7am. Bob kisses my ear. He strokes my bare shoulders then slides his hands across my back. I moan. This might be a massage, how wonderful. Actually it's foreplay. I keep my eyes closed and feign sleep. I'm not in the mood. I'm still tired. Bob goes downstairs. I stay in bed.

8am. I put on running shoes, shorts and two sports bras. I dig out the Crystal Method tape from the cassette drawer and pop it in my walkman. Then I head out to my favorite set of stairs and start running, 183 steps up, 183 steps down, for 40 breathless minutes.

9am. Shower. Slip on my new red sundress and white sandals. Throw a couple of oranges, a banana, and a container of yogurt into my bag.

10am. I walk into the small, cluttered offices of the small press where I am a weekly intern. The marketing director is at her desk, surrounded by stacks of unopened mail. I wave and keep walking. I sit down at my 'desk' and sort through recent book reviews. I read, cut and paste and file them. I photocopy press releases, address envelopes, type several letters, and package review copy requests.

I also make several telephone calls to Dave because he keeps paging me about upcoming bachelor parties. I talk quietly so no one will hear me say "How much is the pick-up? How many guys will be there? Did you tell the client the two-girl show costs extra?" Although all the women in the office know I'm a stripper my intuition says they don't approve of my lifestyle. Whenever I share details of interesting parties I end up feeling inarticulate and crass. And no one ever asks me questions.

The internship was supposed to open up new possibilities for me. I couldn't wait to be surrounded by smart, thoughtful women and a stimulating environment. Five months later I realize this small press isn't my way out. I can't labor for love and $8 an hour.

6pm. I find Bob sanding the upstairs hallway. He is covered with fine brown dust and won't let me kiss him. I suggest we go out for dinner. He says okay but only for less than $20. I pull out a two-for-one coupon for a local hamburger joint and he agrees.

7pm. During our meal my pager goes off. It's Amber, the dispatcher for Affluent Affair, an escort service. She shouldn't be paging me, I'm not on-call. I look at Bob and ask him if I should call her back. He sighs. He's irritated. He wants me to work as much as possible but now we won't go to the movies or the ice cream store or for a walk around the neighborhood. He won't speak to me on the ride back home.

9:30pm. I'm at Randy's brand-new house in an expensive sub-division. There isn't any furniture in the living or dining room. I sit on a couch in the room off the kitchen and talk to Randy about his collection of Hitchcock videos. I try to waste time because I'm booked for an hour and my little strip show only takes 20 minutes. Randy is 42, balding, pudgy, and single. He is a radiologist. He loves scuba diving and cooking. He asks me if I want to "play." I tell him no. He looks disappointed but not angry. I start stripping then, and slip out of my black dress and thigh high stockings and long black gloves. I turn and bend and smile and laugh. I caress myself and moan and grab my breasts. I unhook my bra and pull off my panties. I stand naked in front of Randy and slowly move toward him. I let him touch my breasts. I let him touch my ass. He keeps moaning "Oh girl, oh girl" and finally I say, "My name is Julia. Julia." My pager goes off. It's Amber letting me know I have 10 minutes left. I get dressed, recount the $180 Randy gave me when I arrived and then leave.

11pm. All the lights are out. I wash my face and crawl in bed next to Bob. I kiss his forehead, and stroke his chest but he doesn't stir.


9am. The phone is ringing. It's Cinnamon, a girl I know from the Lusty Lady who also works for Affluent Affair. She asks if I want to do a bachelor party tonight for her ex-boyfriend Jeff. I happily write down the phone numbers and call Jeff a few minutes later. We settle on an arrival time of 9pm and an hourly rate of $150.

10am. Back to the stairs. This time for 30 minutes.

11:30am. I hop on my bike and head downtown to the Lusty Lady.

Noon. I'm on stage. Naked, except for a pair of five-inch stilettos and a red wig. Now my name is Pandora. I dance around the mirrored stage and I turn and bend and smile and laugh. I caress myself and moan and grab my breasts. I repeat these movements for five hours.

6pm. Victoria's Secret. I buy two pair of black thigh-high stockings.

9pm. I meet Jeff, the eight other party guests and Seth, the groom, at a posh bar called The Harborside, which is next to a large marina. While we all have a couple of drinks I playfully spank Seth with my riding crop. Several other men in the bar look over at our group and I smile.

9:30pm. The party moves onto a small power boat. We motor out into Lake Union, and the Seattle skyline becomes the backdrop for the evening's festivities. I love it. It's a warm, clear night and I feel like it's going to be a good party. The guys seem to like me and the groom isn't too drunk. I turn on the music and start dancing for Seth--slow and sensual, with lots of eye contact and breasts in his face. Then I transition to games--the money hunt, whipped cream on the nipple, body shots of tequila, pussy cocktails, and removing $20 bills with my butt cheeks.

11pm. I'm happy with the overall participation of the guys. They were well-mannered and polite, generous and respectful. I give them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek and say goodnight.

Midnight. Bob is in bed reading. I tell him about the party while I sit on the floor and count my tips.


8am. My eyes are bloodshot and my throat feels sore. But I drive out to Greenlake, a smallish lake in central Seattle, to meet a woman named Fiona. I've waited two weeks to meet her. She has just returned from a two year trip through Asia and agreed to talk to me about trekking in Nepal and cycling in Laos. During our three mile walk around the lake she describes dozens of extraordinary episodes. She assures me I can cycle alone through Laos. This is what I wanted to hear. We discuss future trips, possibly together in Pakistan. I am thrilled. She seems adventurous, interesting, open-minded. Until I say I'm a stripper. She gives me the "oh that sounds interesting" line but her eyes are averted. I've lost her. I'm no longer a fellow traveler or intrepid woman, I'm a case study. What a waste.

1pm. I board the ferry boat for Bremerton. The local newspaper that publishes my bi-weekly cycling column needs to shoot a color mug. I'm wearing a green linen blouse and khaki pants. Hopefully I look wholesome. God forbid anyone at the paper should find out how I actually earn a living. Of course I'd be dismissed.

4pm. Back at home. Bob is sanding. I persuade him to stop and we go for a walk around the neighborhood.

7pm. Naptime.

10:30pm. Back at the Lusty Lady for a two-hour booth shift. Unlike the stage, the booth is one-on-one interaction. The customer pays $5 for three minutes, additional for a more explicit show. Usually I enjoy the booth, it involves a degree of creativity and can be an excellent money-maker. Tonight I am extremely busy. There is even a line outside the door. I barely have time to put my bra and panty set back on before another customer is waiting. I get a lot of requests for my pink dildo, for fingering my ass, for role-playing. One guy actually puts in TWO 50-dollar bills and asks me to dominate him. Well. I call him a bitch, a dog, a slut. I tell him he has a little dick and a big belly. I tell him to kneel in front of me and bark like a dog. He asks for more. I make him rub his hands in the other men's cum and then lick it off his fingers. He does. I try to maintain composure but I start laughing. He thanks me and leaves. I am elated. It's been an awesome night.

1am. Bob is half-asleep but I am wide awake. I babble endlessly about my customers until he pulls the covers over his head.


8am. Weekly tanning session.

9am. My pager goes off. It's Jeff, the coordinator of Tuesday night's bachelor party. He wants to know if I'd like to be the 'date' for his 18-year-old brother's birthday party. There is going to be a limousine full of his friends, a trip to a strip club then a casino. I agree to this unusual arrangement for a $500 fee. We'll meet at 9pm.

11am. My pager goes off. It's Jeff. He wants to change the time to 6pm. I agree without thinking.

5pm. I shower, shave everywhere, re-shape my eyebrows, smooth lotion all over my body and then begin applying make-up. When I look into the mirror I see the fine lines around my eyes and across my forehead. I see the burst capillaries on my nose. I notice how my eyes are droopy. I think I look too old to be a date for an eighteen-year-old. But I start smoothing on concealer, foundation, powder. I add blush, two shades of lipstick, and a heavy application of mascara. I put on my leopard print bra and panty set, thigh-high stockings, full-length leopard print dress and black pumps. I spray and brush out my wig, then carefully adjust it on my head. I get out my long black gloves, riding crop and handcuffs. I'm ready.

6pm. When I pull up in front of Jeff's office I see three men waiting. One is Jeff, one is Jeff's brother Ian, and the other is their father Aaron. They are all wearing suits. After a quick introduction we get into Aaron's black BMW sedan. I feel very uncomfortable. I don't know what to say or how to act. Should I ask stupid questions? Should I rub Ian's neck? The three men talk about their business, which is an Internet porn site, and how much profit they're making from certain girls who have live video feeds from their home to the site. No one talks to me.

6:30pm. We drive through a large iron gate and down a long driveway. I see is the enormous house, a Ferrari, Porshe and cherry red Thunderbird convertible. Five people are sitting at a table on a deck off the kitchen and I am introduced to them. They are other family members--Aaron's wife, his daughter and her husband, plus two middle-aged uncles from Manhattan. A couple of toddlers are running around. I don't see the birthday boy. This is a cruel joke. I am trapped.

8pm. The Chinese food arrives. Everyone in the family sits down to eat. Even Jason appears, with 6 friends and his girlfriend in tow. When Jeff introduces me to Jason he nods and keeps eating. I want to run away. Instead I go to the bathroom and call Bob from my cell phone. He calms me down, tells me to 'do my job.' Fine. I go back out in time for the birthday cake and ice cream. Fuck this.

9pm. The limo arrives. Actually, it is more like a small bus but with leather interior and a television and wetbar. Suddenly, all the women disappear and it's just me and the guys (that includes dad, son-in-law, and the two uncles). As we begin to cruise through the city I'm instructed to "start entertaining" Jason. I do my usual bachelor party routine and thankfully everyone loves it.

10pm. We pull up in front of a strip club. I sit with the guys, give them a few more dances inside the club and even get Jason to pay for another stripper to dance for me.

Midnight. Back in the limo, everyone is pounding cans of Bud Light. Jason looks catatonic but Aaron insists it's time for another strip club. I am exhausted and impatient. Jeff keeps staring at me and asking if I "like him". He wants to know if we could go out to dinner sometime. Fuck. I tell him I'm tired. He says he'll find me some cocaine. I tell him six hours fulfills my end of the deal. He pleads with me to stay a little longer.

1am. Bob is asleep. I throw off my clothes, wash my face and pass out.


10am. I have a headache. My feet are throbbing. I look in the mirror and shudder at the state of my skin. After a cup of coffee I sit in front of my desk and collect my notes for today's interview with Brian, a bicycle commuter from Bremerton who is the focus of my next newspaper column.

Noon. I board the ferry for Bremerton.

1pm. I meet Brian at a small cafe. We discuss cycling, his bike, safe roads, practical gear to own. He is an animated speaker and I write furiously for close to an hour. This interview is such a refreshing change of pace. I'm actually stimulating my brain! I call the newspaper and arrange a photo shoot for Brian. I thank him and head back to the ferry.

4pm. After 11 phone calls I have my evening planned.

9pm. I am at Scott's brand-new house at the end of a cul-de-sac. There is a high-chair in the kitchen and a porno playing on the big-screen TV. Apparently, Scott's wife and daughter are out of town and he just happens to feel horny. How nice. I tell him no sex and he asks how much more money I want. I tell him he can masturbate himself for an extra $40. He agrees. I lie naked on the floor and arch my back and make moaning sounds until he cums on my stomach. He is very enthusiastic about his orgasm and jumps up like he's scored a winning goal. I thank him and leave.

10:30pm. I am at Jim and Julie's apartment. Inside it's small and cluttered and stuffy. Abby, my friend and stripping partner, is sitting on the couch waiting for me. We reconvene in the bathroom to plan our routine. We've never performed as a couple for a couple and the challenge is exciting, potentially profitable. It isn't. Jim and Julie are young, working class, and timid. They weren't aware that the initial fee didn't include anything extra--like getting naked or masturbating each other. It's an awkward moment when Abby tells them we can wait if they want to go to a cash machine. I am embarrassed, but I smile and let Abby do the talking.

1am. Denny's. Over scrambled eggs and french fries Abby and I agree that Jim and Julie were an interesting experience but not really worth the effort. We only made $135 each.


9am. I don't want to get up. I don't want to take another shower and apply more make-up. But I do. I drink strong coffee and try to myself look sexy.

10am. Back at the Lusty Lady for a three hour dance shift. Thankfully the managers are not around because I am extremely "off-purpose" today -- I walk away from customers, chew gum, engage my fellow performers in irrelevant conversations, and frequently sit down. I simply don't care.

2pm. Back to bed.

4pm. Thankfully my interview notes still make sense. I type them up and compose a rough draft.

5pm. Bob and I go grocery shopping, one of our favorite activities. We think most people look like robots when they're shopping, but we race around the store and constantly throw unfamiliar items into the cart.

9pm. Birthday telegram for Julio. I bust in on the party dressed like a cop and all twenty Mexican guys start hooting and throwing one-dollar bills at me. I take the opportunity to utilize my college degree and talk to them in Spanish. A bilingual stripper!

Midnight. Another bachelor party.

2am. I dump all my tips on the living room floor and the pile of crumpled money looks rather daunting. So I munch on chips and salsa while I unfold, paper-clip and count.


Noon. Poached eggs on toast and home fries and fresh-squeezed orange juice and hot chocolate. I'm in heaven, relaxing, with clothes on.

2pm. Back to bed. With Bob.

5pm. My pager goes off. It's Amber. She has a rather intriguing client who wants to see me. I'm not interested. I want a day off. She tells me Cinnamon made $600 last time. I pause--Cinnamon has sex with her clients so she's not a particularly good example for me. But I say yes.

8:30pm. Jim is probably a schizophrenic. He believes his apartment is tapped and his ex-wife who ran off with another woman is spying on him. We talk in the bathroom with the door locked and the radio turned up until it's "safe" to go into the bedroom. There is a bottle of chilled Tattinger on the night stand and we drink it slowly, between foot massages and getting naked. This is not the usual 60-minute call. I am here for three hours, listening to Jim's stories and gradually getting him to touch himself. He finally comes on my stomach and I can leave.

Midnight. Another week is over.


Copyright 1999 Moxie Magazine All Rights Reserved