Ryann Reflections

A glimpse into the life of one anti-social stripper nerd.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Mugs, Jugs, and smiles.

Yawning, I stare across the decrepit old room towards my suitcase. “What to wear? What to wear?” I mutter to no one. I glance at the clock, stretch, and with my blanket wrapped around my body I walk the short distance across the room to reluctantly peek into my garment bag. The metal rod squeaks as I flip through the hangers. The crowd downstairs is working boys. They like rock. I like rock. Besides I’m feeling fat today and I don’t want to wear my angel. Lil’ Red Riding will do. I haven’t done that show in months.

Staring at myself in the mirror I notice how tired my eyes look. It’s been a rough couple weeks and I’m beginning to see the results. I paint on another layer of foundation, and accent the smoky makeup of my eyes. Bright red lips are glossed and puckered. Mascara is retouched. I quickly run a comb through my hair, it’s getting long, and stuff my blanket into my rainbow leopard print stage bag.

I’m watching CSI Miami while getting ready. I won’t see the end of this episode because I have to be on stage at 12:25am. The red PVC layers are completed by the hood. I adjust my PVC skirt, and slide into my stilettos, grab my stage bag and CD and walk down the stairs to the bar. It’s time to work.

I’m exhausted from my week off, but so thankful to be on stage where everything is okay. The music fills the bar, and fills my mind and I dance. Mugs and Jugs is a kick ass bar. It’s fun and full of good energy. The crowd cheers and grins and loves the attention. I’m having fun grooving to Billy Idol, and laughing as the crowd sings along “In the midnight hour she cried more more more! With the rebel yell she cried more more more Whoooooooo!”

It’s a happy bar. Tips are good and the energy is awesome. I love shows like this. I’m a performer and anyone that lives on stage knows what a difference the audience makes. As the final notes of The Who fade into the cheers I smile and collapse on the floor, sweaty and happy. I grab my work purse out of my bag and stuff the couple five dollar bills in. I feel my phone vibrate as I do. I’m done and curiosity gets the best of me as I pull out my phone and glance at the call display. It’s The Musician. I answer. “Hey babe, I’m still on stage. I’m sitting here naked with everyone looking at me.”

“What! You’re answering your phone on stage? hahahaha” he’s laughing at me, but I know he’s totally entertained by the image.

I giggle and tell him “I’ll call you back in 5 min babe.” Quickly tying my black lace top, and sliding into the matching tiny skirt I grab my shit and head up stairs to get dressed and call him back. I’m done for the day, and so is the bar. The lights go on as I make my exit.

The Musician wants me to come over. I pack my stuff, wriggle into my jeans and jump into my car. It’s a quick drive to his house at 1:00am. He grins as I walk in the door...

It’s really late when I finally pull into my driveway.

It’s not just the sex, which is amazing. It’s hanging out and just being real. I love the goofy shit, listening to him babble about stories and thoughts and people. I’m smiling from just laying there exhausted, chatting, and watching stupid 80’s movies.

We talk about music and business. We talk about life, and what's been going on. He takes my mind off everything and always makes me giggle. All I want is him to just be himself. I love it. He gives me the release I need and the companionship I adore.

It was a wonderful day. I can still smell him on my skin. I can taste him on my lips and I’m going to bed with a smile.

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