Cock Healer

Hello to those who peruse my pages. It has been a long while since I have published anything in any of my categories as I’ve been working offline on consolidating what I have for my upcoming book. I am writing to you to ask for feedback of any kind from what you have already read or are currently reading in my blog, Cock Healer. I would love to establish a dialogue with interested parties, particularly folks who are or have been in the field of sexual healing. Please feel free to post responses within the site or email me at: cockhealer@yahoo.com

Thank you very much.

Rebecca

THE STRIPPER EXPERIENCE

1. ARRIVAL
We arrive at the scene with all our bags in tow and Rose is furious about being late because of bad directions (once again). I’m giving my usual spiel to calm her down, reminding her to get the money first before she yells at them. We are all smiles by the time we see our man, Lee of the flower shop, waiting outside to greet us.

Inside there is a group of about 50 men, mostly in their twenties, though some are older and they are restless. We are in a huge warehouse upstate that houses hundreds of flowers - all frozen in one room. The rest of the place is barren, cold and dusty. They’ve put together a makeshift T-stage that is not very sturdy but just a step off the ground. We are ushered in and directed straight to the back office to get changed as Rose sets up the music, chairs and tries to get a sense of the group’s energy. Sometimes we enter as ladies and leave as whores (if they really just wanted blowjobs). Sometimes we enter as whores and leave as ladies. Of course, it’s ideal if it’s ladies the whole way and we make every effort to be as courteous and professional as possible.

Michelle and I begin to undress, wondering aloud how this party will go and how soon it will be over so we can get to the next one. We really enjoy working together now. After three years of covering each others asses {quite literally}, we have the routine down to a science and we’ve supported each other through some very scary situations with men. We’ve become like sisters who depend on each other to be focused and present at all times when we are working.

2. THE SCOOP
Rose yells for us to open the door so that she can deliver our drinks, and give us the scoop on the guys. They are okay she says, but anxious for us to start as they’ve already been here drinking for two hours. The father, father and brother-in-law are here and the bachelor’s brother is the best man. {He’s the one handling the money, and is the one who takes the shit if anything goes wrong). Now, he’s at the door with the bachelor wanting to know if they can come in and talk to us. We are half-naked and a little annoyed, but we accommodate. It seems Tony {the bachelor) is afraid we will take his pants down and doesn’t want to be humiliated in front of his buddies. He’s young, white and very insecure. We reassure him that we want him to have a good time and that we won’t do anything that he doesn’t want. In the midst of this, Belena temporarily forgets my stage name {Colette} and refers to me as Rebecca. It goes unnoticed but I give her a piercing look and she shrugs. Finally, after they leave, the girls and I lift our drinks to toast a successful show and Lee comes in to snort a line of coke - just another Saturday night.

Michelle always goes first. She’s a beautiful Dominican woman who has a 13-year-old daughter and a Wall Street day job. Because she is the epitome of a “nice girl”, the guys always say they want to marry her and fuck me. (I’m perceived as tougher and not as easily manipulated). The reality is that behind all of Miss Michelle’s sweetness, there is a frightened woman who was physically abused for many years. During her show she often rolls her eyes in our direction as she pretends to be this wide-eyed, innocent little girl. The guys love the act: She warms them up and I wake them up.

4. WHO’S WHO IN THE ROOM:
I enter the room with my drink, bag, bag of tricks and clothes. (I know it’s safe to leave my stuff locked in Lee’s office, but I always like to have access, since one never knows how quickly one may have to dress and leave. Plus, having all my stuff around me makes me feel more secure in a roomful of impatient, horny men. There is uneasy in the air, and about half look as though they wish they were somewhere else. Beers and cigarettes are clutched tightly to them for protection from the stripper’s approach, and they reluctantly sit in the chairs Rose has arranged for them (without any help). There are a few races represented here, but mostly they are white boys from upstate; hardworking laborers or engineers. I notice some Italian Guido types with their gold chains and silk shirts, and a few strong Irish accents as well. It turns out that most of them work together and only a few are good friends so they are wary of one another and act as if they wouldn’t be in the same room together unless there was a naked woman present. Also, it seems that there are three distinct cliques eyeing each other across the room. When a group of men are not close and they are of different groups like this, our job is harder because, in their eyes, there is the risk of being exposed to each other at the hands of a woman. So, though we take off our clothes, we are actually putting on the armor of control as we undress them into helplessness.

5. WARM-UP: PART I. - MICHELLE’S SHOW:
“Are you ready?” Rose asks Michelle. “Let’s do it”, she responds with a look of trepidation and a forced smile. Then, Rose turns to the group who are talking amongst themselves and gesturing to us obscenely. At this moment, we are the enemy. “All right, guys, are you ready for a hot show? We’ve got some great entertainment for you tonight! Sit back, and enjoy the show, the better you are the badder we are! This is Michelle - Let’s give her a hand!” Reluctantly they clap and some even yell out a bit, but it’s clear they are not expecting much. Most strippers at bachelor parties do little more than prance around like they are in a club. To do a party, one must be an entertainer; it’s crucial to have a complete, well-timed show and be able to engage people with your performance. The music starts and the conversion begins. Michelle is an instant hit with all her loveliness and charm. All she has to do is bat her eyelashes in your direction and you want to sing her sweet praises.

The room noticeably relaxes as she approaches the bachelor (who at this point is still frozen stiff) and leans forward to whisper in his ear. He smiles weakly. Everyone jeers and someone yells, “Take his pants off!” The bachelor, Tony, shoots a look in her direction for assurance. She nods a “Don’t worry, you are in good hands” back. He is now counting his blessings.

I’ve been observing the group and its’ evolution as time passes.
There are still a number of men standing in the back who want to watch but do not want any involvement. Once and a while, someone glances in my direction, as I sit next to a standing and on-duty Rose to see what is my reaction to this revealing scenario. Am I jealous of the attention Michelle is currently getting? Is my gazing at them a mocking one? Should they be embarrassed by being witnessed while they partake in their primitive male bonding ritual? Finally, what kind of show am I going to perform and what do my tit’s really look like beneath all my vinyl and leather encasement?

The Italian guys look quite stiff and uncomfortable whenever Michelle tries to sit on their lap or rub up against them because they don’t want any oil getting on their silk shirts (why did they dress like this for a bachelor in the first place?). Definitely the arrogant types who feel superior to us (whores) but who would not decline a blowjob if it were offered. The younger white boys are dressed mostly like homebody wannabees and they are easily excitable and reactive. Lot’s of yelling, swearing and whispering. As Michelle continues her show the group becomes more cohesive and takes on a personality all it’s own. When she plays with one guy everyone responds in unison with a kind of bewildered laughter that is almost skittish and uncertain, as if they know that what they are doing is taboo. Once and a while they begin some kind of ritualize chant in perfect unity and then someone yells out “God bless America!”

I can’t help noticing the bachelor’s reaction, because by now he should be more relaxed and he’s not. His hands are either at his sides in fists or holding a beer and cigarette at the same time. Whenever Michelle simulates a sexual act or asks him to lick some whip-cream off her nipple, he begrudgingly does it but clearly looks relieved when the attention is on someone else. In fact, he keeps directing her to his brother and other friends and almost won’t lie on the blanket when the time comes for her floor work. Fortunately, it’s her sweetness that makes him obey up to this point - and since everyone wants him to be humiliated, he shares the stage with us as much if not more than we do. We always talk softly to the bachelor as he sits in the middle of the circle in his King’s robe and crown and tell him that no matter what anyone asks or expects us to do, this is his party and we listen only to his wishes. Almost always, the bachelor is pretty leary of our intentions and we are often quite feared.

New Jersey Yuppies

At another NJ party we arrived at a newly renovated town house to find a room full of yuppies. They were nice in a bland sort of way. We were all crammed into one room – about 15 guys and two dancers. I started first and we noticed that they became really uncomfortable with any contact. After some inquiry, we found out that one of the guys was their boss so they were afraid to express themselves openly. During my dildo show, when I was completely naked and on a blanket on the floor in front of the bachelor, he suddenly reached down grabbed the dildo from my hand and began sucking on it wildly and with abandon. All of us couldn’t believe what we were seeing and we started laughing uncontrollably. All of the attention was off of me and onto this suckling bachelor. Here I was the naked stripper but I was doubled over in laughter on the couch and didn’t dance for the remainder of the show. Instead, the bachelor became the main event as he continued to play with his newfound love – oblivious to the reaction he was getting! Finally I had to grab it back. In so doing, I leaned over and asked: “So bachelor – when are you getting married? He looked up with me with a deadpan expression and answered: “In two weeks.”

Spanish Harlem

Another time we did a party in Spanish Harlem in mid-July when the thermometer topped 98 degrees. It was in the projects – a high rise complete with all the folks hanging outside on the steps and kids running around yelling and dogs barking. We felt nervous at first, but as soon as we walked into the room a dozen sweet and very good-looking Puerto Rican men greeted us with cold Colt 45’s in their hands. They were built to die for and were wearing silk shirts for the occasion. It was a two-room apartment with an a little baby sleeping in a crib in the bedroom and Jesus over the kitchen table. There was no air conditioning! We were swept up in the moment and also had other parties to do that evening, so we put our bags down in the bedroom and began to change quietly as to not awaken the child. I noticed something moving around my bag and discovered that the room was crawling with roaches! At this point we were already in our costumes, so we decided to take our bags with us and put them on the table in the room where we were dancing.

The men were very gracious with us: They respectfully maneuvered around us as we tried to put on a show in such tight quarters. They were dancing the salsa and sweating right along with us and loving it. Everything we did delighted them. The bachelor looked into Michelle’s eyes and said: Mommy – you move like the wind! You smile like the sun – Oooh – You got a great ass!”

THE PARTY GAME:

Getting the gig: Rose had guys come over to her basement apartment in the Bronx to look at photo in a portfolio of the girls they could select from. She wisely included a good variety of girls, but she knew that only a few of us were really available to work. This way it made the guys think she had more going on than she did. If they asked for someone else, she’d tell them they were out of town or already booked. Rose would emphasis our photos and shows. Most guys have no idea how to successful plan a bachelor party. Usually their only experience comes from a show they’d been to or some fantasy from a movie or video. They generally didn’t embark on this expecting much but what they usually expected, we didn’t do – blowjobs. Yes, we’d bring girls along for the work sometimes, but Rose (at my urging) would educate them right up front to the professionalism of our shows, which did not include sex of any kind. Even doing this the guys often still would insist for more once we arrived. “Hey, doesn’t this (the price) include taking care of the bachelor?” She’d ask them what they were looking for and usually they didn’t have much of a clue. They did know what type of girl they wanted: a blonde with big tits or a petit brunette with long hair – things like this. We laughed over some of what they told her: “Uh, we’d like 6 girls to come over and dance all night for $150.” It was Rose who would suggest different kinds of shows: an innocent strip without any “floor work” for the more conservative group. This meant just stripping and dancing around with a big smile at the guys – maybe sitting in their laps from time to time. A “wilder” show meant a strip that lead into a dildo show and then perhaps a separate show to end it all – the 2 girl or lesbian show. Our usually party was two or three of us dancing for 20 minutes each separately without any breaks in between. This was followed by a short break and then set up for the lesbian show. We made $100 dollars for our individual show and $50 for more for the girl show, which lasted from 10-15 minutes. It was not unusual for me to make $600-1000 in a weekend. We often were tipped as well and sometimes that would add up to an extra $25 - $100 dollars a show. We got good at going in, getting the money up front and then changing into costumes while Rose got us drinks and set up the room with the chairs. She ran the music, introduced our show and caught our clothes as they came off – otherwise the guys would try to keep them as a souvenir. Once and a while I got an offer I couldn’t refuse for a g-string - $100 for a stinky old thing – but I guess that was the point!

Rose picked us up in her old 1978 powder blue Chevy named Betty. She’d usually come me in Manhattan first and then we would drive to the Bronx to pick Roxanne and/or Michelle. I did dance with other gals from time to time, but us four became a team after a while – none of us drove so we were reliant on Rose. Rose always overbooked and told guys that we’d get there at a time that wasn’t remotely possible just to get the gig. The most desirable party times were usually 8 or 9 and we often had to spread this out from 7 to midnight. By the end of the evening we were almost always really late. That combined with Rose’s impatience at the bad directions to far away places like Rockland County, Westchester or deep into New Jersey, we were lucky to still have the party going by the time we got there. This made our work harder than it already was: Bachelor party strippers are universally perceived as second-class citizens whose identification as “stripper” is an euphemism for whore and are irresponsible sluts that will screw you out of money if they get the chance. We were doomed by stereotyped misconceptions and sometimes a previous bad experience before we walked in the door. I couldn’t always blame them because many strippers were drugged-out money hungry bitches trying to scam.

We got invited back over and over by many guys .Often we recognize the host as the bachelor or brother-in-law of a month prior as the host. We would recommend a place for them to have a party if they couldn’t find one on their own: We had a list of 15 bars with private party rooms where we were welcomed. Most of these were Irish pubs. It was fun to walk into a bar where a hand written note had been posted that read: “Closed for private party”. This meant that the bar had closed the whole space for us! We knew we were the guests of honor coming to create something wonderful and exciting from nothing.

The drill was simple: Walk in, get the money up front from the contact person (usually the bachelor’s best friend or brother, sometimes the brother-in-law) find out where to change while Rose sets up the music and chairs for the show. Once that’s done, she brings us our drinks (for me it was either a glass of white wine or water). Once all are seated Rose introduces the first dancer with: “Guys, are you ready for a great show?” Followed by, “Let’s give a big hand for Michelle!” Rose turns on the music and away we go…

A word about money up front: Never, under any circumstances would we accept payment after the show or even half up front and half after. With all the substances imbibed and general ambivalence towards us, we knew that we would be opening the way for disputes about the length and perhaps quality of the show, as well as the possibility for a fight over why we weren’t “taking care of the bachelor,” which wasn’t in our agreement when the deal was struck. There was a one occasion when we arrived late to a party and the guy in charge told us he wouldn’t pay us until halfway through. We left.

Let’s talk about the money. A typical show included two twenty minute strip shows by individual girls and then, after a 5 minute break, a lesbian show. Rose charged them 150/girl and another 150 for the lesbian show. Of the $450 collected we each made $100 for our twenty-minute show and $50 for the lesbian show. We often walked out with up to $50 each in tips as well. In one year, I calculated that I made $30K – and this was just from weekend work with the occasional weekday gig thrown in! Not a bad part time cash job in my estimation.

Another obstacle for us was bad directions – really bad! Rose was easily inflamed by this every time and would end up yelling at the first person she saw when we got to the party. To her credit, the directions often were way off. We were going upstate a lot and sometimes the guys would give us directions thinking we were from the area and would know that the sign they referred to was just last week covered by the felled tree from the storm. But no matter whose fault it was, I would continuously impress upon Rose the importance of being gracious until we got the money. Then she could rant and rave a bit. But, please don’t overdo it and upset them more than they already are for being late! Rose did get better over time but it was a constant battle with her temper.

The spaces we changed in were usually a bathroom (in a bar) or someone’s bedroom if it was a house party. I almost always had on the g-string and bikini top of my outfit on under my clothes – especially in the winter – so the change could be quicker. We usually did 3-5 parties in one night, so the faster we got in and out the better, and I had it down to a science. Cold bathrooms were a given: I ran hot water over my hands so that I wouldn’t freak out the bachelor with my cold touch.

And getting those drinks! The strangest thing sometimes happened when we gave one of the guys our drink order. First of all, usually more than one guy would offer to get drinks for us but then, after a long wait, we’d realize that no one had and we were on our own. I figured out that they all wanted to be seen as assisting us but when it came down to it, they individually didn’t feel responsible or really care. Plus, if some of us weren’t drinking alcohol, they would become insistent that we do. After all, with a drunken stripper, the possibilities are endless.

There was this one upscale bar/restaurant out on the Taconic that we went to once or twice a month. The owner was anal and lascivious at the same time. He was a tiny, fat Italian man who ran the place with his two sons. He would tell Rose that he didn’t want any whipped crème on his floor every time! And after a while of doing gigs there were realized that as soon as we arrived he would put all the food that was being heated on burners away. We used to joke: Did he think we were going to make off with his hot sausages and rigatoni in our bags? It was a drag because we worked hard and long hours that stretched through the dinner hour and we were usually hungry. Most places graciously encouraged us to eat and would even get plates for us –but not this guy. And when he wasn’t scolding us for something he was asking us individually if we’d suck his dick!

Getting these guys into their seats for the show was sometimes a chore. You’d think that having all chipped in at least $450 for a show, they would be anxious to get it started. Not always the case: I remember a party where at a private club where all the men stayed seated around the bar that was in one corner of the room with little interest in us. So, after lot’s of futile coaxing, we decided to go ahead and do the show anyway – with out them. After all, we had been paid. So, with no one sitting in the circle of chairs we dragged in with no one’s help either, we did they show like any other and just danced for ourselves – giggling like little girls. To this day I have no idea what was up with that one.

Other times, we come out of our changing room to find all of the men sitting in the circle with their hands in their laps like good little boys waiting quietly for the show to begin. If this is the way it starts, we know it’s going to be an easy gig. I’ve danced in enough shows to see a range of situations and behaviors repeat themselves over and over again. As soon as we entered a party we could determine what scenarios we could expect from a few factors: What segment of society they represented, how much they drank, how they related to one another and how they treated us from the get-go, to name a few.

There were times that I did party alone. I didn’t like doing this because I was more vulnerable and because I had to do everything. I had to be the contact person and do the business, do set-up, introduce myself and run the music, perform and then wrap it all up and get out safely. If it was a bikini strip put together by an office or some other type of mixed (male/female) group, I didn’t have to worry. Other times we did parties without Rose and it wasn’t the same. I felt secure with her brazen know-how from years on the job. I took over for her when she wasn’t there and it stressed me out so that I’d be more exhausted than usual by the end of the night. The main reason that certain of us girls regularly did gigs with Rose is because she drove and we didn’t. She also had freelancers working for her who she could call on to do a party on their own that she booked for them and then they would be responsible for sending her cut to her. Getting her money from these gals was often a struggle.

Rose carried this big old boom box that kept breaking down. Eventually she got one that played CD’s. I danced to funky, sexy songs. I’d fashion a routine that fit the music and stuck to it for a while. Though not specifically choreographed, I had a definite beginning, middle and end to my show. The music broke down often right in the middle of our shows and the guys would have to sing along with us to keep it going.

At the beginning of a show the guys usually did all the catcalling and whooping it up that you’d expect. Some never stopped yelling and others got very quiet – to the point that it was eerie and we would encourage them to yell. Over time we figured out the best sequence for the shows: Michelle would warm them up first with her flirty, sweet and sensuous show. Roxanne and I followed with some “wilder” fare and then the piece de resistance was the lesbian show with whomever they wanted to see together. Sometimes a girl would come along just to do the lesbian show and other times they would want a variation: 3 individual dances and no lesbian show, one individual and a lesbian show and on and on. Once they saw us they would rally to come up with more money to have more girls dance than they had originally hired – if we had the time. We were strict about the time.

ROSE:

I met Rose in 1992 after returning from Brazil. I was living temporarily with a boyfriend in the Bronx and was out of work and in debt from one year of avoiding my bills while I was away. My Manhattan apartment was inhabited by a man who was still subleasing as part of the agreement to finish out the year. I started working at a strip bar called Ruffles and Rose was a bartender there. She first approached me to ask me if I wanted some clothes that had belonged to her best friend who had been killed in a freak car accident the year prior. We were exactly the same size. I don’t remember if I ever got hold of those clothes, but after she told me she ran a bachelor party agency, I asked her if I could work for her. At the time I was already working part-time for Floyd and was becoming increasingly unhappy with him. Rose and I had a blast from the get-go. I become one of her star dancers right away. Again, the combination of looks, talent and professionalism is what sealed the deal.

Rose is the engine; she’s the deejay, does the lighting, announcing, watches the clock and is the bouncer - keeping everyone in their seats and in control. Rose is the boss and LUST (the name of the agency) is her baby. A living legend - everyone loves Rose: She is rough-edged, street smart and has a heart of gold. During this past seventeen years she’s danced, loved hard, partied hard and always came through for a friend. Rose, at this time 40, had started dancing as a teenager and was wild and amazing in her day as she tells it and from friends from that time still in her life. I saw pictures of a young, sexy Rose bent over admiring patrons on a go-go stage. She danced until she was 37.

Many of the parties we do are offshoots in some way of the dozens that came before: “Don’t you remember me? You danced at my cousin Vinnies’s party eight years ago”. Rose has fifteen to twenty names of bars and party rooms in her phone book of places we’ve been to over and over again. Always fair and truthful, she sympathizes with the guys and does her best to come through with a good deal.

Rose was born and raised in the Bronx and was living in the basement apartment of her family home with her two daughters, Melinda (17) from her first marriage and Brenda (4) from her second, with whom she was separated. Lots of drugs and alcohol marked both relationships. Her current husband was in and out of jail and his daughter’s life. He was also a heroin addict. She was in a relationship with a broken man in his 40’s with big aspirations and a sarcastic wit, but no prospects as a daytime bartender in a dive Bronx bar. I never liked him and the feelings were mutual. Jake was threatened by anyone who got close to his woman. He verbally abused her as a way of normal communication and I hated to be a witness this.

UNEXPECTED BEHAVIOR:
NJ House Party
On our way to a house party in NJ we got lost and motioned to a passing cop car to give us a hand. He was very helpful and escorted us to the party. When we pulled up, the host ran out front and nervously asked if everything was okay. We explained what was up and the officer went merrily on his way with one of our business cards. It turns out that drugs were flowing at this party and they got paranoid when they saw the lights of the police car out front.

Inside our eyes were treated to the sight of a beautiful living room with thick white carpet, light brown suede couches and glass mirrors on one wall. We were offered drinks in crystal glasses (I remember being afraid that the cranberry juice I was drinking might get knocked over onto the white carpet). The room was filled with about 10 men and navigating it was tricky – especially in three -inch heels. Everything seemed great – at first. Michelle started her sweet, coquettish dance and from the start we noticed that the man sitting next to the bachelor looked visibly uncomfortable. When Michelle sat on the bachelor’s lap, he got up and sat on his other leg! Oookay! We all started looking at each other trying to wrap our brains around what was happening. As her show continued we figured out that this was the bachelor’s lover! Then, we it was my turn to dance, I looked around the room and saw all the men pairing up and lying around on the floor – they weren’t really paying us much mind. We kept dancing like nothing was off and left there shaking our heads. In the car we wondered out loud why we had been hired for this show and why this bachelor was getting married. To this day, I have no idea what that was about.

Of the ten sessions in the initial program, the first five were always non-sensual. They were designed this way to enable the therapist and patient to build a gradually more trusting rapport, as well to teach the patient relaxing and focusing in their bodies skills. Our premise was that most of the male functioning problems resulted from fear that manifested in a disconnection between the mind and the body. Before starting therapy with us, Eva had each patient meet with an urologist to confirm by testing that the disorder was not purely physical. In addition to the sessions, Eva gave each patient “homework” to do during the week prior to coming in again. It would vary according to their specific problem. For example, a man with PE would be taught an exercise to gain control that he could do on his own. *Will elaborate further later on types of exercises.

Since my relationship to the patient was at the same time professional and intimate, we had to address how to explain my role to the patients. I was coached to say I was of course a therapist but I was also a special kind of friend/teacher who would be able to teach them skills that we would then practice together over a period of time. I let them know that this process would take time as we built trust and consistency. I also found that it was important to give them the illusion that they were the only patient I was seeing. We both knew of course that this was false, but when I was asked where I had just come from prior to our session, I would say from dinner or answering the phones. If they asked how many patients I saw regularly, I would give them a vague answer such as: “It varies, but no surrogate sees too many patients, so I can give you my full attention. Eva taught me to look at each question they were asking and ask myself what did they really want to know. For this one, they usually wanted to know if I could really be there for them. They also wanted to know why I did this work – did I really care about them. I answered honestly that I had overcome difficult problems in my life with the help of professional as well as personal relationships and that doing this work was an opportunity for me to give something back. My comfort with my own sexuality enabled me to address their issues with honesty and clarity. It was a perfect match on one level because they were so nervous and devastated to have to be working on their problems and I did not judge them. In fact, I felt honored to be able to be allowed into their intimate world long enough to share their pain and help coach them through it to the other side.

To work for her was no easy task: She required several months of training during which time I assisted either her or her sister as they worked on a client and learned the ropes as I went. I chose a “work” name - Renee. It was both in honor of my fellow surrogate Renee, and the beautiful French I imagined. Being a true to form Virgo, Brenda had set up the business with so many intricate details that unless one knew what the combinations meant, there would be no way she could be discovered. This was an excellent skill to have for an illegal business. There were lists for everything: Setting up before a session, closing at the end of a shift, how to do the laundry tabulations and keep track of the “kitty” (a system of reward and punishment sort of speak of contributing $5 dollars a shift to the house if you saw no clients and taking $5 dollars if you saw a new client). There was a communication book that each masseuse had to read and sign at the beginning of each shift that had updates of the goings on between us – notes about housekeeping, food disappearing from the frig, holiday scheduling, etc. Another book was just notes about clients and the last, the “special info” book was on any matters that had to do with our safety, both from undesirable clients and law enforcement.

Brenda also required that every woman working for her be in therapy to work through the issues that doing sensual massage brings up. She also expected us to continue our learning process by taking courses in bodywork every year. Often we organized it so that subsets of our group could train together. I helped to make this happen more than once and I loved how refreshed I felt after receiving more training and then applying directly in my sessions with clients. I worked between 4 – 6 shifts a week which included one or two on the weekend: Usually we each had 3 regular shifts and then we did “fill-ins” when someone else needed coverage for her shifts. We did a good job of alerting one another about our travel plans so that there would be ample time to have all our shifts covered.

We met once every 4 –6 weeks as a group to have a “tea party”. This was our euphemism for our staff meetings. Our group size fluctuated between 7 – 9 women. Brenda and her sister Jessica would bring lots of organic fruits, nuts and pastries as well as candles, flowers and incense to create a holistic atmosphere. Brenda took it personally if someone was late or negligent in any way. She put everything into creating a family feeling among us. It worked remarkably well in my estimation. There were problems which I’ll go into later, but for the most part I give Brenda credit for setting high standards in an industry that disregards integrity almost by it’s very nature. Still, the meetings could be quite rigid because of Brenda’s preference maintaining order and detail as opposed to innovation and relevance. I did enjoy seeing the other gals and it gave us the opportunity to catch up: Except for talking to the other woman working across town from you when you at your work post, this was our only regular opportunity to see one another. Unlike most other massage places, women didn’t leave her that often, so it wasn’t uncommon to meet women who had been with her 15 – 20 years.

THE “BEST”:

Brooklyn House Party

We did a house party in Brooklyn with about 15 young guys: some were professionals and some were blue collar but they all had gone to college together and were very close. The owner of the home came outside to greet us as our car pulled up and introduced himself to us as Dave. He directed us to a parking space and opened the doors for us to get out. Dave immediately took Rose’s music box and escorted us into the house. It was a large three -bedroom clapboard house and was handsomely decorated. As soon as we entered, Dave’s two roommates came up to ask us if we needed anything. They showed us upstairs to a lovely bedroom with an adjoining bathroom where we could leave our bags and change. As Dave was taking our drink order, we inquired about the state of the bachelor. He said he was enthusiastic about getting married and looking forward to a fun evening. Though he asked us our names, Dave kept referring to us collectively as “the ladies” and was always wearing a big smile.

When we came downstairs to dance, we found all of the men sitting in a circle talking quietly amongst themselves with their hands folded in their laps. They looked like sweet little boys waiting to be told what to do next. Rose, Michelle and I were able to relax and enjoy performing. They were respectful and friendly in their interactions with us and with each other.

After the show, Dave and his roommates escorted us to the door thanking us profusely for delivering such a professional and fun show. We left there feeling on top of the world – and that these men had just redeemed all men in our eyes.

*I’ve made an observation based on a vast sampling of men at bachelor parties: The more history they have together, the more likely they are to be kinder to us. It’s when the room is filled with different groups of men who don’t know each other well that we are likely to run into trouble. It appears that when the men know each other from college and have remained friends that they are not as concerned about being exposed in front of one another. The irony of the work is that as strippers, though we are taking off our clothes, we must adorn ourselves with psychic armor to navigate the treacherous waters of their shame and fear. The other part of this is that though these men are dressed, they can feel that they are being undressed by their reactions to our nudity or “tricks”. Some of what gets exposed is their homophobia, disgust of women’s genitalia, fear of being humiliated in front of their friends by a “girl”.

Brenda’s places:
What can I say? I really grew to love these women despite my ever-present, low rumble of ambivalence of what I was doing. I first met Brenda at Perry Street in late 1997. I worked for her for 5 years and was able to make more money in less time than I have before or since. I had originally called her and had set up an appointment the week prior and had to cancel. I told her that my parents came into town at the last minute but this was a lie. The truth was that I was still contemplating this next move and got chicken. Anyway, it almost screwed me because Brenda’s famous for taking note of “red flags”. Fortunately, when I did show up I made a good impression. I was struck with how tiny and cozy the studio was and how lovely she looked and acted. The place was decorated my Brenda and the girls and was very relaxing and natural feeling. What was so cool is that it had a private entrance and stairwell of two steps that kept it very discreet and European (this was the West Village after all – and all the building in this neighborhood were 1-200 years old and considered landmarks. Also, this neighborhood has kept its humble beginnings in tack because of city laws keeping all the buildings under a certain height. No skyscrapers here (except the local waterfront wasn’t so fortunate). Perry Street certainly wasn’t Jeanine’s but somehow in it’s simplicity it was more appealing. I sat on the only small chair in the place and she was on the massage table.

Brenda was a lovely woman in her mid forties with a blond bob and warm smile. She asked me about my family, my personal history and my relationship to my father. When she found out that my dad had been a minister who used his position to be a social activist, Brenda was very encouraged. Her father had been a missionary and she and her sister spent a lot of their childhood in Korea. I told her my father is my hero and she was pleased; we both agreed that how a woman feels about men has to do directly with how she feels about her father. I loved that she had strict rules and expected much from the woman who worked for her. Never completely comfortable with authority, Brenda defined her group as a democracy, except that she made the final decisions. Having never married or had children, the women had become her brood. She was a non entity in terms of the world: She had no social security number and no credit cards – her sister Jessica (a sometime airline flight attendant and co-worker) put the places of business under her name. Brenda described the group as a sacred circle of women who answer to a “higher law” and who take men from “lust to Eros”. I had found a home.

It was not uncommon for a man to come in acting superior and arrogant as a cover for his fear and shame. Ava and I would comment later on how much they would change into nice guys once we had proved to them that we could be trusted and especially when they experienced the process working and yielding tangible results.

The first session (EV) lasts about ½ -45 minutes. After the introduction part, I asked the patient to give me a hand massage so that I can observe how he does it. I analyzed the quality, time he took to do it and whether his hands were clammy or sweaty. I gave him a hand massage to reciprocate. Then I asked him to lie down on the couch with his head in my lap and I gave him a head massage to observe how he responds to following my direction and how well he is able to receive touch. We always concluded sessions with a hug as a way to diffuse tension and end on a high note.

As soon after the session as possible, I wrote up report for Ava detailing everything of significance I remember about the session and in particular the patient’s behavior so as to helpful to her in her next talk session the following week: Did he check me up and down from the moment he walked in? (This is called sexualizing) Were his hands sweaty when we shook hands? How did he enter the room and make his way to the couch? How did he sit on the couch, i.e., relaxed or at the edge of his seat? Did he keep up eye contact or look away often. When he gave me the hand massage was he aggressive or soft? How did he respond to being asked to lie in my lap for the head massage? Did he have trouble relaxing or did he close his eyes and breathe? Finally, what kind of hug did he give me? Sometimes I would be lifted off the ground and others times I would be barely touched and they would run out.

We found that patients would naturally expose different aspects of themselves to each of us, so we found it helpful to compare notes. Also, at the beginning of each session, I made sure to repeat whatever the session was about to entail so that they knew that Ava and I had communicated and were on the same page about their treatment and to give them the reminder of the upcoming succession of things so that there would be no surprises.

She now lived nearby in a smaller place and had two girls at a time working. The upper west side apartment was beautiful, clean and spacious. She was like a mother hen to all of us and you could tell she got her kicks training us. She would spend evenings with new girls answering the phones to show us how to do it. She flirted and cajoled guys to come in and it worked. She’d hide when they came. In the west side apartment she had installed a two-way mirror in the closet adjoining the bigger massage room. There, she could watch us do our thing to be sure we weren’t having sex with the customers. We all knew it was really designed for her to get her voyeur kicks.

Melissa had a sometime Spanish boyfriend named Manuel. He picked up the laundry and ran other errands that were too physically demanding for Melissa, which were most physical tasks. Manual was not educated and seemed a bit too friendly. Turns out that after picking up the envelopes filled with Melissa’s cut for the shift, he would steal money from them. She didn’t want to believe he was doing this and instead was more inclined to think that we had calculated incorrectly. This is something I just don’t do.

The clients were a little better than at Rudy’s but not that much better. Though less of a seedy operation, the girls were still not focusing much on giving a real massage. To her credit, Melissa did give me a massage for couples video training tape as well as one that had a licensed masseuse showing techniques. Despite her looking glass, some of the girls did give more than just massages. This would make it difficult for the rest of us who didn’t. Also, I was one of a handful of girls who actually cared about keeping the place clean, stocked and ready for the next shift. I ended up doing more than my share of stacking new laundry onto shelves, marrying lotion bottles as they emptied and cleaning dirty dishes.

Most of the girls had worked for Melissa for a long time and the politics of who worked when and with who was exhausting. Everyone tried to claim ownership of good (this means generous) clients. Melissa had a card system with client’s first names and brief physical descriptions so that we could check when someone called claiming to have been there before. We would put then through a drill of when they were last there and whom they saw. Good clients were told to say things like: “Hi, I’m Bob 5*” This worked for awhile but there were always savvy con men who would come in and after the massage try to leave without paying or without paying what had been agreed. I found it amazing that there existed so many men trying to scam massage places. There was another breed that called and got information booked and then never showed (no shows) There were others just wanted to talk and would try to keep you on the phone as long as possible without any intention of making an appointment. We called them “phone freaks.”

I usually worked 3 shifts a week and made around $6-700 dollars in cash. Melissa liked to arrange dinners for us to attend at local restaurants. I attended one such dinner the spring of 1996. There were 10 of us sitting around eating, talking and acting normal. I began to feel that what we were doing was a good service. It felt good to have the sense of community with these girls even if it was shaky at best. I didn’t care about that, I did my best, was an honest worker and tried to be helpful to the other girls. Of all the girls, it was to Claudia that I grew attached. She was a beautiful young girl of 19 whose family was from South America. She had short black hair and the face of a young Isabella Rosselini. I felt a connection right away and loved doing double shifts with her so that we could hang out and talk in between sessions. I was comfortable enough with her to offer a two-girl massage session. It was Claudia who told me about Brenda’s place.

One long, dead afternoon, Claudia told me she had just started training for a place run by two sisters. She said they burned big white candles, gave their masseuses a great cut of money and were holistic in their approach to sensual massage. I was fascinated to learn of them and was instantly desirous of working for them. The fact that they were so selective made me want to prove myself to them. I spent about one more week listening to Claudia’s experiences before calling Brenda myself. It was to be one of the most rewarding and exciting journeys of my life.