I feel like you’re lying if you say you’ve never had a sex work fantasy. Haven’t you wondered what it would be like to have strangers throw cash on you because they find you sexy—because they want you? Raised as a Super Catholic™ myself, I’d wondered hard for years. I saw SW characters like Satine in Moulin Rouge and lusted for their boldness, power, and control. Above all, I wanted to feel that wanted (just ask my therapist). I even went to an audition at a professional strip club once, but I chickened out right before my turn onstage because I’m such an introvert. I figured that would be the end of my career in professional nudity, but when I told my boyfriend about my almost-stripper-audition, his eyes lit up.
“What if we make you feel comfortable and you strip at home? In private,” he suggested. A surge of excitement coursed from my belly button to my groin.
“And you’ll throw real money, Daddy?!” I asked, like a brat. “No singles—fives and up!”
“Of course, baby girl.” He understood my money kink. “But it won’t be just Daddy watching….”
As luck would have it, my 30th birthday was right around the corner, giving my boyfriend the perfect excuse to curate my private striptease party. It would be an intimate birthday bash—just me, Daddy, and all of his closest friends. He’d be my DJ, bouncer, bartender, and, apparently, the key to my heart’s sex-work-shaped lock. All I had to do was figure out what I wanted to wear—or rather, what I wanted to take off.
Daddy was a fellow introvert who kept his friend group tight, which meant everyone coming over to watch me undress would be someone I knew pretty well. I have fun imagining what it was like for them to receive that invite: “Hey, man. My girl wants to try out being a stripper. Wanna come over and watch her get naked?”
For the couple of weeks leading up to my big debut, my boyfriend and I fantasized nonstop. Every time we fucked, he would ask, thrusting into me, “Are you gonna dance for Daddy and his friends? Are you gonna be a good little pleasure machine and make us all feel good?” To which I’d scream my orgasmic reply, “Yes, Daddy! Yes!”
When the big day arrived, I was nervous as hell readying my things, but I also felt like a superstar for finally living my life the way I wanted (better 30 than never). My arsenal: a three-song set list and three delicious outfits ready for removal. Some girls want cake, some girls want presents. Not me. I wanted to get naked in front of all of my boyfriend’s friends!
And he was just as excited to show me off. “I want you to show them what they’ve been missing, baby girl. Show them what’s been hiding under your little outfits at all the parties,” he’d tell me. There was some slight trepidation, of course, like, Will it be awkward to hang out with these friends after they’ve seen me take my clothes off?!
But my worries dissipated when I got out of the shower to see my man had completely transformed the place from a one-bedroom apartment into a high-end private club. He’d cleared the living room and rearranged the seating to point toward the center—all eyes on Daddy’s pleasure machine! There were candles lit throughout and feel-good music vibrated through the air. The bedroom had become my dressing room, complete with my name in a star (hand drawn on a piece of paper taped to the door). And for the best birthday surprise of all, my boyfriend told me that Sylvia*, our third, would be attending the show.
I wore a classy red jumpsuit to greet our guests, only giving them a hint of cleavage knowing they’d soon be getting quite the eyeful. When Sylvia arrived, looking stunning as usual, I gave her an extended hug, enjoying her gorgeous tits pressed into mine. This event had a zero percent flake rate (unheard of in L.A.).
“Alright, everyone, let’s make sure drinks are full, find your seats, and the birthday girl is going to get ready for her first song!” Daddy announced to the crowd.
My heart was racing. The only other time I’d been naked in front of people (with my boyfriend at a sex club), they were all strangers, which somehow made it less nerve-racking. With shaky-excited hands, I layered on seven different colored thongs and a white push-up bra with an oversize button-down men’s shirt. I stepped out of my dressing room and gave my DJ the cue.
“Oh, to Be a Rainbow!” by Soko clicked on, and my moment had arrived. I stepped out of the dark hallway and struck a pose in the entryway to the living room, looking all legs in the men’s shirt. The crowd went absolutely wild screaming and clapping for me. Phew, they like it already! I relaxed and let my sexual instincts take over.
Keeping my eyes glued to Daddy’s, I twirled my way to center stage. Slowly, I unbuttoned and stripped off the men’s dress shirt, exposing myself in just my bra and panties as I moved to the music. The audience looked floored. They were seeing their best friend’s hot girlfriend in lingerie, up close, for the first time ever. Mouths actually fell open. Oh, this is fucking fun, I thought. I slid off the first colored thong, a pink one, and threw it into the crowd. Blue, green, yellow, and purple were next as I danced and stripped, making sure to toss each guest a party favor.
In return, they made it rain on me.
It was such an intense moment my brain captured enough data for me to watch it back in slo-mo. The fruition of my longtime fantasy and the feeling of freeing myself from the religious shame of my upbringing collided as a rainbow of ecstasy within me, perfectly matching my song (and thong) choices. I was on the floor, sitting back on my knees with my legs spread far apart, open for my audience. I threw my head back and watched as hundreds of dollars floated through the air above me. It tickled as the cash grazed my glowing skin, landing all around me. My life is a movie, I thought. WT-actual-F?! I was elated, and I’d certainly never felt more powerful.
I blew everyone a kiss and skipped away to my dressing room while Daddy collected my winnings. Song one was merely the appetizer….
“Put Your Money on Me” by Arcade Fire played as Daddy’s friends cheered for round two. I emerged back in the living room and walked in slowly, completely covered up in my long faux-fur coat and sparkly heels. I paused a few feet in, keeping my audience captive, and stood still as I leisurely lit a joint for myself. I took a long puff while they watched in suspense. Like a sexy spy, I blew out the smoke, walked over to one of my audience members, and kissed her on the cheek while simultaneously putting the joint between her lips. With a sensuous slink I made my way back to center stage, all eyes on me. And just when the first chorus dropped in the song, I dropped my fur to the ground revealing my daring second look: me in my birthday suit, covered only in jewels. The crowd’s intense reaction, all pleasure and awe, fueled me. Let’s just say the gold body chains around my tits and hips weren’t the only things dripping.
It’s time to get closer, my instincts purred. I started on my right and made my way past each of Daddy’s friends, letting them get an up-close look at my naked body as I swayed my hips left, right, and all around. I’ll never forget how thrilling it felt having my guests take turns slipping fives under my belly chain: the shocking charge of a friend’s finger grazing the bare skin where my thigh meets my hip—the rush of arching my back to give them glimpses of my ass and pussy. The “wrongness” of being shared and appreciated like this just felt right to me. And the money was hitting my wanting-to-be-wanted spot even more than I’d suspected it would. Each bill thrown or tucked in gave me a boost of power (okay, maybe dopamine)—and extra lubrication too.
I reached between my thighs and checked my pussy at her opening, giggling as I lifted my hand to show the crowd my very wet fingers. As I worked my way down the line again, jiggling my ass for each of his friends, I looked over to Daddy. Am I doing good, Daddy? Am I being a good little pleasure machine? I begged with my eyes. He smiled and raised his glass in approval. He was holding Sylvia in his lap, fondling her while they drooled watching me.
“Look at her ass, Daddy! Mmm!” Sylvia said to him, loud enough for me to hear. “Such a good ass,” he said without taking his eyes off mine.
For my finale, I donned an extremely strappy black lingerie look, complete with black thigh-high boots, and danced to “Get It on Time” by Black Lips. I twerked for the entire build at the end of the track, then crawled over to Daddy and Sylvia and gave each of them a French kiss for all to see. And then, because you can take the girl out of the Midwest but you can’t take the Midwest out of the girl, I finished my show with a curtsy.
Back in my dressing room, I counted my birthday money with an unshakable grin. I felt 30 and flirty and powerful as fuck. “Thank you all for coming! Now go home and come,” I teased as we said goodbye to everyone…except Sylvia. She stayed home with me and Daddy and we had a threesome that made me feel like I was on every good drug in the world, even though I was totally (California) sober.
Suffice it to say, I rang in 30 with a bang. Some things I took with me into my third decade on Earth: boldness, confidence, and the courage to ask for what I want. As for what I left behind in my 20s: Super Catholic™ shame, self-doubt…and, of course, some clothes on the floor.
*Name has been changed.
