LJWorld.com weblogs Anna Undercover
Stripper Blog: From North Africa, to the Middle East, to Kansas
North Africa in July.
“Al-laaaaahh…!” A man’s voice sustained each vowel in the Muslim call to prayer as he sang slowly and purposefully into the streets of the Moroccan imperial city. Winding around apartment buildings, flowing through gaping windows, and echoing out over rooftops high and low, the grainy midday message of Islam reminded every ear, including mine, of the most basic Islamic beliefs. Perhaps especially, it reminded the numerous rooftop satellite dishes, turned thoughtfully toward the sky like upturned faces in an interested crowd, of the religious (cultural?) lens through which they might examine the images, messages, and ideas from voices local and abroad.
Megaphones on minarets carried the man’s words over my head in more ways than one as I marched defiantly up the street in long pants and a conservative ¾ length-sleeved black shirt. Defiantly because it was 110 degrees Fahrenheit, goddammit, and I was going to show those asses on the restaurant patio that I wasn’t afraid of them, regardless of whose country this was. I would be comfortable whether they treated me like a whore or not.
“Bare forearms be damned,” I thought, secure in my righteousness. “It’s not a secret that I have them.” I steeled myself as the path to my destination brought me closer the group of men, lounging in chairs on the restaurant patio. One of them let out a whistle. I knew it!
“Shame on you!” I barked like a pit bull in Arabic, my heart racing. I had rehearsed for this moment.
I stopped walking and faced him. Red-faced and severe, I stared him down. Taken aback by my boldness, the man raised his palms, perhaps yielding to my indignation. Hands on my hips, I shook my head sternly. Rightly or wrongly, I was satisfied, and resumed my march toward the local Internet café in angry, self-righteous triumph.
Many moons and one Twitter account later, I sat at Java Break in the much chillier Lawrence, Kansas, with my laptop. I had gently and successfully talked myself down to 'reasonable' from a low level of inward hysteria over a few incidents from Saturday night. I was almost calm enough to write my next post; then came Jillian C. York's tweet from a women's bathroom in Lebanon.
Freshly inflamed by Jillian's restroom dispatch, I was immediately as angry and indignant about Saturday night as I’d been about the chauvinists in Morocco.
Some behavior on Saturday was entirely ridiculous. Trusting one of my best customers as she tipped me on stage, I let my guard down as I crawled over her in an exaggerated, intimate fashion, taking my time to entertain her as well as her observing spouse. She rewarded this personalized service by not keeping her tongue in her mouth.
I jumped back in angry consternation. If a giant question mark could have appeared over my head, it would have.
In an instant, I decided whether to smack her. “Girl, I did not sign up to be your next conquest,” I thought angrily, stifling my violent urge. Her husband smirked in the front row. I was appalled. “Forget you idiots,” I thought, and went on with the show. They had always been so good to me.
Later, the director of a Kansas City firm’s technology team asked for my contact information. “Honey, if I give you my info, both of us get tossed out and management will charge me $400 in fines to work here again,” I informed him sweetly. Unbothered that I could lose my job in the worst recession since the Great Depression, he pressed on. “But I really like you,” he whined.
“Oh, right,” I should have said. “Silly me. My job, my money, my reputation—none of this matters as much as your fleeting, mild interest.”
Hey. Shrug it off, I coached myself. Get that money! Screw the bastards. Smile! I bounced away.
“You are hotter than the devil’s balls,” another man said eloquently as I sat on his knee. I smiled. Neither flattered nor annoyed, I patiently listened to my client detail his opinion of my face and body. “Plus, you’re smart,” he threw in. My longest standing and most loyal customer, I trusted him above anyone else in this environment. Again letting my guard down, I danced close to his face.
He put his mouth on me. “What the hell!” I cried out and shoved him away, roughly. Blech! “You said you’d follow the rules!” I snarled, feeling injured. “My rules!” he said. He laughed at me as I stood, naked, in front of him.
Gross! Oh my god! I wiped his saliva off my chest with my skirt, hard. The coarse, cheap material did its job. Yuck! I didn’t want one atom of his slime on my body. “How could you?” I thought as I finished the dance, facing away from him on purpose. I drove home angrily.
God damn you! I have breasts and hips the same as brought you into this world that taught you to crave and admire them at night. Exactly the same.
Yes, you can see my ass, but it’s my heart that’s in your face as I stand before you, ready to dance.
COMMENTER AWARDS FROM LAST ENTRY:
Best in Wharrgarbling: kmat (1st place), denak (2nd place. Sorry; kmat's bullying edged you out). Best in Satire: prolifersforwar Biggest Bully: kmat The "This Blogger Can Write in Complete Sentences, Therefore the Writer is Probably a Man" Award: Houdini Afraid of Naked Women Having Fun Award: sherbert Internet Tough Guy Award: tubs_of_love Thoughtful Commenter Award: Succotash Practical/Voice of Reason Award: LarryNative, honeychild "So Nice!" Award: alm77, redmorgan, Vic, Zilla "Yay! Another New Englander!" Award: KansasPerson Pro-Naked People Commenter: parrothead8 Hottest Commenters: Zilla, justchuck Frumious Bandersnatch: Marion
Folks, I am graduating you all to Level Two commenting.
Peanut Gallery: ::gasp:: What's that??
Going forward, if you have a poor understanding of this blog (in part or in whole), someone else's comment about the blog, indicate that you have not read what is plainly on the page in front of you, or otherwise require that I make a project out of responding to you, I will ignore you unless I randomly feel like engaging a twit. Of course, it never matters when I make mistakes. :)
Also, the ad hominem attacks on this blog thus far have been predictable at best and disappointingly clumsy at worst. I tire of this. Step it up, or bench yourself.