looking back
I walk in the door of that seedy club every Thursday night - sometimes more often. The bouncer nods and waves me past as that sweet hypnotic aroma floods the air and my lungs. The lights dart back and forth over the breasts of a woman named S as she dances rhythmically to the music that I've heard so many times. As she bends and slides herself against the pole, dropping slowly to the floor as men gawk at her, she tries not to think. She has two children. She doesn't talk about them at work. Obviously, no one would mention it to a client, but I've known these girls for too long. I start walking to my regular seat as a hand glides across my forearm. D. She squeezes my arm behind her back as she continues talking to her possible client as I continue to the bar. Same thing every night - one bottle of sparklets, one quarter lime twisted then dropped in. I sit down in the plush, overstuffed seats, waiting for her to come back. The crowd and the lights fade into my peripherals as I watch that 47" plasma screen. I don't hate baseball. I don't like it either. Somehow it seems a lot more rewarding than watching the girls on stage. I walk to the back stage and sit down at a chair watching the acts and chatting with one of the girls. J. I've known her since she started working. Beautiful and young, still left un-jaded by the grime and slime that seems to seep from the walls and into the hearts of many of the girls - tossing back drinks, crushing e into fine powders and actually snorting it, locking themselves away in the bathroom to finish a pipe, all just to not be aware of the bullshit that they inevitably go through every night. I stand to grab another bottle of water and she's there.D. dark hair shining. eyes glistening. sweet. honest. my girl. my little piece of homegrown Texas pulling me around and grabbing my hair. Taking me quickly to her lips... lingering.
We stood somewhere perfect for a moment - wherever it was, it wasn't in a strip club with sweaty men, crinkled dollar bills and music thumping too loud to hear. The carpet lifted us up, my hands placed firmly on the small of her back. I thank God everyday for the invention of high-heels as she stands toe to toe with me, but at the right level to bend into her lips. Smiling. Giggling. I took her hands in mine, playing with her fingers as we swayed and came down on two bar stools in the back corner, her knees between mine as we smiled back and forth. Finally, I remembered my drink and went to get it for us.*
So we share the bottle idly bantering and I bring her to a corner. I gave her a quick 30 minutes massage, as she has the rest of the night to work and turn her back around to face me.
The moment I've dreaded. What exactly are you to a person when you don't go out? We meet up and talk, have long talks while she should be working, go to the back and makeout for awhile**, talk, cuddle. We don't go out. I know her real name and phone number. She knows mine. But we exist only between the walls of this establishment. And it drives me insane. You know what it feels like to show up to this hole? To watch as girls are sucked into the environment for money and to see the heaps that come out of it, hoping that for a moment, maybe something caught in there eye, they don't feel as shitty about there job when they talk to you.
And that's what I was for her for six months. As she was beaten to emotional submission and treated like shit for a job that drained her for men that made her feel used and abused, I was her friend. A sanctuary. She was sorry that I couldn't stay any longer that night as I said my final goodbye's. She was moving to northern California to get away from the work and back into school. We knew we'd never see each other again. It was best that way... to leave the relationship where it was. As two good friends wishing each other well. She started to cry and quickly thanked me. I kissed her a final time and as she was pulling away her eyes met mine. "I love you patrick." and before i could finish replying she had turned and darted into the back room.
--To one of the most beautiful, honest, and true women I've known. Make me proud.
We stood somewhere perfect for a moment - wherever it was, it wasn't in a strip club with sweaty men, crinkled dollar bills and music thumping too loud to hear. The carpet lifted us up, my hands placed firmly on the small of her back. I thank God everyday for the invention of high-heels as she stands toe to toe with me, but at the right level to bend into her lips. Smiling. Giggling. I took her hands in mine, playing with her fingers as we swayed and came down on two bar stools in the back corner, her knees between mine as we smiled back and forth. Finally, I remembered my drink and went to get it for us.*
So we share the bottle idly bantering and I bring her to a corner. I gave her a quick 30 minutes massage, as she has the rest of the night to work and turn her back around to face me.
The moment I've dreaded. What exactly are you to a person when you don't go out? We meet up and talk, have long talks while she should be working, go to the back and makeout for awhile**, talk, cuddle. We don't go out. I know her real name and phone number. She knows mine. But we exist only between the walls of this establishment. And it drives me insane. You know what it feels like to show up to this hole? To watch as girls are sucked into the environment for money and to see the heaps that come out of it, hoping that for a moment, maybe something caught in there eye, they don't feel as shitty about there job when they talk to you.
And that's what I was for her for six months. As she was beaten to emotional submission and treated like shit for a job that drained her for men that made her feel used and abused, I was her friend. A sanctuary. She was sorry that I couldn't stay any longer that night as I said my final goodbye's. She was moving to northern California to get away from the work and back into school. We knew we'd never see each other again. It was best that way... to leave the relationship where it was. As two good friends wishing each other well. She started to cry and quickly thanked me. I kissed her a final time and as she was pulling away her eyes met mine. "I love you patrick." and before i could finish replying she had turned and darted into the back room.
--To one of the most beautiful, honest, and true women I've known. Make me proud.