I lived in a house on Morrissey Blvd with Jim, the owner of the company I worked for. He graduated from UCSC, with a degree in computer science, but he found running an exotic dancing service to be more lucrative. Go figure. I started working as an exotic dancer for Jim in 2001, a few months after breaking up with my ex-boyfriend Joe. Joe moved to the east coast to re-unite with his lost love. Our break up was amicable. I had been severely depressed for most of the time we were together, and we both felt we needed to move on.
Since I was out of a committed relationship, and had been bi-curious since high school, I decided it was time to begin exploring what my fantasies had been telling me all along. Somewhere deep inside me, were homosexual tendencies that frightened me when I thought about them bubbling to the surface. One night, shortly before Joe left town. I asked him if he would humor me, and accompany me to a fully nude stripping establishment called the Kit Cat Club, in San Jose. In addition to breaking the ice that was surrounding my sexual orientation, I also considered the gesture some kind of peace offering to him. The Kit Cat Club was relatively small, with some tables and chairs to sit at, while innocently drinking cokes or ginger ale. California State law forbid the sale or consumption of alcohol where the dancers bared all. There was bar seating around a small stage in the middle of the club. The stage had a pole apparatus that reminded me of a gymnastics high-bar, but lower.
Thin, scantily clad, girls in 6 inch heels, who smelled like sex and candy were working the room. Joe and I took our seats front and center, and bent one dollar bills over the brass rim circling the edge of the stage. My eyes were fixated on her. Her body gravitated toward those bills, like they were markers in a game of three-dimensional connect-the-dots. Joe bought me a lap dance and I went and sat down in a little alcove area reserved for private dances. Her name was Kim. She was a petite brunette, with alabaster skin, an eyebrow piercing, and a pirate smile. She teased me like an erotic, anthropomorphic serpent, slithering up and down my body without making any physical contact.
When the dance was over, I bashfully thanked her for torturing me, and I went back to the stage where Joe was sitting. He had also gotten a lap dance. In hind sight, we certainly had an original method off smoothing out the edges of our break up. Kim eventually made her way back over to us again and solicited another private dance from me at $40 a pop. I guess she must have liked the way I was captivated by her, because when she finished pushing me to the edge of my desire, she discreetly asked me for my number. Now, I know what your thinking, but this really happened. She called me later that week, she lived in San Jose and and we decided she would meet me here. We went to Gabriella’s downtown for dinner. She paid. I remember feeling like I didn't quite know how to act. This was my first romantic encounter with a woman ever, let alone a first date. I was pretty sure that the ratio was the following: one butch to one femme, and I was confused as to which one I was supposed to be. A couple glasses of wine later, we were off to Kiva, a local spa with outdoor community hot tubs. She obviously had no qualms about being naked in public, and we sat amongst the other patrons, in a big community pool under the stars. She reached her hand under the foaming, bubbles of hot water and and began caressing my thighs. I felt a drop inside my stomach that was both arousing and uncomfortable. We needed more privacy. So we went back to this somewhat removed picnic table area. She lay down on top of me. The heat from her dripping wet body radiated through mine, then dissipated as it met the cool and dewy, wooden picnic table we were laying on. I remember the lightness of her body as she was only about 5’2” without the heels. Her kiss was disorganized and rapacious. I felt a tornado of thoughts swirl around us. We were unobsturcted. I felt exposed. In more ways than one.
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