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Contents:
  1. Personal Data Collected
  2. Search This Blog
  3. 12 Strippers Share Incredibly Honest Confessions About Their Job
  4. It's a Book Thing: Confessions of a Book Whore: For The Love of My Job

One of my babysitters when I was little was a retired San Francisco stripper who had danced on Broadway in the early s. She told me stories of Champagne bubble-baths and dancing the night away. It certainly sounded like much more fun than my current position. I decided to audition. I didn't think they'd hire me; I was chubbier than your average stripper and had always thought that my body would hold me back from doing any kind of sex work. But it didn't. They hired me immediately, and before I knew it I was spinning on a pole in 6-inch heels.

Personal Data Collected

As it turns out, I loved dancing naked. For a while, I was still working my retail job. When I got off work at 5 p. I felt like I had a delicious secret, and it made the hours at my straight job a little less excruciating. At the end of the shift I'd be tired, and my feet and knees would throb, but I'd also be exhilarated. My dad had always been supportive of my endeavors in arts and music, but I wasn't sure how he'd react to my recent pivot to the sex industry. He was also in a union.

I grew up going to protests and hearing lectures on the power of the people. Blue-collar values and union pride were an important part of our household. That's partially why I ended up at the Lusty. We talked baseball instead of feelings, even though baseball makes my dad cry more than any emotional conversation.

Then Edgar Renteria hit the three-run homer in the seventh inning and everything shifted.

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The Giants pulled ahead and it looked like they might actually take the Series for the first time in a half century. It was a night for miracles, so I just went for it.


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Made bold by the sake and the magic of baseball, I came out to my father about being a sex worker. I didn't expect him to be proud, but he was. Without having to explain, my dad understood that sex workers needed labor rights just like any other worker. Brian Wilson took the mound as the closing pitcher. It was the bottom of the ninth. We watched the final batters crumble under Wilson's prowess. When Wilson raised his eyes to the heavens in the wake of the historic win, my dad and I stood up and started high-fiving the sushi chefs.

My career change had come just in the nick of time. My mother's brain surgery left her unable to work and had given my father the new role of full-time caregiver. Sex work brought along the luxuries of a high hourly wage and a flexible schedule that allowed me to visit regularly, take her to doctor's appointments, and help out financially on occasion. I have a suspicion that I would have become a sex worker even without the circumstances of my mother's illness, though. I grew up idolizing historical figures like Mae West and Gypsy Rose Lee — outspoken women who used sexuality to leverage their careers.

I saw that female sexuality was used to sell clothes, food, cars, and liquor, yet in the United States it is illegal to sell sex itself. That just didn't make sense to me. I was also fascinated by human intimacy and desire. I went on a lot of OkCupid dates and had a lot of one-night stands in my exploration of my own sexual identity. When I moved to San Francisco, I discovered that I enjoyed and excelled at kinks and fetishes beyond my wildest dreams, and I was ravenous for more.

By the time I began my career at the Lusty, I knew more about sexuality than your average year-old.

Eventually, being promiscuous no longer thrilled me. If I was going to have a just-for-fun one-time encounter with someone who was only mediocre at sex, I wanted to be compensated with more than just pizza and beer. Despite my logical understanding that sex work could be an empowered choice, I was still afraid to make the jump from stripper to hooker. The first time I took an appointment, I was terrified that I wouldn't know what to do or that the client would be rough or mean.

Instead, I intuitively knew exactly what to do, the client was attractive and kind, and I made more money in an hour than I ever had. I lived in the inner Richmond, but to take appointments with clients I would commute across the bridge to a small apartment in the East Bay. The building was modern and secure, but the walk to and from the BART station always made me feel vulnerable.

It only took about 10 minutes, some of which I often ran.

12 Strippers Share Incredibly Honest Confessions About Their Job

I don't usually get scared when I walk around in the Bay Area; it's my home. But I was not used to carrying large sums of money around and it made me nervous. The idea of going to the police had also shifted for me. Being a sex worker could put me at risk for incarceration even if I was the victim of a crime.

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I tucked the money I had made for the day under the arches of my feet in my canvas tennis shoes. It made the shoes too tight and the walk to the train painful. I must have looked ridiculous: a freckle-faced girl with an overstuffed bag full of dildoes and cheap lingerie limping down the street at full speed. Riding back to the city on BART, I tried not to make eye contact with anyone for fear that my secret identity would be revealed.

In hindsight, I'm sure I wasn't fooling anyone, since the riding crop I used for sessions was a bit too big for my bag and poked the people I stood next to when the train was crowded. My paranoia was perhaps a bit overblown at first, but not unwarranted. Though I sometimes feared arrest or robbery, I rarely feared my clients. I've been fortunate enough to have largely positive experiences at work. The Bay Area is home to a diverse group of eccentric people with disposable incomes.

My clients were often nerdy, and always interesting. From Google-busers to sensitive New Age guys from Marin, they were often surprisingly endearing. San Francisco offers a buffet of sexual explorations, from festive polyamorous play parties to elaborate professional dungeons.

I've had the opportunity to explore those things, but many of my clients have not. Some of my clients are in relationships that do not allow them to explore their kinks, some have professional identities that make public exploration impossible, and some are simply curious and want to explore their desires with a professional before embarking on a journey on their own.


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  4. My clients and I have a great deal in common. If my life had gone a different way and I had ended up in a more traditional lifestyle, I might be paying someone to tie me up and tickle me as well. Not everyone I see is kinky, though. Some are looking for something as vanilla as a glass of wine and a heated conversation about the merits of Star Trek vs. I laid the second and third row down and put a blanket and pillows back there. I put on lingerie, stockings and heels and drove to his work. I parked closest to the fence so he would have to come out and walk around to the driver side to see me since I didn't want anyone else to.

    It's a Book Thing: Confessions of a Book Whore: For The Love of My Job

    When he came out, I was standing outside the vehicle. That was a great hour of fun. Thank goodness it was chilly outside or it would have been hot as hell in that car. We and our trusted partners use cookies and tracking technologies to create custom content for your enjoyment and to provide advertising in line with your interests.

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