In the club it’s the flinch of the entitled man when the person-(usually woman)-whose-boundaries-he’s-been-violating-for-who-knows-how-long unexpectedly breaks the rules by reaching back; it articulates the understanding so many customers are working from: it’s not that they’re in our place of employment, paying us for our time, energy, patience, and attention, it’s that we are the toys—more or less accommadating—that they get to play with; toys are for fun, they’re to be pleasing, and toys are played with (to get all obnoxious, acted upon. Toys don’t act). Strippers do not take initiative and touch back unless invited to perform some kind of service.
Most guys aren’t this awful and are happy to accept contact, a back rub and shoulder squeeze, let these actions ease the way into a dance, so we can still work under the illusion that we’re on the same page, my energy for his money. But the guys who are make it impossible to miss the gap: we aren’t all on the same page. They highlight our status as object and call everything else into question. Because once I noticed that this was how certain guys were operating, I couldn’t stop myself from interrogating even nice customers. And to a man they didn’t get it. “I don’t know why some guys can’t just be chill,” they say.
And if no one gets it, what then? Like if they don’t understand that it’s a transaction of money for service—whatever the service is, for me it’s my attention and proximity, for other girls it’s other things, like whatever they are offering—but if they think that we owe them the service and the money is just to keep us quiet and pliant, like what then?
I charge when people violate my boundaries—not because that makes it in any way less of a violation, but because I deserve some kind of compensation and the only compensation they can offer me is financial. But this runs the risk of like… creating this perception that even things I say are off can be on the table, for the right price. Sometimes this is true. You can touch my boobs for 800-1600 dollars depending on how much I like you. Sometimes it’s not true. Some people do not even get to touch my boobs for 1600. No one gets to spank me. Ideally no one would give me those awful wet shoulder kisses when my back is turned, but they always do. I don’t want to make it seem like shoulder kisses are ok for $20. Money doesn’t unviolate my boundaries.
What I would love is to find a way to violate them, to make them feel it and regret it.
So when I see a guy flinch, beyond the burning rage—that they think they get to reach out and do whatever and are immune from the same, that I have no right to reach back—it’s also a signal that they’re violate-able. I get a vicious thrill from it.
it’s the flinch that leads me to actual physical violence, that I’m trying to redirect into gross-out tactics that are more violating and more lasting than just a punch in the stomach, so like when I licked my hand and wiped it on that guy’s face. Things they’ll think about hours later washing, like i do loofah-ing my shoulder. Things that lead them to leave the club, which is good, because they’re not good customers.