How Stripping Made My Family Stronger
Some people think that sex work and a happy home life can't possibly go together. They're wrong.
Illustrations by Paige Mehrer | Edited by Lilly Dancyger
I sit in the bathtub and stare at the burgeoning bruises on my knees and shins while the water slowly rises. Another month, maybe two, and I’ll have enough set aside to let me quit dancing for good, find a desk job with an HR department and health benefits. Something long-term, with fewer job-related health and safety risks.
Four weeks. Twelve shifts. I can do this.
My husband, Joe, comes in and hands me a cup of tea before sitting down next to me on the floor.
“Tough day, huh?” he asks.
I nod and take a sip. This is part of our ritual.
“Tell me about it,” he offers.
I think about where to start. With the seven guys in a row who refused to tip or buy a dance because they’re “just here to watch the game, honey.” Or maybe with the knock-down-drag-out fight that started in the dressing room and ended with one girl fired and another girl in the hospital? Maybe it would be best to start with the guy who said he wanted a dance but only if it…
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