To begin with, my wife and I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day in a traditional (commercial) way. For the most part is it just another day on the calendar that comes and goes with little to no notice. We tend to avoid all the typical things like flowers, candy, and fighting crowds to go out to eat. We both see it as a waste. We will exchange a card (sometimes) but if nothing is said, done, or acknowledged it isn’t dwelled upon by either of us. To be honest, we don’t need a “holiday” for us to get together in any regard. I had plans of making my special version of chicken cordon bleu and I was looking forward to our dinner plans since it was supposed to be just my wife and me. When I got home I was getting prepared to assemble the chicken, the wine was being chilled, and the oven was warming up. Soon after, my wife strolls through the door and tells me we have plans, so stop what I’m doing so we can get dressed. Plans? We don’t do “plans” on Valentine’s day, ever, not even when we were just dating. It’s hard to wear my pissy face when my wife is all excited. Well, let me put everything up so it doesn’t go to waste and turn off the oven for sure.
I follow her to the bedroom which was a pleasant trip because all the way to the bedroom she was shedding clothes. It was like a mobile strip tease. She puts on her robe, if you can call it a robe, sits down to redo her hair and make-up. I decided to jump in the shower to knock the day off and freshen up a bit. My wife isn’t worried because she knows I’m an in and out of the shower kind of guy so she knows I wont take long. Unless, she was to join me, the I’m still the in and out guy but the shower takes a little longer. But, not this time, this was a solo sudsing to say the very least. Five minutes later I emerged, squeaky clean and ready to rock & roll. She took the opportunity to lay my clothes out for me. When I saw what it was I was struck with a little disappointment because I knew what it meant. Laid out on the bed were my black Wrangler jeans, which I hate because they are too tight in the ass and crotch, leaving very little room to breathe normally. Next to the jeans was my red long-sleeved “western” shirt, a very nice shirt which I only wear when we are going out dancing at the redneck clubs. This night is taking a bad turn, I think I might be feeling ill. On the floor were my nice western boots, which I hadn’t worn since my foot surgery a few months ago. I really like these boots, I have had them for 20 plus years and cannot wear them out for nothing, but then it is hard to wear out alligator skin, these are black too, of course. She was wanting me to go all out I see as my black Stetson and nice black leather belt with the headstone belt buckle were also laying on the bed next to everything.
She goes into the closet and emerges with a handful of clothes which I didn’t get to see and she heads off to the bathroom. I proceeded to get dressed, getting all redneck pimped out for who knows what reason. It will be good though, we don’t go out, just her and I, much any more. Fifteen minutes later she slinks out of the bathroom looking like a stunning redneck angel, looking allot like the day we met so many years ago. Then she asked for my help, she needed me to lace up her leather corset for her and well as pull up the zipper on her pants. Strange, I like it the other way, unlacing and unzipping, but not tonight, she is on a mission I can tell. I’m surprised she is wearing these jeans, they are so tight that is she wasn’t shaven then we could count the short and curlys. Lucky for us she took care of business. These are my favorite jeans, they fit her like a latex glove that is 3 sizes too small. I remember buying these jeans a few years ago, she is a tricky one to buy jeans for as not all jeans conform to a woman’s body the same way for each woman. I never mind going jeans shopping because it is always a show that I don’t want to miss. For those of you new here, my wife is 5’1″, 108 lbs, natural blonde, and she is still very proud of her boobs because after 2 children and being forty years old now, she still has yet to start “drooping”. She told me once I will never have to be one of those husbands who spends tens of thousands of dollars on boob jobs for his wife.
So, due to the nature of her clothing she will be going commando all the way around, as the leather corset does not leave room for a bra. So, now the hard part, I get to put on her socks and her boots for her. I tried to teach her years ago to put the pants on half on way and then put her boots on before she pulls them all the way up. But, she likes it this way it would seem. Now that she is all buttoned, laced, and zipped, she moves back to the mirror to finish up with her hair. I’m a lucky man in many senses of the word, but I feel lucky personally because my wife wears very little make up, mostly eye make up and a little something to throw off the blend of color in her face. She decided to wear her hair down with is nice for me because I always see it up in a ponytail or up in some fashion. I tend to forget her hair is almost down to her ass because I rarely see it down. She’s up to something, she is trying to distract me from something, so I better watch closely so I don’t miss what it is. After a little bit more primping I brushed my teeth and wetted my hair down to stand it back up, a high and tight flat top is such a hard hair style to maintain said no man ever. Final look at both of us, grab my Stetson, and away we go. There she goes down the hall, what a sway she has after all these years, she has never lost it, I do enjoy watching her walk away from me.
As we are walking out the door she mentions she wants to go big and asks if we can take the H1. Sure why not, nothing like trying to squeeze this bitch into a compact car parking spot. I joked with her and told her to grab the butter because it might be a tight fit here in a bit. As we are leaving the neighborhood she is quiet about where we are headed which I hate when I’m driving because I like to know in advance where we are going. We head into town, she tells me where to turn and where to go and soon enough I knew what she was up to. We were fixing to head into a place I know real well as I used to bartend here many years ago, many years ago. Lucky for me they were providing valet parking so I wasn’t going to drive around the giant lot looking for a spot. I got out, went around to the passenger side to help my wife out, and turned to give my keys to this 12 y/o kid, well, he looked 12 at least. I’m thinking that I hope he is tall enough to reach the pedals as I chuckled out loud as we walked. We were greeted at the door by friends my wife works with, I knew this was a damn trap, and we all went in together. Bonus, ladies have no cover charge, bummer, men have a $25.00 cover, ouch. Bonus again, the attendant remembers me and she gives me a break for the promise that my wife will let me give her a dance later. My wife actually agrees to it. What she doesn’t know is she don’t want to dance with me, she wants to grind up and down my leg and if she hasn’t changed she wont be wearing a stitch under that super short mini skirt.
We get in and the freaking place is packed, like 1,000 people over the building capacity packed. I decided to go to the bar and see what I could scare up, we order our drinks and the bartender asks my wife for her I.D., so I had it in my shirt pocket show she showed it and put it back. The group of us made our way to the outside edge of the club and actually found a booth which held the six of us. It’s the perfect place to sit, close to the bar, close to the restroom, and close to the mechanical bull bar. I told my wife already that I would support her if she wanted to give it a spin but I refuse, those days are over for me, way over, years ago, way over. She gave me the “uh huh wink” so I knew we would be arguing later. The ladies all left to go take a powder or whatever the fuck they all do as a gang going to the restroom. Still, to this day, at 45, I don’t understand why it takes one woman at least two other women to pee. Maybe I’m missing something, maybe I need to start spying. Will I ever know the answer? Nope. I decided to go get in line to throw some darts, nothing mixes well better than alcohol and pointy object you get to throw. Man, don’t people move on with their lives, it was like seeing the same people from years ago, except they got a little fatter and gained a few more wrinkles. I lit a cigarette and laid my money on the table. How boring, playing 501 in and out. My wife located me and said she will be out dancing when I’m done, and don’t make her wait or she will grab some young buck and make him wet himself. Awww, she’s such a damn tease.
My turn at the dart board, luckily I went to the H1 and grabbed my darts. Time flies when you can’t lose. It wasn’t because I’m that good, it is because they sucked that much ass. Made me look good and put a little money in my pocket. The last game a cocky sucker wanted a rematch because he felt he had been cheated because he “runs” these dart boards and he “owns” every bitch who steps up. Well, shit, nobody told me I had to ask permission to beat someone’s ass here. Fine, it’s my last match because I had a wanting women giving me the evil eye every dart I threw. Step up, put down some money. After some really big talk, by both of us, the bet was settled, $1000.00 winner takes all, best of three games. I showed my wad, coincidently that wad belonged to the others I beat here since I walked in with only a hundred to throw down for darts. Bam, Bam, I owned and dominated the first two games, no questions and no problems. I picked up my money and walked off to get another shot of tequila on my way to the dance floor. Lets hope I can remember how to dance now, maybe another shot of liquid courage, or three, yeah, four was the magic number. Dance we will, look out ladies, fresh meat coming through. A crowded dance floor full of horny drunk women is a place I would rarely walk alone, but I had to muster though the groping, grinding, and package checks to get to my wife, who always likes the center of the dance floor.
By the time I got to her I was already sweating, what is it in her 666 degrees! Then the world went into slow motion the moment I was in front of my wife, she had sweat rolling down the sides of her face, she was glistening, he hair was all tossed about, and she was just going to town, she had that just fucked put away wet look, this is going to be a good night to be me I can feel it already. We danced, we danced allot, finally after an hour or so, all those shots were talking to my bladder, it was time to make a break for the head before they had to clean a mess up on the dance floor and wet saw dust is so hard to sweep. I seemed like an hour to get off the dance floor, I could see the giant sign that said “<—- Cowboys Cowgirls —>” in bright neon lights, I was really close. Finally, I made it in just enough time to stand in line. The line moved fast enough, if molasses in the winter in North Dakota is fast, and finally I get in to go. Saying what a relief it actually was would be the understatement of the century, I haven’t had to hold it in like that since I was about 6 and never what to have to do it again. Okay, let me the hell out of this zoo before I get anymore wayward drunk piss on my boots, I hate it when a man can’t even have the common courtesy to piss on his own boots, he has to piss on mine. Now that I’m out I am trying to see which direction I need to head, got it, time to start pushing through. About 15 feet from the rest room I feel a hellacious crash to the back of my head, I fall forward to catch myself, turn around, and see the jackass that lost all of his money because he sucked playing darts.
I was told it was one great fight. I was told I held my own quite well against this 20 something punk. Luckily for me, as I was told, I won’t need any medical attention, and I won’t be going to jail if the police can locate my wife in the club. The dumbass, however, gets a trip in the ambulance and then will be headed to jail. Apparently, all of his boys ratted him out when they were talking to witnesses where he had said he was going to kill me if I didn’t give his money back. I love redneck clubs! Within 30 minutes my wife was walking up to the police cruiser where I was sitting. How nice, she has my Stetson. No words were spoken. No looks were given. Just a soft hand held out to help me out of the back seat of the car. The valet asked if we were ready to go and I said of course. He returned with my H1 and I put my wife in and I got in. Hungry, we went across the street to IHOP to get a snack or something. We sat there, staring at each other for a few minutes when she finally asked if it was worth it. Worth it? Was what worth it? I dug the two grand out of my pocket and put it in her hand and told her the guy was a sore loser and wanted his wad back. Her head sunk for a moment and when she looked back up she told me that this would have been a piss poor reason to get killed in the redneck club, she said this with a slick little smirk on her face because she thought the little fight was over something else stupid, like me running my mouth. Me, never.
We wrapped it up, paid the tab, and headed home. It was about 3 in the morning, I was tired, really sore, and I just wanted to be free of the meat locker jeans. After undressing, I jumped in the shower to soak a bit. A little while passed and I open my eyes to my wife standing in front of me as the shower rained down. She reached out, put her arms around me, pulled me tight, told me she is glad I’m not dead, and we stood there and soaked for a good while. Afterwords we both toweled off and headed for the bedroom. I told her I would be back in a few minutes since I was headed outside to smoke. She agreed, declined my invitation to join me, and off I went. I smoked two, locked up, got a drink of water, killed the lights, and ended up in front of our bed. It was a vision of an angel, the lights were on, the television was on, and my naked wife was sprawled out across the bed sideways. As tempting as this might all look, it was probably best, she looked tired, amazing, but tired, I was sore from my ass whoopin’, so I just fixed her in the bed and was out within a matter of minutes. When I woke up the next morning I realized I just had my very own Magic Weekend and figured I would have a go at telling my story. I remember now, that moments like these don’t happen on purpose, nor does everyone get to be as lucky as I am having the wife I have. She might not always agree with me but she will always be at my side, even if she is passed out cold bare assed naked.
When we gather at the dining room table it always amazes me what seems to creep into the conversations while we eat. Last night we talked about “race”, “racism”, and “the human race”. The conversation got me to thinking afterwords because we raise our children that there is one race on planet Earth and that is the Human Race. Why do we raise our children not to look too closely at race? Because a person’s race should have nothing to do with what kind of person he/she actually is. I like to call it breaking the race stereotypes.
The history of my beliefs is based on my own life experiences. Yes, of course, I understand that what works for me doesn’t work for others in every situation, but they are my developed personal beliefs that I try to live with. Meaning? When I was younger, 7 to be exact, my parents decided not to be married any longer for reasons I would not learn until after the death of my father when I was a teenager. When my mom got re-married we moved from the Black Hills of Rapid City South Dakota to the southwestern side of Houston Texas out in the suburbs. Up until that point in my life my interaction with other races was limited to white people and Native Americans (Cheyenne & Lakota Sioux). I had never met anyone of any other race until we moved to Texas.
My step father was, by definition, an open racist and homosexual hater. Growing up we would hear anything and everything negative about what he doesn’t like. Over time one gets brainwashed into believing the way he believes. However, in my defense, growing up a redneck helped me learn that people are people and their race or sexual orientation was not a precursor to certain behaviors. Although, if one watched the news too much one would here that the blacks, Mexicans, Asians, and homosexuals were destroying Houston bit by bit with their crime and cultural influences. I would regularly be in trouble with my father because we disagreed about his racist and homophobic views. I didn’t want to be any part of it so when I could I always made sure I would distance myself from it, people are people, we all belong to one race in my opinion, the human race. Sometimes it made life at home interesting and somewhat difficult, especially after my dad died, he was still stuck in the hippie mentality of love, peace, and rock & roll.
Soon enough after high school I was married to my high school sweetheart and going into the United States Air Force. The first lesson every single person learned when we got off the bus for AFBMT (Air Force Basic Military Training) at Lackland AFB in San Antonio Texas was that we were in the military now. There were no races, no sexes, and the only thing we were to see from each individual from this point forward was that this person was camouflage and an Airman in the United States Air Force. I appreciated this new way of thinking a great deal, it really made sense. While in AFBMT we were all equally worthless maggots. After AFBMT people tend to go back to their old ways, the ways that they were raised, they would group themselves together based on race it seemed more often than not. In the careerfield I chose it was taken many steps further, we were AMMO up and above everything else. AMMO was a brotherhood that I am still finding out this very day is built on the platform that we are who we are but we are always part of the AMMO brotherhood. my first daughter was born while I was in the Air Force so she wasn’t bombarded with all the race bullshit that civilian born children would be bombarded with. She was now an Air Force Brat.
After the Air Force I found myself back in Texas. I was lured into great riches from my father who was a concrete contractor at the time. He was busy and needed help in the “family business” and I was unemployed so the job sounded good. Due to where we live, most of the skilled labor in the construction arena were of Mexican decent. My father treated them like shit, treated them like dogs, treated them like they were less than humans. I couldn’t stand it in the past and I couldn’t stand now. I hoped as he got older he would mature and mellow out a bit, but I was wrong, he was still a bitter old white man who believes that if you aren’t white you aren’t worth a shit. I didn’t last long, not for obvious reasons, but because he decided to retire and close the doors of his business he had been doing since the mid 70s. He had a good run, made some decent money, and wanted to retire. So be it.
Life continues, right? It did. I also re-married after getting a divorce. My new wife came with a little girl, barely 1 1/2 years old at the time we met. I would find out over time that her ex is quite a racist as well, reminds me of my father in many ways. Now, over time he has tried to rub off on my daughter, yes, my daughter, I am her dad, he was but a sperm donor. But, she wasn’t raised that way, she wasn’t raised to hate a person based on their color. My son, he as well, has not been raised in that fashion. All of my kids see it daily at school, work, and with other families of their friends. But they know that treating people like shit based on color is a choice and they choose not to be that way.
I want my children to see that we are all humans, we belong to the human race, there isn’t anything else that matters, period. Of course, as they get older their influences will change and all we can do is hope we raised them right and in a manner which is comfortable for them to accept. It is sad to see but racism is still strong here in the United States. But nowadays I need to sit back a bit and look at who is being the racist. Just because a person is white doesn’t automatically make them a racist. I know, what a concept. Listen to the music today, listen to the news, listen to the politicians, and listen to your neighbor, racism is alive and well. I fear it may never go away because too damn many people are getting famous and getting rich because of racism. Racism isn’t the answer, being a human being and being part of the human race is what is important.
Recently I received an e-mail which asked “How can you continuously besmirch our Lord the savior Jesus Christ?” and that wasn’t all she asked. She asked allot of questions about why I hate everyone and everything. I don’t think I have been asked such specific questions so I wanted to share so I could explore out-loud what I am thinking. Usually I get asked “why?” allot or I get told, in simple terms, “to go to hell” for the most part. People are so judgemental of what others have to say. Granted, I do write about a few sensitive subjects on occasion, like race, adoption, smoking and cooking, sheeple, fucktards, religion, atheists, Christians and Christianity, Jesus and God, the Devil, strippers, alcohol and drinking, disabilities, and so forth, so pick something from “A” to “Z” and I have probably written about it.. I don’t expect everyone or anyone to share in on my personal opinion, if you do then you do and if you don’t then so be it, no hard feelings either way on my part. The only qualifications I have to have my opinions is the simple fact that I’m a human being sharing this planet with many others so I get to see allot from my point of view. So, back to why I’m writing this post.
“How can you continuously besmirch our Lord the savior Jesus Christ?” That’s an accusation and a question all rolled up in one. To be honest, besmirch was a new word to me, not one previously in my limited redneck vocabulary, so I had to look it up to see what it means. Here’s what I found. the definition of besmirch (biˈsmərCH): to damage the reputation of (someone or something) in the opinion of others or to make dirty; to soil. Now the term continuously: uninterrupted in time, sequence, substance, or extent. Now, I’ve looked back in review, over the general contents included in my blog. Guess what I found. Nothing, in my opinion, that would suggest a continuous or even a partial besmirching of anything, in fact there isn’t one single thing that has space on my blog that gets continuous commitment. Now, if you want to talk about what I have had to say about the freaks in The Westboro Baptist Church that’s a different story, I mean, come on, is it normal for a group of people claiming to be Christians doing God’s work to have their website address as “godhatesfags”. Perhaps I’m the only person on the planet that doesn’t think that’s normal. Now, if that is Christian bashing then some of y’all need to check to make sure you are praying to the right idol. So, I’m at a loss with the concerns that I’m besmirching Jesus Christ anywhere ever here on my blog or in person. Just because I don’t believe in God or Jesus doesn’t mean I hate them or that I wish to damage their reputation. When I talk about Christianity in general it is because the “news” is on the radio, the papers, on the internet somewhere, and occasionally the information comes home from church with my wife. Still doesn’t make me a Christian hater. A better description would be a person who chose not to be sucked into Christian conformity.
So, what am I trying to get at here? Not sure, but I hope to have that figured out before we are done here. All I know is that I am a human being just trying to live my life the best way I know how. That’s all I have to offer, no more, no less. I return now with fresh thoughts after an extended lunch hour. I suppose I understand the judgemental nature of the human animal, we tend to judge and assume what we don’t know simply because we have never learned to do it any other way. Meaning? People tend to pick one point and focus on it with such fury that they become blinded by everything else, like the truth for example. I’m comfortable with myself within my own skin, with my thoughts, my actions, my life, and what I write about right here. I don’t hate anyone that I know of, with the exception of my ex-wife who is the queen of evil cunts. Other than my personal thoughts about her, I have no problems with people. I do, however, reserve the right to have an opinion or three about daily observations that I witness on a day-to-day basis. It’s just that damn simple. If, for whatever reason, you or someone you know, falls into the subject, topic, or category I happen to be discussing and you feel it’s like I’m pouring salt into your open wound then that is all on you because all I am doing is talking, I didn’t make what I’m talking a part of your life, you did. So, there you have it. Did it answer all of your questions? I hope not because I wasn’t trying to answer anyone’s questions. Look, I’m just here doing my thing, just living my life, and trying not to be so serious all the time. You should try it sometimes, it’s nice.
As a bartender in a full nude strip bar I was witness to many amazing sites, I got to meet many amazing people, and best of all I got to listen to the stories of many people. The incredible challenge I always had was knowing what to do with all of the information that had been offered to me. What do I do? Write a book? Write a movie? Neither, but I did write it all down. I took notes and wrote down triggers so that the stories would come back to me easy. Why do all that? Why bother? Good question, which the story I will tell today will hopefully relay and answer some of those questions. In time gone by I had a separate blog dedicated solely to telling stories from my perspective from behind the bar based on my conversations and observations. And, unfortunately I fell victim to some culling of blogs and it became a deleted statistic I chalked up as a great loss. However, as y’all can see here, I have been trying to maintain the tradition of telling my stories. from this point forward I will warn you that the content will become adult oriented and the language as well as the descriptive picture will become a bit more colorful. I’m not the best story-teller, but I try to be a fair story re-teller. Without further ado I will begin with a story about a 17 y/o runaway that set out on a journey that changed her perspective and changed her life forever. These are her experiences as she told them to me.
On the day after she turned 17 she decided that life in Schuyler Nebraska wasn’t what she wanted any longer. She had been thinking about leaving for a while but never had the guts to just up and walk away. Her home life was not anything she can admit to be glamorous by any means. Her mother had died a few years before which she took real hard. She was an only child and now she was still living with her mom’s boyfriend. He, in all reality, was all she had. He is decent to her. He has allowed her to continue to live with him as long as she stayed in school. It has become really weird because he has a new girlfriend who also lives with them. She is only 3 years older and that is hard enough to deal with. All remembrance of her mother is of her own accounts as the boyfriend rarely if ever talks about her. She started feeling out-of-place and in the way of the new life he was starting for himself. So, she decided that she needed to get away, far away, far enough that she didn’t have to worry about the life she wanted to leave behind. She celebrated her birthday with her friends and her part-time on and off boyfriend. It wasn’t a party or anything, just went out to a friends property to drink and get a little wild. The next morning she left the house she grew up in for the last 8 years with nothing but the clothes on her back and the cash she had been saving. As far as she was concerned she only took what she needed and would get more as she moved on and when it was needed. She just started walking south, following the back country roads, following railroads at times, and sleeping where she could when she could. She would bath in restrooms of fast food places and gas stations which was already getting old after a few days. She would get picked up on occasion but it rarely lasted very long because she would feel uncomfortable and unsafe. The only way she felt she could pay was with some kind of sexual favor and she didn’t want to go there.
Unfortunately as she traveled she found herself in need of money, food, and a warm place to stay the night. She learned that her body was something that she could use and get what she wanted in return. She would blow into different hole in the wall towns and waitress at the local bars mostly. She learned that the less she wore to work and the more she teased the men that this equaled more money. She recalled the time she wore the shortest shorts she could find to the bar one night. She remembers these shorts because they have become her lucky shorts over time. She thinks its funny because she got them at a thrift shop for twenty-five cents. While at the bar that night she was convinced to enter into a wet t-shirt contest because the 1st place prize was $1500.00 and a trip to Las Vegas. She remembers thinking Vegas was going the wrong direction for her but if she got the trip she would go and check it out. She spent allot of time telling little white lies about her age in order to work in the bars. Lucky for her they never asked for any identification because she didn’t even have any. So, she entered the contest with all the local girls from the bar and the area around. She knew she would have to make it dirty to have a chance. She wanted the guys to remember her when they went home drunk to their wives and girlfriends. She has began to find the power of showing a little skin here and there. She didn’t win the wet t-shirt contest, but she did place 3rd out of some 40 other women, which in her opinion wasn’t too damn bad. As well, it had a $400.00 prize to go with the title. She knew she would have to try just a little harder the next time. As it turns out her journey to wherever she was going was taking quite some time. It’s been close to a year now and she still finds herself moving. She spent a few months over the winter in San Antonio Texas where she made some good friends and had a decent job working at a hole in the wall strip club as a waitress and a bar-back. She was thinking that this is where it’s at, she just might have found her knew home.
Then, one day out of the blue her roommate decided she wanted to go to Houston to visit family and asked if she wanted to tag along for the weekend. She figured why not, let’s go. Just so happens that when they got into town they saw an advertisement for, as it was billed, the largest wet t-shirt contest on the planet. They joked about going, then the joking became serious, then the joking turned into a dare, the dare turned into a bet. They showed up at Club X in the early evening that Saturday to see if they could check out the competition. They realized real fast that the club was actually a full need strip club and they might be in over their heads. Since she was 18 now she actually had the required identification to prove her age to participate in the wet t-shirt contest. They were given t-shirts with the club logo all over it. As she finds out later, I had a contest of my own to design those t-shirts, she found that funny for some reason I found out later. After getting ready and so forth they had a few drinks when it was announced that there will be over 700 participants in the wet t-shirt contest. Seems that many people want the prizes and don’t care that they will have to show their tits to get it. She had learned over the last year that it’s just a wet t-shirt contest but what it turns out to be is a totally different animal. The men don’t want to see the girls in their t-shirt, they want to see everything but that. She also found that she needed to learn how to move like a stripper if she ever wanted to win, an edge that she thinks she mastered. Then, the parade of tatas began and she remembers how nervous she really was because there were 700 plus girls who all wanted the same prize. She made it thru the initial cut, she made it thru the semi-final cut, and ended up in the top 10 by the time the night progressed. It was time to turn up the heat, game fucking on! She put her game face on and showed Houston what she was made of. She ended up not winning however, she didn’t win the $10,000.00 cash prize for 1st, she didn’t win the $7,500.00 cash prize for 2nd place. She did secure 3rd place and that $5,000.00 purse. She was also approached by the club’s dancer recruiter and asked to attend the boot camp if she would like to have a job. Oh, her friend? Her friend got put out in the semi-finals, receiving a zero dollar prize. She thought about the offer quite a bit the rest of the night and on into Sunday. She spoke to her friends mom and asked if she could stay with them for a while and she was told yes, of course. Her friend went back to San Antonio that night and she went back down to the strip club to talk to the recruiter about her offer. Since she had already answered the question if she wanted the job or not by staying she got geared up and fired up about going to boot camp to see if she gets the job.
She had to go shopping, she needed some clothes to do the boot camp, and some more street clothes because what she had wasn’t much anymore. During the two weeks of the boot camp she kept wondering if stripping was what she wanted to do. She kept weighing her options, and decided she would give it her best shot. At the end of the 2 weeks she was offered the job and she accepted the job. She remembers thinking that she can’t believe she has got herself into this. She realized that her journey was not important because she didn’t have a destination in mind at the time. Her first couple weeks were a little rough, getting into the routine, dealing with being on probation, and getting used to dancing in the nude in front of such large crowds. It was very overwhelming for her. Once she had been there for about a month she explained that she had stages she liked and disliked, her favorite stage was my bar because it was an opportunity to really let loose. My bar was extended out in all directions to serve as a decent sized stage, this stage even had it’s own pole. She began to meet people and open up and talk to people like myself when she had the time. She did pretty good money-wise and that made her pretty happy. Then, those dreams came crashing down around her, she ended up tearing her knee up real bad one night doing some very enlightening moves. I actually saw it because it happened on my bar. She considered her stripper career to now be ended. She ended up with a real wicked scar down the outside of her leg as a souvenir. She actually kept her job but moved to the front door checking i.d.s and taking admissions. While she was doing that she was going to school to get her TABC license. Once she got that she moved into the bars as a bar-back. She missed the money of stripping but didn’t really miss having to get naked to get paid. She did okay behind the bar, about $50,000 a year plus about $15,000.00 in tips annually. So, bartending wasn’t a bad gig either. Now, she reminded me, that it didn’t stop her from filling in on occasion or the random striptease while she was tending bar. She had fun with it.
She doesn’t think her journey is over because she doesn’t see herself staying in one place for too long. I think she will always do well in life because she chases what she wants and when she catches it she rides it like she stole it. Her story isn’t unlike many. People generally think poorly of strippers and often consider them to be no better than drug addict prostitutes. Not everyone that ends up stripping is running away from something, in fact, many aren’t running at all, they found that the income is great. Sadly, our society shuns nudity and makes it very taboo which tends to lend to be why when a person says strip bar or stripper it is usually done in a whisper. Yes, I know, being a nude stripper isn’t a game that everyone can or even wants to play, but it seems that more and more women are exploring it as an option. Everyday woman, like the ones you work with, go to school with, see at the grocery store, your neighbor, woman everywhere are trying new things for new reasons. Not every story always has a happy ending, as in life, sometimes there are tragedies as well. Keep that in mind the next time you judge someone before knowing them. I hope you have enjoyed this latest installment to the Bartender Stories. Until next time, remember to eat it every day!