Lola Didn’t Last. (Letters from ZJ part 1).

Lollipops & Razorblades.

“Some of them want to use you, some of them want to get used by you.  Some of them want to abuse you, some of them want to be abused.”

 I was looking through an old album and found a picture of myself at 24, this is what prompted this story.  Every girl that ever has entertained stepping foot into the adult business has to prepare.  You are never perpared enough, ever, no matter how much research has been done, you never know what you are in for.  All that you do  know is the stage name that you have chosen, and that your undeniable sex appeal will make you tons of money.  Like I said, you know your stage name.  I didn’t even do that right.  Before I began to make  stripping an exciting thing to say I had done in my life, I had talked it over with my then live in boyfriend.  Gregory, did not want me to feel that he was going to hold me back from anything that I wanted to do, even letting my fantasy become a reality . . . what a guy.  I think, that he really just did like the fact that he got to say he was dating a stripper. The job lasted far longer then we  ever did.  I was at this point in my life where I always had to have  a boyfriend, it had given me that security, what I needed was to just be alone and try to figure myself out.  I needed someone else’s approval that this was ok . . . looking back, fuck that.  That was one of my biggest problems, always needed it to be ok, not just living my own god damn life.  After a decision was made I decided on a smaller club, I was going to work the day shift.  I took two hundred dollars out of my saving account and went to the stripper store, it was called,”In the Mood” the woman working was about sixty and informed me that she was an”ex” stripper, looking more like an ex-convict with twenty year old stripper hair extensions.  It didn’t occur to me then that I probably should have high tailed it out of there quick.  This was a short or a long road (the latter one I picked).  This was going to go to, No. Fucking. Where.  I could not wait to buy my first pair of stripper shoes, I did, black patent leather 6.5 inch platform Ellie’s . . . ahhh, the first pair, I still have them . . . somewhere.  I started my shift in April it was a Tuesday, I walked in to “Keepers” went up to the DJ, said I was the new girl, “Lola”.

So, began my first shift at 11:30 in the morning.  I walked into the dressing room, there were two other girls getting ready. The room was so vile, it was the color of pepto bismol, what a fucking joke, dressing room.  It was more like an infested closet, it smelled like a dirty vacuum laced with victoria secret splash, hints of burnt hair extensions, smoke and french fries.  This was a shit hole . . . but most of them are no matter where you end up.  The girls could smell the fresh meat that entered the room, they were have a conversation with each other through the mirror without saying a word.  They just stared at me, like they wanted me to fucking die or that I just stole their money . . . probably both.  I exited the dressing room and sat at the bar, there was no one in there, there was no one in there All. Fucking. Day.  I thought this was going to be sexy and exciting.  It wasn’t. We sat at the bar, the other girls drank, three hours later I was still very much clothed and broke, I was in the hole.  It was around three when a few customers came through, this was it, my very first time on stage. I was called up . . . “gentleman first  up  today we have the lovely “Lola”, thats right, sexy little “Lola”, and it’s her first time.” It’s like time in these places stand still, the dj’s, no matter where you go, and it seems no matter what decade it is, all say the same mundane lines verbatim.  Nothing. Ever. Changes.  My first song was Madonna’s “Secret”, as I walked up the stairs to the stage, I was so nervous, my knees were knocking.  There is a pole for a reason, it is to keep your fucking balance.  I held on to it, there was like 5 people in this place . . . really rather pathetic. I danced, a man moved over from the bar stool to the stage.  A five was placed on the  brass bar rail, I made my way down to the floor and kinda did a crawl, who the heck knows, I then introduced myself . . . I then bared my never seem before tities to a stranger named Larry.  I did it, the hard part was done, right? . . . wrong.  How did you make the money, I had like twenty five dollars.  Oh right lap dances, Vips and Champagne Rooms.  I was just concerned with giving a lap dance, somehow I thought this was going to be easy, it wasn’t.  I didn’t have any idea of how to hustle, so I ended up in dead end conversations wasting time and getting no where.  Finally I got my first lapdance, oh lord it was bad.  I was so fucking clumsy, I straddled the guy and knocked his beer over . . . I was so embarrassed.  I kept going though, I was thinking this is it you are doing it and you are not to fucking run and hide in a bush.  Smile, giggle and say something . . . I did. I said something along the lines as “I am so sorry, I know it’s hard to believe that someone like me has an off day.” Cute and self deprecating . . . I continued the worst lapdance in history, but at least he wasn’t a disrespectful prick, that would have just been too much for the first time.  I watched the other girls in the lap dance room, I learned by mimicking them.  I found this job to be so exhausting most of the time and equally as boring.  I didn’t know what was right or wrong, you learn later there isn’t such.  You must make your own personal boundaries, then I had none, along with the lack of personal walls.  My first day shift was over at seven, It was one of the longest days I ever did.  I made around two hundred and forty five dollars counting my tip out.  I continued working there for about three weeks, then I had enough.  Maybe that should have been the end of it all, the I was a stripper thing, been there done that, now back to the final semester of college.  I would have had a great story for my column in the school’s paper.  Nope it didn’t end here, rather it had just begun, something wasn’t right it, never was, my name, it was so generic, it wasn’t me.  I took about month off to collect my bearings and give it another go, boy I went. I walk through the “Catwalks” door like a fucking force to be reckoned with, this club was full nude, it was BYOB, these clubs are where you make it or you don’t.  They are really rough and in bad neighborhoods.  If I could make it here I could anywhere . . . too bad I choose this line to use, too bad I had so much ambition for this job.  I decided the night shift was where I should start . . . I walked in and became her.  I was Zoe Jane,  to many it would just become ZJ.  This is where this story begins.



~ by applejaxe on June 18, 2012.

5 Responses to “Lola Didn’t Last. (Letters from ZJ part 1).”

  1. Brave and honest. I salute you.

    • Thank you so much. There are going to be posts starting to be inserted into the blog about the life of Zj. It is not going to be just a stripper blog but these events have taken up years of my life. Keep reading please.

  2. Well my goodness….the tales that will likely come from this.

  3. […] I really do feel it is my duty to pass that torch, what I learned from Dawn is information that is rare.  Real dancers are a dying breed.  This business is trending farther and farther down into the trenches.  It’s not a fun business, yes the stories and the shit you see are unbelieveable the money is addictive and it never seems to be enough, insatiable greed.  It makes you way less sensitive to sick and twisted things that you see in the straight world.  It’s surreal, all of it, just as I remember, “Lark” a big black southern girl on Friday nights reading scriptures from the bible in the dressing room naked and applying eyelashes .  All the money in savings in the bank, wonderful? Yes, did it come with a huge price? YES.  But sometimes the experience is just fucking priceless. (Read Letters From ZJ Part 1 HERE) […]

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