Strip: The Making of a Feminist by Catlyn Ladd

Author:Catlyn Ladd [Ladd, Catlyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, women, Social Science, anthropology, Cultural & Social, Women's Studies
ISBN: 9781785357374
Google: DYRDtAEACAAJ
Publisher: John Hunt Publishing Limited
Published: 2018-11-15T23:29:07.063467+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Couple’s Therapy

Experienced customers sit at stage one because that’s the dancer who determines the music. When we dance to music we choose, it’s the best performance. In the two years I worked at this club the owner tried a couple of times to dictate the kinds of music we could play. As one of the more powerful performers at the club, I led a mutiny that finally ended his objections. I argued that my customers came to see me perform to my music and that stifling my creativity would negatively impact the tips I earned, losing money for the club. I’m persuasive. He caved.

One of my favorite sets pairs Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” with Marilyn Manson’s remake of the same song. The first is peppy and upbeat, and the remake is dark and scary sexy. During the first song I wear a long, white jacket that glows and sparkles in the lights. Underneath the coat I wear white velvet shorts, and I tie my hair up with a white bandana. When the song changes I remove all of the white, letting my hair fall free, revealing a black studded thong. Light into darkness.

I’m on stage one. I’ve taken off the shorts and reach up and pull the bandana out. My hair falls in tousled curls down my back. I time the removal of the jacket to the crescendo of the song, and the woman sitting at the end of the stage claps, laughing. The man next to her runs his hand up her back affectionately.

I sink into the splits and then lie back, bringing my legs together sharply so that the heels of my shoes slam together. The woman jumps at the sound and laughs again.

I somersault backwards and then crawl toward them. The man lays a ten-dollar bill on the stage.

I ignore him and go for her, putting my hands on her shoulders, my hair tumbling down over hers, pulling her face within inches of my naked breasts, sparkling with sweat, glitter, and body spray. Sitting up on my knees, I pull her close enough that I feel her breath against my belly. Another ten appears next to the first. That’s good enough money to pretty much ignore the other customers sitting at the stage.

At the end of the set I circle around to thank them.

“I’m Natasha,” I say. “Thank you so much.”

The woman turns toward me, smiling. “I’m Kim. This is Ken.”

“Ken and Kim.” I nod. “Got it. Well, Ken and Kim, feel free to have a drink with me later.” I step away from the stage, but Kim doesn’t take her eyes off me until I disappear into the dressing room.

“Couple at stage one,” I warn Lila, who is changing for her next round on the main stage. I know that Lila doesn’t like dancing for women. Bi-curious she is not.

“Ugh,” she rolls her eyes. “Go get them before I get up there.”

I drop my clothes and money on the counter and sit down to start facing all the bills the same way.

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