Never Thought I Would Experience My Sexual Liberation At A Strip Club

Never Thought I Would Experience My Sexual Liberation At A Strip Club

and yet I was completely enamored with the dirt and sleaze
and dollar bills

big nipples, little nipples,
scrawny women, thick women,
young women, mothers,
that coy sweet vanilla body spray
mixed with expectation
and I could taste skin
before I could even see it.

I went in thinking:
I’m a feminist, the sex industry is bad,
but I like women, I like people, and I like sex, a lot,
but sex workers are exploited,
and women’s bodies are not for men’s entertainment,
but then I thought about it,
the hustle,
and I bet you Candy is getting her engineering degree
and will design a new art museum one day,
and even if she isn’t, who the fuck cares,
I have 2 degrees and get dehumanized every Sunday,
slinging coffee and eggs benedict,
Candy is drying her tears in 20 dollars bills.

But when we sit down at the rail,
I swear, it could be
my high school counselor,
the same one that told me to have safe sex,
and she’s
sitting on the edge of the stage,
laughing while
shaking her ass
inches from my face.

And I remember when that ex mocked
my porn history
blonde lesbians kissing
(they looked enough like me)

“They are so nice to each other,”
I explained with a shrug,
and masturbated
at work instead of at home

and when I broke up with him,
he bought me liter of blackberry Wild Vines
so I could get drunk and cry, and man I cried
so hard that night when I
finally felt that orgasm in my own bed,
because I’d just spent seven months
like the rest of them.

But at that strip club,
where I bought the owner a shot of tequila,
then took off my clothes to Beyoncé,
I didn’t even mind looking right at my audience.
I’m still a feminist, I thought, wee!
I love dancing,
holy shit this is really fucking hard,
I am so sweaty in so many places,
oh my god
this is so fucking fun.
Maybe can I pay off my credit cards and student loans in one dollar bills.

I can have a stage name finally!
I will go by Fergie Fernet
since my whole life everyone’s been
laughing at my name anyway,
Devin Devine sounds like porn star,
or drag queen, or stripper,
someone destined for the stage,
so yes, even mistaken sometimes as a poet.

I love this idea of
covering myself in someone’s eyes,
letting them see every inch of me,
and then it’s sort of still
like I get to masturbate at work
instead of at home. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

Devin Devine is a writer, comedian, and performer from Spokane, Washington. You can buy her most recent chapbook ‘Domestic & Fowl’ here.

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