Mom I'm All Right: Confessions of a Former Stripper

Mom I'm All Right: Confessions of a Former Stripper

Monica Mendez

Language: English

Pages: 33

ISBN: 0978138074

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Former adult star and stripper, Monica Mendez takes us inside the world of sex, money and celebrities. What do strippers do in the backroom? Are they turned on by the customers? How much money do they really make?

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ends up at the job he detests, not the job he spent thousands on at college, while being bullied by an unforgiving boss. At the end of the day he sees that a twenty-dollar cover and room full of female strangers is a welcome way to let off some steam. For him, this is where he has power, and finally some control in his life (so he thinks). In actuality, it’s the other way around. When we are on stage, we have control, that’s why a lot of girls choose to dance. It’s the one place, for some, where

I was going to have a roommate, sort of. I could just step out the front door and knock on hers. I remember one night after work—about 3AM—Izzy was crankin’ music and had some chicken on the BBQ, like it was the fourth of July or something. “Hey babe, you hungry?” she asked. After a quick “What the fuck is she doing at 3AM making all this noise and grilling?” to myself I replied, “Hell yeah, I’m starving!” She was great—never a dull moment with her around. I remember one time I had a friend

him, like this is just another day at the office and people come in all the time with stuffed animals that want to get lap dances. She urges me to go over and meet him saying “He spends money. He’s a good customer”. She says that I shouldn’t be afraid of him. I politely respond with “That’s a little too weird for me, thanks” and start to look around for a dance. Hours pass. It’s a so-so night and I end up walking with some bills paid and a bite to eat. Just as I’m walking out, Lucky says “Hey Mo,

wouldn’t accept us. We hate that people who matter to us far less than our moms, people in the clubs, on the street, complete strangers, think we are terrible people because of what we do. I hate myself when I tell someone what I do. I try to be honest and I feel no shame or guilt at the time, but when they look at me you can see it. It’s like the skin is slowly slipping from my body. They know absolutely nothing about who I really am as a person. I hate when I turn on the radio and some disc

whether we are doctors, actors, lawyers, or strippers. Shit happens and you have to carry your own freaking scooper pal. I chose this job, and you chose yours. Find something that makes the downtime worth it. For me it’s my camera. I like to pick it up and capture emotions on film, in the dressing room, around town, wherever. It feels good to take a picture and see in someone’s eyes that they feel the same as me. They go through the same stuff, day in day out. In the end I know that I am not just

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