III: As It Happens

The parties became a frequent event. I would stay with Cheryl for several days at times, spending hours with multiple men and women. Guys and girls. I was the youngest. I didn’t know what to make of all of it at first. I had this horrible fascination with all of it – with the rush I felt when someone used me, or the adrenaline I felt when someone hit me. I was forced to do things, constantly.

I developed a like for all of this. I took to it.

The trips downtown would happen. Sometimes I would take it to myself to simply let myself out and make my way downtown, coming back some days later when I thought that things would be better at home. I wasn’t old enough to dance for a couple of years. Until then, I made do with sneaking what I could out of convenience stores or simply stopping people and asking them what I could do in exchange for food. I would do what they asked of me. It ranged from simply sitting and eating with them to taking things, walking their pet, cleaning up, letting them have me, dancing for them. Most of the time I could opt out of having sex with people if I offered blowjobs instead. Sometimes they would make me anyway.

In time I would make my way back home. I would walk as much of it as I could, or I’d hitchhike. People expect things of you when you hitchhike. Yes. Even though you’re a twelve year old kid they’ll still ask it of you.

Then again, I didn’t quite look twelve. My chest had begun expanding by the time I was nine. I’m 5’2″ now, and sport a DD chest. I’ve been a D-DD since I was fourteen. Of course, it isn’t often that a fourteen year old has a DD chest without some surgical help.

Thick eyeliner, mascara, rose red lips and stage-thick makeup, tiny skirts, skimpy tops, and sky-high heels made me pass for eighteen+. Or maybe it was just that people didn’t care to know my age once they saw what I was wearing.

I’d waltzed into a club at 14, leaned on the bar with my cleavage pressing against my shirt, and asked the bartender if I could dance.

He said he didn’t know. So he got the manager.

The manager took me to the back room and asked me to show her what I could do. I did. I stripped and she gave me tips, touching me as often as she could. Eventually one of the other workers came into the back room. I made sure not to disappoint.

I began dancing after that. I made $15.00/hr plus tips. Not bad for 14, right? She said I’d get a raise if I brought in customers. A lot of the girls had men who came just to see them, and I eventually grew my own following.


“Elle,” I said, running my hands down my stomach to rest on my hips as I swayed with the music.

He nodded, his eyes not focused on mine, “I like you, Elle,” He said, reaching out cautiously toward my collar bone. I let him run his fingers across, shivering slightly as they traveled down to the only button that kept my shirt from popping open, strained against my breasts.

People at the table next to us were watching. My skirt left a large gap between the top of my stockings and its hem. I turned around and touched my toes, slowly rising back up. I felt his thumb pressing against me. I rose quickly and turned back, making eye contact with one of the bartenders, Matthew. Matt stiffened and walked to the edge of the bar, ready to help if I needed it.

The man pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and grabbed my hair, pulling me toward him. The button broke and my blouse burst open. He stuffed the cash into the band of my bra, sliding his hands over my chest and violently gripping each breast as he passed over it. I stared at him, my mouth open and wincing at his grip on my hair. His hand slid down my stomach and between my legs. He pressed, then roughly pulled me in for a kiss.

He never got to kiss me. Matthew’s fist collided with the side of his face, splashing small droplets of blood against my chest. The man didn’t let go of my hair. I toppled with him as his chair tipped and he landed on his right side, his hand still in my hair. I landed on my left side, facing him. He pounded the ground close to my head and cursed as Matthew stood over him, waiting for him to get up.

“You should let go of her hair,” He said, his voice gravelly and low.

The man pounded the floor again. The third time he was too close to my face. My jaw went numb for a moment, then slowly began to revive as I felt warmth dripping down my chin.

He was pulled off of me suddenly. Matthew yanked him into the office and I didn’t see him again for a while.

I made my way back to the dressing rooms and examined my split lip and bruising jaw. Eventually I realized that the green wad of cash that he’d shoved into my bra cup was massive.

I’d made something near fifteen-hundred dollars.


Events like that came and went. Sometimes I’d make a lot of money and other times I wouldn’t. Cheryl danced with me quite frequently, but I also worked on my own.

I didn’t feel empty afterward. I didn’t feel the things that people say that dancers must feel. Some dancers, sure, they feel it. I didn’t. I loved the stage, hands touching me when I let them, the lace and silk and dainty outfits. I learned how to manipulate. I learned tricks that helped me make more money.

I’d get lonely. But we all get lonely.

– elle

  1. Amanda Knight says:

    Hi. Your story is very similar to mine. Drugs, dancing, violence, sex, men, and women. What club did you dance at?


  2. Hi Amanda,

    I’d love to hear your story. Do you still dance?


  3. GEO says:

    reality is what you make it. to have challenges in life only makes you stronger in the end

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s