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From Pointe to Pole, A Dancer’s Journey

 

Written By; Lindsey “Lin Tutu” Teall

 

Once a Dancer

Always a Dancer

I walked in with excitement and anticipation. This was my first time in a gentleman’s club, and I had come alone. Yes, alone. I had moved to the area only a few months prior, and wasn’t the most gifted at making friends. From age 13 to 22, I lived overseas as a “DOD bratt”, and had moved from place to place more times than most people would in two lifetimes.  I was now twenty-five and incredibly curious. My shoes made no noise, as I crossed the threshold of the entry way, carefully choosing a path across the colorfully carpeted floor. A girl was moving around on the stage, and I watched her from a distance as I made my way to the bar. The inside of the club really wasn’t anything special. On my left was a pool table, tucked away in the corner. There were also two upright arcade-type coin-ops beside it, one for practicing use of a firearm, the other I couldn’t quite make out.

‘’This really is the sticks’’, I thought to myself. ‘’A shooting game? Really?’’ I took a seat on one of the bar stools. Despite having lived in the area for a few months, I still found myself overcome with culture shock from time to time. I tried not to judge, but everything was still so foreign to me.

 ”What’re you drinking?”, a tall brunette seemingly appeared out of nowhere, questioning in a lackluster tone.

 ”Uuhh, a rum and coke, please”, I replied continuing to look around.

 To my left, at approximately 9 o’clock was the dj booth, and at the far end of the building, another, smaller stage with two poles, and what seemed to be a room semi-hidden behind them. The bartender returned, rum and coke in hand.

 ”5 bucks”, she said indifferently, yet attempting at a pass of politeness.

 I handed her 7 ones and smiled politely, ”Thanks”.

 Sitting on my bar stool, it revolved as I surveyed my surroundings, sipping on my drink. The dancer on stage finished out her song, gathered her tips, and headed down the stairs. When she was halfway down the small stairwell, she helped the next girl onto the stage.

I was instantly stunned.

The beauty of this dancer was unmatched by any other woman I’d ever laid eyes on. She thanked the other girl for helping her, grabbed a spray bottle and towel, and began cleaning the poles with a bounce in her step. I got up from my stool and made my way to a small, circular table approximately seven to ten feet from the stage.

 ”Now if only she can…” I started, but the dj interrupted my thoughts.

 ”And up next, we welcome Rooossse!” He announced in a very drawn-out manner.

 She quickly finished with what appeared to be the sanitizing of the poles, and began gliding across the floor. And damn, could she dance! Just the way she moved her legs made me think of an anime cartoon. Long, lean-yet-muscular, intimidating 7-inch high heels. Rose red hair, and amazing tits. But it wasn’t a sexual attraction I felt to this woman at that moment. Don’t get me wrong, she was utterly gorgeous, draped in her flowing red gown, shoulder length hair, and matching red garter to boot. It was her movements that had me entranced. I fixated on her legs, the arch of the back, her feet. Even her arm movements and the placement of her head were perfection. In my 14 years of dancing, I’d never experienced anything quite like this.

The Nutcracker was delightful, Swan lake was emotionally moving, Giselle, unearthly, and Les Sylphid…well, that was just a pain in the ass. Seriously, ask anyone who’s danced in the chor. Literally, those arabesques had given me butt cramps for weeks.

 But this style. . .her. This dancer was exquisite. I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I continue sitting? Throw money on the stage? Go up to her? If only I’d previously researched the protocol. . .

. . . and then she motioned to me. Yes, this goddess of a woman motioned for me to come to her. I got up, eagerly, (‘’but not too eager’’, I told myself. ‘’You don’t want her thinking you’re a weirdo, I’m sure she gets enough of them in here’’). I chose my pace accordingly, and made my way to her stage, which happened to be on my far right, the table closest to the entrance/exit. Just in case I needed to make a dash for it, I’d decided upon my choosing of the table.

My heart beat faster, my palms sweaty. I wondered if this was how it felt to be a teenage boy picking up his date before the prom. I stopped about four inches from the stage, unsure of how close was close enough, or too close for that matter. She bent down (which I imagined to be a feat in those six-inch stilettos), and spoke to me softly,     

 ”Closer.”

 With a very playful smile, Rose took my hands and pulled me in next to her. Now close enough that I could feel the heat rising from her sweat covered skin, she brought my hands onto her neck.

 ”You’re so soft”, I spoke, not sure what else to say.  

 And for the record, I’d touched girls before. Quite a few, actually. And I couldn’t remember any of them feeling this soft. Rose nodded and continued guiding my hands down her body. And then I remembered. . .my hands were still sweaty. And despite her skin also beaded with sweat, I felt the urge to wipe my own hands. I pulled away, and not wanting to insult her, explained what I was doing. She let out a small giggle, and grabbed my hands again. I happily allowed her to continue her work. First her neck, shoulders, her sides, and OH MY GOD. . .her boobs. (‘’They’re real!’’, I thought astonished, open-mouthed, and I was sure I looked far too surprised at this realization.)

 ”You are beautiful. . .and a gorgeous dancer”, was all that managed to escape my lips.

 ”Thank You”, Rose giggled again.

 I tipped her a couple of bucks, (although I was sure that wasn’t nearly enough), and right then and there, placing the money into her white g-string, I knew. I knew not only did I have to meet her. . .I also desperately had to dance like her.

     

                    ********************************

  Now on a side note, when I walked into the club that evening, I was sure I’d walk out with a waitress position. Coming from a sheltered and religious childhood (not to mention being trained as a professional, classical dancer), becoming a ”stripper” would be seen as a huge insult to my family and my former profession. A ”step down” in morals and career choice, if you will. 

”But would it, really?” I wondered. Nothing about this environment or profession struck me as inappropriate, ”unchristian”, or unethical. In fact, I had never personally had an issue with adult entertainment. And who was anyone to judge, anyway?

 I stayed at my table for close to twenty minutes, weighing the pros and cons of what my decision could entail. Two more dancers came and left the stage as I sat in solitude. On one hand, family, friends, future employers. . .random strangers even, could find out what I was doing. And what about future boyfriends or starting a new relationship? Wouldn’t the career choice be selfish to put on someone? I was currently single, divorced to be exact. One small child with the ex-husband and no prospect of a serious relationship with man nor woman. Thankfully, the marriage had been pretty shitty, and the fact that it was over was a huge relief. But on the off chance I did meet someone worth getting involved with, what would I do?

I imagined being at work one evening, and taking my place on the stage–the one currently standing not but a few feet from my face. Then, in the audience, a guy I’ve been dating for about a month comes into view. He looks up at me, mortified and devastated. He gets up, and promptly exits. Would I be embarrassed? Ashamed? And eventually everyone and anyone I knew would not only see me butt naked, but automatically stereotype me. Did I want that?

  I stared intently at the curved doorway to my left next to the dj booth, where I assumed the office was. 

But on the other hand, at heart, this seemed like a perfectly honest way to make a crap ton of money, and have fun in the process (my other shoulder angel had decided to join in and do her job). Did I mention my current employment sucked? Working two jobs, neither of which I would consider ”career material”, barely making ends meet. 

I also had a child to raise, bills to pay. A life to live. I was torn. 

Here was a serious life decision before me, and I needed to do one of two things: 

  1. March straight into that office and ask how I become a stripper, tonight (it sounded so dirty when I said it like that) 

                        OR

   2. Make a dash for the door, and head for hills.

 ”That’s it”, I said aloud. ”I’m doing it”.

 I arose, collected my jacket and purse, and made a beeline for the dj booth. As I approached, the guy in the booth looked at me suspiciously.

 ”Can I help you?”, he asked.

 Not completely sure what I was getting myself into, I paused before answering.

 ”Well, possibly…” I replied hesitantly. ”I was hoping to speak to a manager about a job”.

 ”I see. Well then you’d have to come back on Saturday for the contest. Winner gets a hundred bucks or a job”. 

(I don’t want to do a contest, I thought. With all of my dance experience and background, that just sounds lame.)

 ”Would it be possible to also speak to the manager, anyway?” I asked again, now feeling annoyed.      

 ”Yeah, I guess, but you’ll have to wait”, the dj told me and he pointed back to where I came from.

 I nodded that I understood, and walked back to my table.

 ”Man, I really hope this isn’t a waste of my time”, I said to myself, trying to decide if this was a huge mistake.

 About 10 minutes later, I was ready to leave. I had had enough of the waiting. Ever second that ticked by made me more anxious.

  ”This is ridiculous, I’m going to leave.”

But as I readied myself, a larger man emerged from the curved entryway. He stopped at the dj booth and they spoke briefly before looking over at me and pointing. 

  ”Oh shit, now I’m really ready to leave, this was a huge mistake…”

But before I could even stand, let alone escape, the man was already halfway to my table.

 ”Hey, I’m Teron, did you want to talk about a job?”

 Based on his attire and overall behaviour, this guy seemed pretty professional. I resolved to not run. He motioned to his office and I followed.

About Lindsey:

Lin Tutu
Lin Tutu

Lindsey, also known as ”Lin Tutu”, resides in St. Louis with her three children and fiancé.  A former professional Ballet and Contemporary dancer, she transitioned to Pole in 2009, and is currently a dance instructor, performer, competitive and exotic dancer. She is also the creator of ”Ballet Sensual”, a sexy Ballet class, which uses the technique and fundamentals of Ballet, while inspiring students to find their inner sensuality

Instagram: @lin.tutu

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/dancerLin.Tutu/

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