New Beginnings.

Chapter Two

I'm standing on the sidewalk in front of Bill's motorcycle shop holding the slip of paper that has his address scrawled on it. Courtney had called me early this afternoon to tell me that she talked to Bill about me working in his shop a few times a week.

I have seen Bill a few times but I have never met him. Our introductions have been a hasty wave out of the cab of a lifted truck as he picks up Courtney from the club. But I trust Court, and I know they have been together for the past three years.

Stripping teaches you not to trust men. To be wary of their seemingly kind gestures. What starts off as friendly, or kind, leads to a manipulation tactic to get you to let your guard down. I don't trust things that seem too good to be true. They always are.

Bill's motorcycle shop is in a small industrial building. It has a showroom with new motorcycles, motorcycle equipment, and riding gear; then the back of the building has a mechanic garage.

The showroom smells like new rubber and fresh paint. Bill clearly takes pride in his shop--it is clean and well organized.

"Jen?" Bill says my name as he meets me in the show room. He extends his hand to me in greeting and his large, rough hand softly enfolds mine. I smile at him, immediately feeling at ease with him. A man who kindly shakes a woman's hand without crushing her bones is a check towards him being a good guy.

"Hi Bill, thank you for meeting me today," I respond.

Bill is at least 6'4 and weighs over 200 pounds. He has a shaved head, and his arms are larger than the trunk of my waist. He is wearing a black hooded sweatshirt with the logo of his motorcycle shop on the breast.

He smiles at me kindly and says, "Anything for Courtney, she always speaks highly of you and said you need some time away from the club."

"I do," I respond.

He nods in understanding and gestures for me to follow him towards the back of the shop.

He shows me the cash register and the phone line and tells me that he needs someone to watch over the front of the shop, take motorcycle parts orders over the phone, and help guests with store room purchases. I tell him that I don't know anything about motorcycles and he says to just come get him in the garage if I have any questions.

Bill and I agree that I will work three days a week and he trains me on the cash register. He gives me a set of keys to the front door and tells me to come back tomorrow at 10am for my first shift.

I can't give up stripping though. I started working at the club last year because I could no longer make ends meet based off the minimum wage jobs I was keeping, and the pay at Bill's shop is meager at best. Stripping pays more in one shift than I will make at Bill's for a week. But the work is exhausting and I don't have to avert my eyes from my reflection at Bill's the way I do at the club.

And now, it's even harder to leave the club. Phil has finally graduated me up to the big pay nights: Thursday through Saturday. When you first start stripping, unless you're a total babe and a killer dancer, you get Mondays and Tuesdays. These are the worst paying days. The club is slow and the only good pay comes from one or two regulars.

Tonight is a Saturday night which means I will make the most tonight. I am on the floor from 9 until 11 then I hit the stage from 12am-1am and back to the floor from 2-3. This is a typical schedule for me at night. I will make the most money on the floor after my pole routine. I'm not a good dancer; the pole is simply a marketing ploy. An opportunity for the men to see the club's merchandise. 

Working the floor means I give lap dances and help with drink orders. It is the most degrading part of the job and the most unsafe. I try to keep my lap dances near Randy or near the bar where the lighting is the brightest. Seattle has a "touch and go" rule in strip clubs. Meaning, if they touch you, they gotta go. But the men always seem to find a way to sneak a dirty hand onto you, or into you.