Page 40 of Adam & Eve

At first, I spent many nights in different clubs around Tampa, dancing by myself or with a

partner, feeling free. Dancing was therapy for me. Stripping came later. I got the idea from a book I’d

read. The chick masturbated on camera for men to pay for college tuition and it helped with her self-

esteem. I couldn’t imagine touching myself for some anonymous stranger behind a computer screen,

although I’d never had any problem with nudity.

It had taken me years to learn to love my body, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, I

liked what I saw. A slightly rounded stomach, wide hips, thick smooth thighs, my ass round and firm,

legs long and flawless skin. I thought why not combine the two. Why not dance naked? The thought

had left my mind a quickly as it came though. and I went on about my normal life.

It wasn’t long after my sophomore year that I started to dance for people. I happened to be

looking at ads on Craigslist for jobs. My money was tight. My stipend from student loans running

low, and after paying my cellphone bill for a few months and buying food, I would be broke. I

needed a job immediately. I came across an ad for dancers at a strip club. They wanted

voluptuous, natural, and attractive. That described me.

I called the number before I could talk myself out of it. I was given an address and the

name of the person to speak to. I wore what I considered my sexiest outfit; a black crop top that

fell just below my breast, no bra and a skater skirt that stopped below my ass cheeks, no panties

and a pair of black ankle booties with a thin, sharp four-inch heel.

The club was in a bad neighborhood in Clearwater, thirty-minutes from my house in Tampa.

The building that housed the club was painted slime green with a neon sign that flashed Vegas

Nights in a strip mall with empty shops on both sides of it. It was uninviting, but it didn’t sway me.

Not much anyway.

A HELP WANTED sign that said they were looking for girls of all shapes, sizes and colors

hung on the black painted door. No bodyguard stood at the entrance like I had seen in movies, and

it was nearly empty when I walked in even though it was after ten on a Friday night.

I thought about turning around to leave after seeing only white faces inside. Florida was a

tricky place when it came to race. One part could be diverse and open minded then I could cross

the street into hillbilly hell. The black girl behind the bar who asked me who I was looking for

calmed my nerves and stopped my retreat toward the door.

Joe the manager, who weighed a hundred pounds too much for his frame, was the same

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