I had made up my mind that I was going to get a private dance for Eric that night, so we watched the dancers and I settled on a pretty blonde named April. She was just different in that she chose country music (Mary Chapin-Carpenter) and something about her struck me. She just seemed warm. Admittedly, for myself her classic looks were just too intimidating. I liked the brunettes who looked more like the girl you expect your brother to date, but that you know are seething infernos underneath when unleashed.

April turned out to be a really sweet girl and I did end up getting a dance from her after she performed for Eric. She sat and chatted with us and I asked her how she got involved in stripping. She told me that if I was interested, I really ought to try it. "I mean, I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t enjoy it," she said. But she followed that up with a sort of warning that has stuck with me and echoes in my brain to be conscious of continuously. "It can sort of make you look at men a little differently. Sometimes I get angry with them…" and she trailed off. "You know?" I could only imagine.

Little did I know that not too long after our conversation would I find myself crossing the threshold of Ecstasy again, but this time wanting to do it as a dancer, not a customer.

Amateur Night at Bob's proved that taking off all my clothes in front of dozens of complete strangers was apparently not a problem for me, but it was time to see if I had what it takes to be a professional. I had promised myself that I would go apply at Ecstasy (trial by fire!) once I had passed my second Novell network certification exam. That had long since happened and here I was still procrastinating. What was I afraid of?

Well I had plenty to be afraid of, of course. What if they didn’t like me… didn’t think I was pretty? I mean, let’s face it; any woman can enter an amateur contest. But the club I wanted to dance in is known for its beautiful women who really know how to move. Maybe they would tell me I needed to get some experience elsewhere first. Maybe they would say my breasts weren’t big enough or my skin not tanned enough or… the list goes on and on just like any woman’s list of what she thinks she lacks physically. Or maybe I just didn’t exude hot, passionate, I-want-to-f***-you-now kind of vibes. Maybe I’m not "sexy." Vanity; the female equivalent to the male ego. It can be quite frail and easily bruised.

But then this was a challenge and I wasn’t about to back down from a challenge! So off I went to apply in person, as the phone recording at the club instructed aspiring dancers.

At the doors of Ecstasy, I was asked to produce ID. The door where the bouncer sits has a square ticket-window-like cutout in it that is relatively small, through which I had to hand my ID for careful scrutiny. I flashed to a scene from some cheap B movie where you have to give the secret password to get into the speakeasy. I suppose I should have felt flattered as one of the dancers perused my driver’s license, sort of like being carded at a bar. Instead, I was nervous. Finally they opened the door and told me to go see the bartender and fill out a form which I was to then take to the DJ. It was so dark in contrast to the bright sunny day outside. It took forever for my eyes to adjust and for quite some time, all I could see were my silly white socks and sneakers glowing fluorescent under the black lights of the club. Luckily the form was bright white too so I could see what I needed to write.

Surprisingly, it didn’t ask the usual questions. Not exactly the standard job application I had become accustomed to filling out for IS positions. But then what kind of references are they going to check on an exotic dancer? It asked for name, age, and address, then listed the typical shift hours and stage fees, and audition nights. I gave the form to the DJ who told me to come back on Wednesday night at 6pm. He added the following to the sheet which he then gave back to me: "bring CDs, costumes, and good attitude."

Costumes? Oh yeah. Costumes. Remembering the silliness backstage during amateur night, I realized I wasn’t really strong on costumes, but I figured I had enough to get me by. My biggest failing was shoes. It was apparent that most dancers wore the 6 or 7 inch high heel platform shoes, and my black satin CFMPs just weren’t as exciting as dancers’ shoes. So Eric and I headed out to find appropriate foot attire, not really knowing where to go. Of course, had we looked at ZBone’s page, we would have been more informed, but then we wouldn’t have found what we did, which turned out almost as well!

Our excursion took us to an outlet mall where we hoped the huge number of shoe stores would afford me some variety of choices. "Heck," I figured, "platform shoes are back in style so maybe I’ll find something workable in a mainstream discount shoe store." The idea here was not to have my new interest drain me dry of my spending money while I was looking for my dream IS job. We must have looked in more than half a dozen shoe stores and, boy, did we ever strike out. Dejectedly, we continued to walk through the strip of stores when we came across a clothing boutique with "going out of business" signs in the window. I’m a sucker for clearances so we wandered in. Immediately I noticed this store had some high quality clothes, a large majority of which happened to be really sexy stuff. We started picking up items for me to try on and carted them back to the dressing room. Eric was having a field day picking out more and more things for me to try while I was busily shedding and donning various outfits. We came away with several items that would start me on my way to a reasonable wardrobe without breaking the bank. Everything but shoes!

Got the clothes; got the music; got the attitude, I think. But still I’m nervous.

Okay. I knew I needed moral support so I called my friend Eddie, who I used to work with and have known for years, and asked if he wouldn’t mind sitting in on my audition. So I stacked the audience! I needed to see familiar faces during this one. He agreed and said he would try to bring a mutual friend, Jeremy, who could be supportive but would also know how to keep from broadcasting my new interest all over town. On Wednesday night I showed up at Ecstasy with one of my new dresses and my Commitments CD.

Staying calm was pretty difficult, but having Eric there and my friends made all the difference in the world. I saw the DJ and asked him what to do. He told me to get into my dance costume then bring him my music when I was dressed. I got ready quietly in the back while all the regular dancers just went about their normal routines. I felt pretty out of place. Applying my lipstick while standing behind the girls seated at the vanity, I tried not to be too obvious about watching what the other dancers were doing. More than anything, I just wanted to be unobtrusive and stay out of the way. I had heard that some dancers could be rather territorial and I certainly didn’t want to upset anyone on the night I was auditioning.

So off I went to give my music to the DJ and mentally prepare myself for my trip onstage. Tony, the DJ, has kind of a gruff voice and tries to come across as kind of a hard guy, but he obviously understood my nervousness when I told him this was my first professional audition. He told me to try to relax, watch the other girls a little, and then let him know when I was ready. I sat and chatted with Eric, Eddie, and Jeremy while we watched a couple of the dancers. I finally decided I had better get to it so I told Tony I was as ready as I’d ever be. He popped me into the rotation and soon enough I was hearing my name being announced as a new dancer auditioning. I took one last look in the mirror just inside the curtain to the stage and reminded myself of all I had forgotten when I danced at Bob’s on that fateful amateur night. The tones of Mustang Sally belted out of the sound system and I strutted out on to the stage. Head held high, big smile on my face, I walked to the front stage like I imagined runway models walk with confidence and an air of "I’m gorgeous and I know it." A little imagination can go a long way and the partition between the front stage and the backstage isn’t all that unlike a model’s runway anyway, so I thought, "What the hell. Act the part and you’ll be the part!" Eric and my two friends had moved to the rail so I had them, as well as at least three other men, to dance for. This was going to be great!

My black dress, although form-fitting, was long-sleeved, high-collared, completely opaque, and not particularly short, but what it did have going for it was two sets of zippers that ran from the end of the sleeves all the way down the side of the dress to the hemline just above my knees. Talk about easy access. This isn’t the kind of dress you see everyday and it’s certainly the type guys hope to find their date wearing, but with no underwear. As I stepped up the one step to the front stage, one of the zippers worked it’s way up under the strain of movement against my thigh and created an instant side slit. I grabbed hold of the pole in center of the small circular stage and swung myself around it to get into the rhythm of the music. As I moved my hips to the music I tried to imagine myself as the most beautiful woman in the world just out to enjoy herself and danced like I had no cares in the world. I made sure there was lots of eye contact with all the men on the stage, and not once did I let the smile leave my face. At the midpoint of the song, I invited one of the men at the rail to "help" me with one of my zippers. He gladly obliged as I knelt in front of him, extending my arm up and out towards him while he slowly ran the zipper past my hip, up my waist, and along the length of my arm all the way to my wrist. Since I was going to milk this dress, and the audience participation, for all it was worth, I danced my way over to another patron at the rail and had him do the same with the other zipper. I slipped the now hanging pieces of material over my head and dropped them to the floor, leaving me in nothing but a black thong. As the song trailed off and the DJ announced I would be doing my second song, I collected the tips at the rail and retreated to the back stage to set down my dress and what I hoped would be the first of many handfuls of "green-backed appreciation." Afterall, how else does a girl know she is giving the clients a good show?

As I walked back to the front stage again, I concentrated on slipping into a more sultry mood and thought about my floor work. These men were here to see more than just a wiggling set of hips and a woman strutting about on the stage. I needed to display myself for them intimately and up close in a fashion you just don’t see everyday. As the light and sensual thumping of I Can’t Stand the Rain started to play in the background, I focused on getting very close to the men at the rail, kneeling in front of them and spreading my legs as I reclined back on to the stage floor. The smiles told me I was doing something right as I made my way around to each man. I was pleased.

But something interesting became quite obvious to me very quickly and kind of made me chuckle. My friend Eddie, who is probably one of the most open-minded and non-judgmental people I know and with whom I have shared many of my most intimate feelings, was having a hard time looking at me when I would get in his face with various private portions of my body. For all the clubs I know he has been to and all the bachelor parties I know he has arranged, the poor guy was embarrassed by me paying attention to him. It was cute! I tried not to make him uncomfortable and focused my attentions to the others without completely leaving him out. I mean, afterall, he was tipping quite well and it’s customary to pay attention to clients who tip well. I talked to him about it later and found out he’s always like that at clubs. He likes to chat with the dancers, buy them drinks or have them dance for his friends, but rarely has them lavish their attentions on him. Interesting.

I finished my set, gathered my tips, and headed off stage. Backstage, I put on a cover up and went to talk to the DJ. He said I was hired and was welcome to stay the rest of the night. I wasn’t prepared for that, and I actually needed to be studying for a midterm exam in my Microsoft NT Server class. I begged out, explaining my circumstance, which didn’t make Tony too happy. I got the feeling he thought it was an excuse, typical dancer flaking out on him, and I only hoped he wouldn’t let that stand in the way of me dancing there. I told him I was available only two nights a week, Sunday and Wednesday, and that I could start that Sunday. He said that was fine and that at some point I would need to speak to Olivia, who normally sets the schedules. He said she would probably be available on Sunday. Holy cow! I’m a dancer!!

On cloud nine in the dressing room, I changed back into my street clothes and went out of the club with Eric and my friends. I was so excited it was unbelievable. Eddie and Jeremy needed to go their own ways for the evening so we parted company. Poor Jeremy had told his girlfriend, whom he was meeting that night, that he was working late. I was glad he was able to make the show, but I was bummed I had caused him to lie and definitely didn’t want him to keep his girlfriend waiting any longer than he already had. Eric and I took off to a local restaurant and grabbed some dinner, excitedly talking about the evening, areas for improvement, and ideas for songs, floor work, and costumes. Never had chicken strips tasted so good. Through all the excitement, I realized several things: 1) dancing really turned me on; 2) I wanted more; 3) dancing is very strenuous activity, and 4) I was way out shape and going to be sore the next day!

Now the only concern I had was how to keep my roommate from finding out about my new pastime. I didn’t know how she would feel about it and we got along so well that I never wanted to do anything that would jeopardize our friendship and living arrangements. Hmm, this would not be easy, but the dancing was too intoxicating to give up.

Next Installment: Exposed: "Professional" Dancer!

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