CHAPTER 1

Southern Exposure

On a layover as a flight attendant, I went out on thetown with a colleague. It was one of the few timeswhen I wasn't the youngest, although that seems to behappening more frequently now. I like to socialize with olderpeople, not to retain my status as the youngest, but because Ifeel more compatible with them, enjoy their maturity, and gleanvaluable lessons from their wisdom and experience. I hope that Ikeep us spontaneous, curious, and unjaded by life. I like to believethat we have somewhat of a symbiotic relationship, althoughI'll always feel indebted to their contributions to my personaldevelopment.

So I was telling my younger cohort how I seldom get cardedat bars and confidently stated that turning thirty wasn't going tochange that, but it was I, not him, who was carded. He had thebiggest smirk of satisfaction. I reminded him that time stands stillfor no one, so he should enjoy boyish good looks while they lasted.It happened to be amateur strip night, and all the college boys wereback in town. I observed all the attention focused on their youth:wrinkle-free faces, ripped bodies, smooth, flawless skin—andoh, their energy! All this was reminiscent of my former dancingdays—flashbacks of the adoration, money, propositions ...

I had just returned from Germany and didn't want my buddingself-discovery to be oppressed back in Idaho. So I opted to movein with Peter and his boyfriend in Memphis. I quickly settled inwith a restaurant job and applied to transfer colleges. My twenty-secondbirthday was not too long after I relocated, and I felt likegoing out. Peter and his boyfriend stayed home, so I went to thegay bar alone and luckily arrived (unbeknownst to me) before thestrip show started. I watched and lusted after the two sexy men,both muscular and toned, with bulging packages. My mind wasracing with hard-core fantasies of all the possibilities. After all,though I was still inexperienced, I was an always curious and aptpupil. At the end of their routines and working the crowd for tips,they approached me. I was surprised and confused. One of themintroduced himself as the manager, and asked to speak with meback in their changing room. I was intrigued, but nervous. I hadno clue what we were going to talk about, but I was hoping to betaken advantage of—just as I had played out in my mind.

Walking into their changing room, the manager complimentedmy looks and asked if I'd like to join them—as a dancer. That wasquite a loaded question for me, having never even thought of sucha thing. I had a serious body-image complex. I didn't believe thatI had a body worth flaunting; I didn't feel that I ever had that"it" factor. Such a concept eluded me. I was so self-critical and-conscious. It was hard to think about anything but saying yes,though, as they both were stark naked by that point, changing.That night, after the thrill of the proposition subsided, the fearand anxiety set in. My obsessive-compulsive tendencies in regardto my body were amplified. I panicked and called the manager,trying to rescind my agreement to join. Let's face it—I lackedexperience, but most critically, I lacked self-confidence. Howcould I possibly strut my stuff with such paralyzing insecurities?

Trying not to talk myself out of it, I held onto the manager'sreassuring pep talks. He invited me over to coach me a little.We watched scenes from Coyote Ugly, and I was taking as manymental notes as my mind could absorb. He actually prepped mepretty well, which eased my anxiety. I practiced various movesand was thinking about which music to use, etc. My confidencewas building when I thought of it like a performance. I was usedto being in front of crowds; now it just demanded less costume.I don't remember the details, but my closing lesson found usfucking each other on his couch.

He recruited a good-looking boy my age who was prettymuscular. We both were novice and nervous about our debut.The drive from Memphis to Nashville was long as I lay across thebackseat of the car, my stomach knotted in anxiety. The preppingin our changing room above the bar was surreal: the adrenaline,the dick needles and pumps, the fluffing. The music from belowwas thumping through the floor, the vibrations accentuating thechurning of my insides. My nerves were intense. The other kidwent out first. I heard his music cue, and as the crowd cheeredhim on, I started to dread my upcoming performance. He cameback upstairs with a beaming smile, his face radiating the...