guess gave me the best sensual dance, which to me deserves alot more props.

Afterwards I know I asked her out for something casual. I was intimidated by her, I'll admit that. But I knew if I didn't ask and get over it than nothing was ever gonna come out of anything. You can't start a car just by staring at it, after all.

"Whenever you have a day off, I'd like to take you out to lunch or something."

I said it, and she smiled, and said that would be nice. I breathed, and thanked all the alcohol in my system for allowing me to open my mouth instead of just gawking at her like some sort of idiot.

We never did go out, and for awhile I went back to the intimidated place where I couldn't talk to her. Then I remember one day I got shitty ass drunk, we had been talking off and on for a couple weeks, innocent flirting I guess, and I pinned her up against the wall by the DJ booth. I wish I could remember what I said, but I don't. All I remember is that my friend at the time, Crystal, later said in a sort of shocked awe that she looked intimidated, and that she's never seen her look intimidated by any woman in her life.

I didn't understand it, but it gave me an ego boost. But then again, what doesn't anymore? Point being, I intimidated her. Flirting went on for months, we started doing double dances together and I remember one day we had a customer in VIP give us both four hundred dollars each to just dance for each other. We did nothing explicitly sexual, no kissing, no touching outside the normal double dance ranges, but it was so fucking hot. We ended up having a stack of napkins on the table next to us, for clean up purposes.


I think that's why I liked her so much. She could make me so turned on that I could barely stand it, without even touching me sexually. But was even better, was that here was this lesbian goddess, and she was intimidated by ME. I remember asking her once why she was..

"I've just never had someone purse me like this before, it's usually the other way around."

"You don't like it?"

"I never said that." Smirk, of course.

Okay I'm going far too into this, anyway, I need to make my point, and quickly. Point is, she ended up getting a serious girlfriend and nothing happened. I moved on, started dating another woman there named Diana, though still obviously had an attraction to Cassie, and Diana knew it. No complications arose besides the occasional smart ass remark from Diana about me wanting her, and that was fine.

I got fired from that club, and didn't see Cassie for I guess about three or four months. I still thought about her on and off, and it weirded me out. Fuck, it still weirds me out, but we're not done with the story.

I come in to the club again with my friend Dani, we're just there as customers, getting drunk and getting rowdy. I got some dances from Diana, and we talked a little while, some of which included my newly acclaimed meth problem. Diana knew I did meth while I still worked at that club, but it had turned into doing it once every couple of weeks to two or three times a week, and therefor I started to refer to it as a problem rather than a recreational thing.

I went to go get a dance from Cassie before I left, but she refused to dance for me. I was drunk, high, and confused. She sat on my lap and refused to let me move, and slapped me in the face.

"What the fuck...?!"

"That's for being a fucking idiot, Mary."

I delivered a message to her earlier from a mutual friend we had, that she knew had a huge dope problem. I told her casually that's how we met. Hence why I got slapped. And not once mind you, it happened a lot during our conversation, aka her lecture.

She used my real name alot in the lecture, and it slightly weirded me out. I doubted she even remembered it, and I asked alot why the fuck she cared.. it was just... odd. The last thing I expected from her was to refuse to take my money and would rather sit there and tell me how much she's seen me decline since I left, and that I can do so much better in my life.

Diana slapped me later too, after I told her what happened in my confused state, and asked her why the fuck she didn't slap me, after all we used to be in a relationship and me and Cassie were barely scratching the friend line. She just slapped me and asked if that was better. No, of course not, but Diana was never really good at the emotional things, just physical.

Anyway the ENTIRE point of my long winded explination is that I still think about her. I still dream about her, rarely sexually though, she just seems to be there. Hell even earlier today I was talking to this hot ass dancer and when she spoke to me her voice sounded exactly like Cassie's. It's odd, and it makes me feel weird and slightly uncomfortable. I just don't understand how I woman I had no relationship nor sexual relations with, keeps popping up in my mind. It weirds me out because I feel like some kind of stalker... only like, mentally. I hate it, and don't know why it happens or how to fix it.

I seriously need a therapist.

Anyway, onto the dream, the first part consisted of Cassie being in it, and all I remember is that she was with a friend, whom I can't remember, and somehow paint dripped on my head, and she left her cell phone. Yes, pointless, but I still wanted to analyze the whole... thing, earlier.

My REAL point about the dream was this.

I was driving with a new friend I guess I met at a club, and we were going to work, but we got lost. I remember seeing a truck pull off to the side of the road, and then suddenly my friend did too. I asked why, but before she answered the passenger door was opened and two men started grabbing at me.

I screamed, I kicked one in the face as another groped me roughly, trying to tear off my clothes. I screamed for my friend to do something, but all she replied with was that she was sorry, and that she had to.

I got away, that I remember. I had grabbed my knife from my purse and ran as fast as I could. One caught up with me and I stabbed him in the gut. All I remember was thinking that I wasn't going to let anyone take me again like this. I stabbed him again, and again, and ran faster. Blood was all over my hands, but I didn't care. To me, these men were nothing more than animals, besides that, anyone that ever threatens my safety makes me have the automatic reaction to attack to make myself safe again.

The man stumbles, and I relize I have no where to go. I jump in the back of the car, and the other man was sitting in the drivers side. I put the knife to his throat.

"DRIVE MOTHER FUCKER OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! NOW!"

He didn't oblige. The other man was getting closer. Getting desperate, I slit the man in the drivers seat's throat. The other man was at the window now, and opening the door. I have blood all over me, but I feel savage, and I knew this other man had to die...

And then I woke up. Scared as all holy fuck, I woke up at 7:30am. I grabbed my knife in my purse and just kind of huddled on the couch. After getting my wits about me, I went to the computer and looked up dream interpertation. I had never had a dream like this, and I wanted to know why I had it.

"To dream that you have been raped, indicates vengeful feelings toward the opposite sex. You are feeling violated in some way. Something or someone is jeopardizing your self-esteem and emotional well-being. You feel that someone or something is being forced upon you.

To dream that you stab someone, indicates your fear of betrayal and your untrusting nature."

I guess the past couple days events effected me more than I thought, and I guess I wasn't over my paranoia of betrayal. It's funny, you think your past thing, and it turns out you're not.

I had more to write about work today, but I think this is long enough for now. It wasn't that interesting, unless you count the fact that both me and Dani left work tonight, on a Friday no less, with seven dollars each. That has never happened to me. Well, it has, but not for probably about six months. Yeah everyone has their bad days, but today was just horrible.

I'll leave it at that.

Labels: confusion, crushes, dream interpertaion, dreams, fear, haunting, lesbian, paranoia, past, rape, stabbing, strippers

I didn't write yesterday, I couldn't write yesterday, I was so mad... so fucking mad.

Me and my friend went to Jaguars in Ft. Worth. My first day back to work in over a week since my paranoia... attack, I suppose. Worked a night there, fucking loved it. I saw my old makeup artist, and we bonded over Lady Gaga, meth, and old times. The DJ loved me, the housemom was alright, the girls that I talked to were real nice... and fuck I loved working nude again. I left there with more money than most of the girls.

The manager walks up to me.

"Before you leave, I need to speak with you in my office."

Alright, that's fine. I figured it had to do with the scarred up, cut up disaster that my legs were. He saw me undress, and saw the war zone that was my legs. I cover them with boots, I'm not stupid. But to be honest, that's all I thought it was. I'm in his office.

"Have you considered working day shift?"

"I don't work day shift." I'm not a whore anymore, thank you.

"Well I don't mean to be rude or mean in anyway but... You need to lose weight before you come back here to work night shift."

I stare at him, he's kidding me, right? I know he's not but... seriously?

"I made twice as much money as my friend I came in here with, and she's half my size. I make my money."

"I'm sorry."

I'm sure you are mother fucker. It's managers like you that got me on my drug addiction in the first place. Just another Art... just another fucking Art. That hedgehog looking bastard.

I cried in the car. I did, like some pussy ass punk bitch, I cried.

"I'm so sick of being fat!"

"You're not fat," She tells me.

"BULLSHIT! This is the third club we went to work at that I got rejected because of my weight, how is that I can work at all the nice clubs in Dallas, but I can't in Ft Worth, yet Dallas has bitches twenty times hotter than this shit hole?"

Back to work tonight at Ft Worth Gentleman's club. The only nice club in Ft. Worth that will hire me. Thirty girls... not enough customers to satisfy all of us. Me and her would walk up to tables together, and yet the man would chose me.

ME. An overweight freaky ass looking chick that looks like if you fuck me I might kill you in the process, over my friend who's a little skinny pretty blonde girl. What is going on in the world?

I don't understand it. She does, but I don't.

"It's because you look seductive, you look like the opposite of the wives they're going home to, and I look too innocent."

Deja vu. I said this to a customer yesterday at Jaguars. Why older men like me. I was talking out of my ass, I guess it might be true though.

"I cant do this anymore."

"Yes you can, it always fucking blows over the holiday season."

She doesn't understand how shitty it is. Even last year when times weren't this bad it still sucked. She wanted to resort to prostitution. I try like hell to talk her out of it.

"You won't be able to look at yourself in the mirror every morning, trust me."

"I don't care."

You might not now, but you will. Oh my god, you will. You think you can handle it, you think it won't matter because of how much money your making, but after a couple of months it eats your alive. I only do it if it's an issue of survival, no other time. It's disgusting, and beneath girls like us.

She still doesn't care.

"I can't do this anymore, Mary!"

I sigh. "Fine, I'll fix this, but you best know I don't want to fix it this way."

After this week, it's day shift for us. It's whoring ourselves to those rich buisnessmen stopping in on their lunch break. God knows this is the last thing I wanna do, but she needs the money, and she won't be able to learn how to do it without a teacher.

I hate this, god I fucking hate this.

I don't want to do this again. I grew out of this a year and a half ago.

I'm not a whore anymore.

Labels: crying, drugs, fat, money, prostitution, strip clubs, strippers, whores

My name is Mary. I'm a 24 year old creative mess. I like to tell stories in anyway that I can, though mostly through visual artwork. I enjoy film editing, writing, modeling, photography, dancing, and website design. I'm a lesbian. I'm bipolar. I'm stronger than I usually give myself credit for. I'm a recovering drug addict. I'm passionate as all hell. I'm a beautiful disaster. I want to be free. I want to fly.

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