That next summer, I found out about a club in a small town about an hour away. The club was called Charlie’s (now it’s a Baby Dolls, part of the chain I worked for in Dallas). Thursday through Saturday nights they featured “Charlie’s Angels.” I didn’t like the drive, but since it was a bikini bar, I persuaded the boyfriend to let me check it out. If we both liked the place, I could try it.

It was a private-membership club to skirt the local liquor laws. Although I wasn’t yet 21, they let me in when I explained I wanted to work there. The DJ and a manager took turns explaining things to me. There wasn’t much to know. It was a bikini bar, but I could just wear lingerie, as long as it wasn’t sheer. There wasn’t much to see. Seemed harmless enough for a naive college kid and podunk enough for my total lack of dancing skills.

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People talk about “falling” into the adult industry all the time, as though it’s easy to do. As though it’s just right there waiting to grab anyone who steps off the path for minute. I found out that getting into this world is very difficult. I had to fight and struggle for a few years before I finally broke my way into making money off “selling” myself. Or maybe it’s just my usual method of doing everything the hard way.

I’ve decided to share my lumps and bumps on the road to where I am today. Everyone has a history and it usually isn’t glamorous. I’m no exception, but I hope you’ll enjoy the droll misadventures of a determined-to-be-deviant college girl.

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