Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Well, I'm back and I'm bored. I don't have a TV in my apartment, and the only book I have that I haven't read is on the genocide in Darfur, and I don't really feel like making myself more miserable, so I am going to write. Maybe it's good that I don't have a TV, this way I can focus more on my writing. Tonight the topic of discussion is.....liking girls.
Now, I am not a lesbian, maybe bicurious would be the better word? Let me explain. When I graduated college, I was 21. I had never had a boyfriend, never had sex, and had only seen a penis maybe two times. The only contact I had had with a penis were two  (seperate) drunken encounters where I tried, unsuccesfully, to give someone head. So, there I was, little naive girl with pretty much no sexual knowledge and really no burning desire to gain knowledge. I wasn't really that interested in guys. I think part of the reason was because I was very focused on schoolwork.
Upon graduation (and withdrawing from law school), I found a job waitressing at a strip club. For the first time in my life, I didn't have school to occupy my every thought, and I was basically bombarded with sex. Working in a strip club 40 hours a week, you have no choice but to think about sex; it's thrust upon you, it's your livelyhood . Sex is everywhere in a strip club. So naturally I started thinking about sex. And it just so happened that I became aware of my sexuality and my sexual needs (I really don't mind to sound like the Vagina Monologues here, but this is what happened) in a place filled with attractive naked women. And not only that, but in a strip club, everything is very touch oriented. To get someone's attention, you scratch their back. To say hi to someone, you squeeze their boobs.
So anyways, I had this manager. Her name was Rachael. I remember very clearly the first time I met her; it was when she hired me. I didn't think she was attractive. I remember sitting at the darkened bar, and I watched a pale woman with straggly somewhat greasy shoulder length hair, streaked with blonde, approach me. She was wearing a long white skirt and white tank top and covered in tattoos. I remember thinking that she shouldn't be wearing white because it blended in with her pale skin. Really, my first impression of her was that she was just kind of blah. I tried smiling at her and acting preppy, because this is how I thought a strip club waitress should act, but she just kind of looked at me like I was retarded. So I stopped smiling.
Rachael was kind of a bitch to me at first (or maybe she was just being Rachael), but I noticed over time, how I would go out of my way to be alone with her. For example, at the end of the night, I would change out of my uniform veerryyy slowly so that I was the last one there and we could be alone together when she ran my checkout and I handed her my money. Or how I would always try and get her to sign my credit card receipts for me, instead of the other managers. Even when she would write me up for doing something wrong, I was happy that at least she had noticed me. Eventually, I faced the facts: I really really really liked Rachael. And once I came to terms with this, I became kind of obsessed with her. Like I thought about her all the time, and when she was talking to a dancer or employee, I would get depressed and jealous, because she wasn't talking to me. When she played with my hair (not in a sexual way, just in a normal strip club touchy feely way), I literally could not concentrate on what I was doing at the time. I would try and sell champagne to customers so that she could tell me I had done a good job. I had it bad. And I was delusional. So delusional that I convinced myself Rachael liked me back, but couldn't do anything about it because she was the manager.
I had never liked a girl before (maybe had one or two "girl crushes" like when you idolize a girl in your grade, which I think everyone has had at one time or another), and so this was totally new to me. But I figured, hey, this must be why I've never had an interest in guys; because actually I like girls! So fast forward to December. We had this Christmas party for all the clubs which our company owned. I got shit faced, and there was this dancer there; her name was Natalia aka Leah. Long story short, Leah and I ended up going back to her place and having sex. I genuinely beleive this would not have happened had I not been so infatuated with Rachael and convinced myself I was a lesbian. We ended up having sex a couple more times after that; she was more into it than I was.
Later, I started having seeing this guy I worked with (the first time I had every been intimate, both physically and emotionally, with anyone) and I finally ascertained that I do, actually, prefer guys. However, this is not to say that physically, I find girls less attractive than guys. I think there is a reason the female form is the most copied form in art. . Or, there was an exhibit at MOMA featuring a naked man and naked woman standing opposite each other. 80% of musem goers, both male AND female, chose to look at the naked woman over the naked man. Aesthetically, girls are more pleasing to look at than guys. I mean, penises are not cute. They are wrinkled and dangly and have two purple squishy sacs attached to them.
And what happened with Rachael? Nothing. It turned out, Rachael did not harbor the same obsessive desire for me as I did for her. I eventually came to terms with that and moved on. But would I still sleep with her if given the chance? Abso-fucking-lutely. The more unattainable a person is, the more you want them. And I will always harbor a soft spot for my tattoed, surly manager. THE END (PS this story is excellent to tell to customers at work. They will always go for a story about girl on girl action)

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