Segmenting Sexual Selves

When I went skydiving for the first (and only time), I really thought I was gonna die. On the ascent, my life flashed before my eyes. I took inventory of my regrets and, luckily, couldn’t think of many. But the one that came through the clearest? I was never a stripper. When I landed and (spoiler alert) survived, I went back to revisit that thought I had right before falling through the sky.

This didn’t surprise me, I often fantasized about stripping throughout my life but the fact that it was the biggest regret up ‘til then? Well that still makes me lol.

A few series of events following the sky dive put me on the path of crossing this off my bucket list, and I seized the moment to do so.

At the time, I was reclaiming my sexual expression and actively dismantling sexual oppression through dance. Ghetto Stiletto by Apollo Sa’Deek was the class and performance group in Hollywood that was helping me unleash my inner lioness that felt stuck in shame. One night, we had a performance at a showcase where my boyfriend entered a raffle when he came to see me. He won me my first pair of Pleasers—the starter 6” silver covered in sparkle and clear plastic front. I placed them on my dresser like a statue, stared at them like a work of art. When I put them on, I felt so powerful and also scared I was gonna bust my ass.

Next, a friend told me she finally auditioned at a club and invited me to go with her for an audition of my own. It was Easter Sunday when I first stepped on a strip club stage—not many people in the club besides the DJ, staff, and a few patrons. I wasn’t planning for that holiday in particular but it was an opportunity to give an embodied fuck you to my oppressive Catholic School upbringing, so I was all for it. I was nervous but also, mostly excited.

As I took to the stage I thought: this is the moment I’ve been waiting for; I feel like me. The erotic part of myself that felt so buried, so invisible, so desperate to break free for so long—in that moment, she finally felt seen. AND something else amazing…paid.

New level unlocked. I was making in one night what I made in a week with four part-time jobs. I was feeling sexy AF doing it. The learning curve was steep but even on a bad night I was up from my civilian financial standards (I recognize this is a privilege and not necessarily the norm, nor should it be glamorized. But it was well before the pandemic and pre-Cali Gig Law, so in my memory it totally did feel glamorous compared to what came after).

The character I put on at the club wasn’t so much a performance as it was a part of myself that I was so excited to get to be without apology. I was leading with my sexuality; straight up sassy, dirty-talking, at times a total bitch to men, and being unapologetically slutty.

I was making the horny, frustrated good girl version of me sitting in religion class in the itchy uniform skirt SO PROUD. Back then, there were only girls in my classes—obedient, oppressed, virginal, misinformed girls. Or at least thats how I felt.

Now I was surrounded by women who seemed free (to me) and who were literal professionals at being sexy. In my lacy red and black one-piece from Frederick’s with the sides cut out, I felt in control; swinging around the pole to The Valley with all eyes on me. This was my element.

I’ve always related to my physical self strongly. My body feels like the real me. As a lifelong dancer, as an ex fashion model, as a woman, as a human, my body feels like my truth and doing something so embodied felt aligned. I usually hated all the talking—so much talking! But giving dances, using body language and studying the body language of others, giving a show on stage? I lived for it.

The contrast came in my daily life where I was feeling like I had to dial it way down with the men I actually dated. I was in an open relationship and free to explore but I kept feeling more and more invisible. Not in a “my world revolves around male attention” kinda way. But in an, “I am an abundant sexual being and I will not compromise on sexual attention and satisfaction” kind of way.

There was a big gap between feeling objectified at the club and feeling invisible in my everyday life. Sure men would look at me and desire me, but I also didn’t feel seen. Especially as the sex goddess I felt myself to be. When I was straightforward about looking for a predominantly sexual relationship or transparent about things related to sexuality, it seemed I scared men off. When I met someone who seemed down with it, they would short circuit after a short while.

A particular partner comes to mind. We had a short fling with incredible chemistry and neither of us ever wanted to tap out so we would go for hours. He was a really nice guy too and one day I told him, “I really like this and I want to keep doing it—are you on the same page?” He assured me he was. One week later he abruptly cut things off. When I told him I was bummed out, he responded “haha it was just sex”. Ouch.

Just sex. Haha. Oh yeah, how could I forget. We aren’t supposed to value sex. Not like that. We aren’t supposed to want it or enjoy it or let it mean anything to us in and of itself.

Back at the club, men were big spending, begging, and offering tons of money to take me home. Full service wasn’t my hustle and so there I was insanely horny with no one to take it out on. While being desired by everyone at the same damn time! Somehow it seemed that anyone who I chose to project my sexual energy onto would shrink away.

I struggled to reconcile the version of myself I wanted to be, and the way society didn’t seem to have much space for me to be that in real life. In a club, with bodyguards and boundaries, I could be direct and dirty. In my real life, I strangely couldn’t find anyone who could handle that. It was maddening.

When I was forced to take a long break, I missed my stripper persona dearly. Sure I was dancing wildly, practicing sex magic, tending to my eroticism devotedly. But I was missing this outlet in particular, missing my inner slut so badly. One night, I took myself on a romantic date, as I do. I wrote a letter to my stripper self over a glass of wine. It felt good to acknowledge her as a part of me who deserved attention, if by no one else, then by me.

These reflections came up recently in a SW Wellness Circle led by Selena and co-facilitated by Stilettos4Survival. The title of the circle was Double Lives: Separating SW Identity from Authentic Self, led by Strippers United as part of their monthly virtual offerings.

On the other side of a decade of stripping, and after deciding to retire from the club, I was mourning the regular outlet that the environment provided for a long time. Additionally, I was on the other side of Instagram erasure, dealing with the mental and emotional consequences of feeling like a big part of myself had been eliminated from reality. This circle was helpful to share some things and hear the experiences of others, ultimately inspiring this essay.

Understanding, identifying, and affirming the desires of all sides of my sexual self is an ongoing journey. I am passionate about devoting time and energy into my erotic expression and continuing to explore it through embodiment shows up in my work as a facilitator and artist in an ongoing way. I am grateful for the exploration of my sexuality that sex work provided me and continues to provide me in other mediums now.

With the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, I think fondly of my time on the strip club stage, and of grinding on the lap of strangers while they shower me in praise and money. It’s also tangibly feeling like a new era of integration with all the sides of my sexual self.

Sensual Radiance is a multimedia artist, Founder of Pussy Empowered™, Treasurer of YAS Work, Member of Stripper Co-Op, Writer of the Exalted Erotic, and contributing writer to BSWWS. Connect on IG

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