So I’m giving this lapdance last (Monday) night.

I had my almost unbearably long class with the beautiful professor right before[1], ending just in time to get to work before they hit me with the late fee. I’m incredibly tired; I already tried leaving early but the when presented with the total: leave-early fee on top of the cut of my dances—paying 70$ to do so— and 10% to the dj, nevermind the bouncers, & thus to leave with under 200 is unbearable. So I grit my teeth together and decided to get another five dances and then leave, unless it took me until 2am to do so in which case what’s the point. (It didn’t actually take that long.)

I’m giving what will be my final set of lapdances of the night, enabling me to leave with well over my original goal. It’s a cute short guy, sweet and harmless and during the fourth dance somehow the subject of cat calling comes up. I’m too tired to be smart and anyhow this happens to be a subject on which I cannot be discreet. It fills me with rage. I’m a diehard driver because of street harassment.

“What do you mean you don’t like it?” he’s honestly bewildered. “I would love it if women catcalled me!”

I feel like Inigo Montoya. People are always telling me they would love the shit that happens to me, and I do not think it means what they think it means.

“Yeah, but it’s like this: The women yelling at you? They aren’t going to be pretty young girls. The vast majority of them are going to be old, some will be fat or ugly, 90% of them you don’t find attractive, and they are all bigger and stronger than you, yelling at you, not always telling you you’re pretty and then moving on, following you, sometimes threatening to rape or assault you, and you have no idea if they are serious or not but the fact is, they could do it. Whenever you walk down the street.”

“Might rape you? What a weird thing to say.”

I close my eyes. Some guys get it; most are heavily invested in Not. For my sanity I smile at him and say, “But this is a really great song, huh?”

After it ends he goes out for a smoke and I duck into the dressing room, pay my fees, and get the hell out.


1- I want to update more but keeping my incredibly short, frayed attention span on getting an A in this class is sucking up all my time. Not to mention the black mold in my apartment got to me again and I finally gave up and found a cuter, more well-kept, more expensive, apartment across town, closer to work, school, my nail salon, the library, and the bookstore. Also on the third floor so I’ll be able to keep my windows open all summer! And no one will be able to break in, A) because there will be no mold to have rotted the wood to the point where the lock isn’t attached to the spongy remnants of the window frame (this happened) and B) because it’s the third floor!


I did manage to work brothels into my term paper so it’s not a dead loss.


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