Preparations

            After talking about what this would mean, how it could effect our relationship, and setting any and all boundaries, Boyfriend and I get in the car and head to the "dancer" store to get an outfit and some shoes.

            The rules were that there would be absolutely no "extras", I wouldn't talk about the details of my nights until Boyfriend was ready to listen, and that if for any reason, at any time, Boyfriend asked me to quit dancing, I would.

            Pretty damn fair if you ask me. If it were the other way around, I'd hunt down every woman who even looked at my man. Don't deny it ladies, you would do the same.

            Blue bikini top and thong in hand and taller shoes than I'd ever seen in my purse, I nervously head home. Boyfriend paces across our room silently as I do my hair and makeup. He's starting to not like this more and more as it becomes real. Butterflies are holding a Fight Club in my stomach as I try not to think about being naked in front of strangers. I'd never been to a strip club before, even as a customer. I was 18 after all, I wasn't even allowed in as a patron yet.

            I call the club closest to my house.

            "Hello?"

            "Uh, yeah, hi. Is the manager in?"

            "Yup."

            "Okay.. Great. Thanks. I'll be in for work soon. Thanks."

            Yeah. Probably the worst phone call in the history of the world. Especially for someone who is supposed to charm men with her words and stun with her grace. Plus I was supposed to ask if they were hiring. Good start.

            The vision of being surrounded by drug-addicted, pimped out yet gorgeous women scared the crap out of me. I thought I was about to be in the presence of girls like that, and I am just an innocent looking 18 year old. Blonde hair, blue eyes and dimples. Yeah, frightening. I was going to make no money, and embarrass myself.

            Gulp.

            All ready to go, Boyfriend bails at the last minute. He doesn't want to see the club. He can't drive me there, it's too much for him. I understand though so his friend offers to take me, and pick me up at the end of the night.

            I climb into the car counting to 10 over and over trying to calm my nerves. On the way over, he gives me a "pep talk" and although I never said it, it really helped. He said words to me that I still think of to this day, to keep myself motivated.

            He told me not to be nervous. If I didn't make money, it was because the men were cheap. He said that I was a pretty girl and if he didn't think I could do this, he wouldn't have gotten involved. He would have told Boyfriend it was a bad idea and I was going to get hurt. He told me the rules of the clubs: what's allowed and what's not, and when to tell a pushy customer that enough is enough. He said very sternly that I am not to talk to any of the girls either, unless they talk to me first. Be polite, but don't get involved. He told me that I am not there as a service to the men, I am there to use them. They are nothing but money to me. That I am the shit. These men are there, paying perfectly good money, just to look at me. They are my customers, not the other way around. I call the shots. Then he told me to relax and have fun. It is a club after all.

            How he knew all this, I didn't ask. I still pump myself up with those words and loud music when I'm on the way to work.

            We pull up to the front door. It's around 8 o'clock. He gives a few more words of encouragement and then good luck.

            Now, I'm alone.