When we last left the little redheaded girl, she had just become a Jesus Freak, moved in with a total stranger 3000 miles away from home, quit her job and joined a church that became nationally, notoriously anti-gay. I’ll let that sink in a minute. I honestly don’t remember many actual conversations about the actual morality of being gay.
Tag Archives: exotic dancer memoir
When we last left the little redheaded girl, she had just purchased a plane ticket to British Columbia to be with Liam – a man she had met and fucked for one night -sans orgasm on either side- and spent many hours talking on the phone with. One conversation over the Christmas holidays was particularly
Srinivas Rao sent me an advanced copy of his upcoming book, “Unmistakable”. I’m sure he sent out dozens of unproofed copies but still, to be on his radar is pretty cool. I’m reading it now, slowly. One section at a time and yes, it resonates. I’ve had 3 epiphanies just in the past hour. Ephinany
I know with my whole heart that if people are not honest about who they are, they will suffer – even if revealing who they are is distasteful or offensive or ugly or scary to others. You must do it or you will lose yourself.
I know this because I have been hiding myself all my life.
People sometimes tell me how brave they think I am and I laugh inside my head because I know that fear is a long time dance partner of mine. The only reason I do ‘brave’ things is because I can’t live with the alternative. I don’t think there’s anything brave about that, it’s just practical.
When I got my first Featuring gig (which was out here in British Columbia at the Blue Boy Motor Hotel in Vancouver), I had to put together a bunch of shows that said “I get more money than regular strippers”. Some of the ways of distinguishing yourself as a Feature were gymnastics tricks, props like
It’s strange how one day you can be living in the absolute bottomless mosh pit of despair but with one decision you’re suddenly a bird singing on a rainbow cloud made of cotton candy. I visited Amy, an older friend last week. She is 77 and one of the best people I know. Artistic,
They tell me I’ve been writing this stripper memoir for 50 days straight now. And that is why my mind feels like a massive plate of spaghetti- a mountain of random thoughts askew, piled up on top of each other, some even stuck together- the occasional meatball to chew on for a while and feel
I’ve been writing every day for the past 2 weeks- a minimum of 888 words a day so I’ve got a chunk of something under my belt now. The bad news is 98.5% of it is absolute crap that I’d be embarrassed to show my 11th grade English teacher. The good news is 1.5% of