StripOGrams While Sober: A Bare All, Tell All

Strip O Grams While Sober

A Bare All, Tell All

I stopped drinking May 1987. At the time, I was an Office Manager for a small New Jersey publishing company. I had only been there for a year, and was already getting ...antsy.

My previous job had been a barmaid, in Hoboken, called Redheads, owned by a former burlesque queen. Beyond fun! I recall the day she threw a fab party, for the two year anniversary of her bar. My eyes popped..my jaw dropped..when one after another,,,a bevy of bodacious bombshells strutted down the stairs, framed in feather boas, and sparkling sequins, showing off fabulous curves and cleavage.

They were all in their fifties, but no one noticed. These gals still knew how to keep the attention of the crowd. Their friendships had evolved back in the day, when they headlined in all the bawdy strip clubs in and around Hudson County, and around the country.

Besides being still built, and beautiful, these senior sirens were funny, and charming, and filled with stories from their colorful pasts. “You had to have a gimmick..an act....” I recall one gal sharing with me. It was pure theater, creatively mixing together elaborate costumes, with staging, sexy music, lights, and imaginative props, like real birds, snakes. My absolute favorites were those large ostrich feather fans, that they used to tease, taunt and play peek a boo , with their adoring audiences.

Before TV, these were the ..stars..Ever since Katy Keene, who I adored starting at age eight, I 've been a huge fan of all things pinup, and now added burlesque to my collection of racy sexy alluring females

And,,not to brag..but I was...built like them !. A fact that definitely came into play, with regard to my next ..career choice.

Now, back to my reality, at the time :that mind numbing desk job . Boy, was I was bored.

Lunchtimes were spent around the corner, at a great thrift store, where I met let's call her “Darla”. Thrift stores , in general, attract all kinds of characters ( myself included). Lots of artists, musicians, writers, dancers, actors, etc. all seeking unique vintage fashions, and treasures midst the junk.

Darla sure fit that bill. She was outgoing, bubbly, and dressed in a fearless, bizarre, slutty fashionista kind of way. We struck up several conversations, where she divulged that she was a stripper.

At that time, strip o grams were all the rage. Instead of staged productions in run down theaters, where the public paid for a ticket to the show , wives were hiring strippers as birthday presents for their husbands. Office workers pooled money not for a big cake, or a fancy lunch somewhere, but for a foxy femme to go, who would surprise their unsuspecting bosses at work. Grooms-to-be hired strippers for their bachelor parties (just for the “show”..no sleazy side action...) Even corporate types got involved, when they held a big dinner honoring a long time employee, on his retirement, and thought a pretty gal dancing around, disrobing in front of him would spice up the night. Stripper agencies were doing a great business, openly advertising in local papers. The back page of the Village Voice was filled with them.

Darla gave me more than few once overs in the store, when I was trying on clothes, and then gave me the pitch. “

“You would make a great stripper!” So I started asking her questions. Seems she made $75. for each gig, plus tips. It was mostly “bra and G-string only” ..no nudity. She did confess to taking her top off, for more money, but that was only if she felt “safe.” A boom box was needed, and a mix tape cassette, with your “music.” Different costumes were a must, such as a police officer, nurse, bride, conservative suit ( for those kinky office parties) ..maybe a cowgirl. My now conscious mind was...exploding.

Yes..I did have all the qualifications, for the job. Thinking back, I realize that my newly found sobriety was a big factor.; I had so much more confidence. I could do..anything!

She suggested I come with her, on one of her “jobs,” so I could see for myself. I agreed. Thirty years ago, and I can recall that night.

We pulled up outside a house in a nice residential area in Bergen County. Darla said they had requested a “cop” strip. She was decked out in a blue shirt, dark blue tie, police hat with a badge, handcuffs swinging from her belt, a billy club in one hand, and her boom box in the other.

There was a birthday party going on, a 20 something crowd, and Darla was the poor guy's “present.” She turned on the music, and started a wild dance, gyrating, bumping, grinding in the birthday boy's face, all the while peeling off her clothes, down to a very small bra, and G string. She smiled, and laughed, and tossed her hair around like Tina Turner. I was..speechless. She made some tips...grabbed her pieces of costume which had been flung around..asked for her pay, and we left.

What did I see? Not to be mean spirited ( Darla had much positive energy) but she : was small chested, and not built great, was not exactly..”pretty”..had kind of crazy eyes, and buck teeth, and..to top it off, she had a slight limp( from an accident..) I went home, looked at myself in the mirror, and saw a perfect resume, for the job of a Strip O Gram girl.

So I gave notice, and quit my buttoned up, dreary, routine 9 to 5 job. Said Bah Bye to filing, and it was off to the Land of Lap Dances, Pasties and Play for Pay. I had been a topless go go dancer in NYC for three years, so what Darla was describing sounded pretty tame. And fun. And lucrative.

First things First . I needed costumes. I found a uniform store nearby that sold everything I needed for an awesome officer of the law., even buying a real black leather policeman's belt and holster, a hat, a nightstick, and of course handcuffs. Then I went to another place, that specialized in nurse's outfits. I already had a sexy tighty whitey little vintage style one, that I came across in my favorite thrift. All I needed was the nurse's hat, and a pin, that said R.N. And a stethoscope. Underneath? White seamed stockings, white lace panties, G String and garter belt. No Mercy. The guy would need a defibrillator by the time I was finished with him.

I added more costumes, as I went on, because I was about to jump down a very bizarre, raunchy, sometimes rowdy, and always entertaining..rabbit hole. I wanted an extra ordinary escape, from the mundane, and boy , I sure got it.

Darla was a free lance stripper, but I wanted more structure, and protection, and order. So I signed up with a very popular local agency (that is still functioning today) . This was party central; they provided not only strippers, but also singing telegrams, balloons, magicians, and clowns.

All the strip o grams were carefully screened ( they asked for , and checked ID) All were paid for up front. I got $50 , they got $25. I could keep all tips.

One last thing I had to do: make my “music tapes. “ It was all boom boxes and cassettes, back then. I love music, and ended up really researching countless songs, until I ended up with great background sounds to my strip shows. I studied the tracks , for that obvious boom chick a boom beat, going back to vintage burlesque soundtracks from the 1950's and 60's. My tracks ranged from “9 to 5” ( for the office gigs) , Another One Bites the Dust, and Like A Virgin , for the bachelor parties, retro blues, like Scratch my Back/Otis Redding., or a more current tune like Need U Tonight/INXS ( “something about you girl/that makes me..sweat..” ) Saxophones were always present, like Harlem Nocturne/Lounge Lizards, and the old standbys : “You Can Leave Your Hat On/Joe Cocker, or Let's Get It On/Marvin Gaye. So..there it was. I thought I was all..prepared. But nothing could have readied me for what happened the first time I was sent out.

It wasn't my first “job,” it was more of a “go see,”or an internship, of sorts. My agent suggested I stop in at a strip o gram taking place in a popular restaurant, in their “party room,” so I could get an idea what goes on, when the clothes come..off.. There were actually two strippers booked that night, because two bachelor parties were being held in the same room. Even better....

To this day, I'm not sure why I did this, but I got dressed, like I was going on a gig. Head to toe, in black lace, black seamed stockings on my long legs, topped with a badass black leather motorcyle jacket, and finished with black patent leather stilettos. When I got to the place, I was told the “room” was downstairs. As soon as I walked down the stairs, I was greeted with a raucous chorus of”the stripper's here.” When I looked around, the scene was something out of a Fellini movie.

Two large round tables. Seated around the first one: wiseguys. Not those older, worn out goombahs in track suits, but handsome young, hot, sexy hunks, all sharply dressed , bits of expensive gold bling flashing here and there. Seeing me, these gorgeous funny guidos were all smiles, and flirts. “Yo..the stripper's here!” they kept yelling. I had to explain to them that ..No,,I wasn't the “stripper,” that two other women were on their way ( they were ..late!) .

I then looked over at the other table. My first thought,,geez they look like ..cops. Quieter. Dressed nice, but conservatively, like jocks. Yet another group of gorgeous guys, very muscular, in great shape, but with a weird arrogance about them. And staring right through me, every one of them, like I was a perp.

Turns out, I was right. Not just “cops,” but NJ State Troopers and Garden State Parkway Detectives, one of whom came up to me. He had a serious intense vibe, good looking in a rugged Robert Mitchum way . Again, I explained that I was just there to observe. Something he told the other men, and they nodded. Seems he was ..in charge. I was right, I found out later, when he asked me for my card. He was their boss. ( I ended up going out on a date, with him. He picked me up in nondescript compact car. When I got in the front seat, there was a sawed off shotgun next to his seat, and a club with handcuffs around it next to mine. Nothing happened, just conversation, about his depressing marriage. I picked up a really bizarre vibe, got really spooked, and never saw him again. )

.I took a seat in the back of the room,  and waited, till the strippers got there. A few minutes later, they came downstairs. Two gals, one older than the other. Older gal was tall, slender, dressed in a strapless sequin party frock, and a feather boa. Pretty, with dark hair, but came off like a ..snobby schoolteacher. The other young woman was shorter, with some kind of boring go go dancer spandex outfit on. To make things worse, they had.a bodyguard slash escort with them, who stood nearby. (Turns out they were not, from my agency.) Talk about a major buzzkill...

There music came on, and they started to dance, and get into their..”act..” Yes, they removed their clothes, down to a bra, and small panties ( you see more on the beach, at the Jersey shore) . However, they were both small chested, lacked any kind of pizzazz, and putting their amped up audience to ..sleep.

Those horny guys wanted...more.

A few of the Italian stallions sitting near me started making comments. “I'll bet you'd be much better. We'll pay you...” They starting flashing 20's at me, lots of them. By the time those snores were done, they had talked me into it.

Before I knew it, I was up on the table, peeling off those layers of black lace, right down to a scintillating black thong, then.,an even smaller G string. I even flashed my top, if I recall ( it was ..30 years ago..) For some reason, I felt..safe. Both the troopers and the guidos, and especially the two bachelors, were having fun. They were being entertained, grateful for the extra added attraction, and I was making a ton of money. I must have gone home with more than those two other gals combined.

And so..at that moment...“Libido”...was born...!  My stripper name. Even Howard Stern knows me as.."Libido." 

Shortly after that first ..peek..into the world of strip., I was sent out on my first official gig. A birthday party, in a house in Jersey City. It was from a wife, to her husband. Sounded ..uneventful. As it turned out, my cousin Mike had decided to pay my family a visit ( they lived in Bergen County) . When he found out what I was doing for a living, he volunteered to come along as an escort. I told him he would have to wait in the car, and could not come inside. Which he did, along with a six pack of beer. Now Mikey had been in trouble with the law, all his life, up in Rockland County, with a long rap sheet. I didn't feel very comfortable leaving him there, but I had no choice. I went up and knocked on the door.

It was opened by a very tired looking , chubby, frumpy woman in her late thirties, who gave me an icy once over, like immediately. I could hear laughter, noise, and chatter coming from the room behind her.

She told me to “wait here..,” so she could get her hubby into position, on a chair in the middle of the room. Ok..fine. After a minute or two, she gave me the go ahead.

In the small living room was a mixed bag,of men, women, old ( her mother) and young (their kids, I would imagine..I was too nervous and freaked out, at the moment.) Hubby, though, was a cutie pie..whose eyes lit up when he saw me, and he was all smiles. Something wifey wasn't too pleased about. My music was on, and I walked around the birthday boy, sat on his lap, straddled him, and got into total lap dance mode. Now grandma started with the daggers. I was like “Yo Bitch, you hired me..I'm here..and now I'm going to do what you paid for me to do.”

By the time I had peeled down to my bra and G string, they had ushered the little ones out ( How stupid, to begin with.) Lucky there were a few of his buddies there, who cheered us on. I had to make sure every time I bent over, I was facing Birthday Guy, and not a scowl faced female. I got through it, got paid, and got out of there. Lucky for me, Mikey had passed out in the front seat, snoring and reeking of Budweiser. Success! My first gig...over and out.

I went on a lot of strip o grams, after that, until I stopped about 18 months later. After all, I was 38 years old , when I started. I stopped right before my 40th birthday. Yes, I was sober, but it was obvious that I was also an excitement junkie. I wasn't hanging out in bars and clubs anymore, getting high, and chasing drama, so I need another “fix.” I sure found a perfect replacement.

Here's some quickie scenes I found myself starring in:

Stripping in Bennigan's Restaurant. While nice folks were eating dinner. Still SMH over that. 

Being Ray Catena's birthday present. Yes, that Ray Catena. Every time I see him in his ads for Mercedes Benz, I burst out laughing. He did not like his surprise, at all. So ..uptight... He ended up stopping in the middle, and dragging one of his co workers on stage, in his place. Just too funny really. I didn't care; I was paid very well for that one.

A frat party, at Stevens Institute. O M G...what was I thinking. I was old enough to be their..mother. When I got there, there were tons of young cute college guys packed into some kind of beautiful old house, on campus. They were all so buzzed on beer, and shots, they didn't even notice my age. I did some kind of short dance, and got out of there, before it got too crazy. And instructed my agent to never book me with any crowd under 21!

The 50 Shades of Grey booking. A “small bachelor party, “ I was told. I pulled up in front of a stunning Tudor style house in Ridgewood. BMWS, Mercedes, Audis in the driveway. A very elegant, handsome, older man came to the door, and introduced himself. I was to be a gift for his son, who was getting married. Oh Kay. He led me through several beautifully furnished rooms, back to where six men were sitting, in a circle, sipping cocktails. Did I mention, they all looked like straight out of GQ. Great looking, impeccably dressed in Brooks Brothers casual fashion. Polite, amused looks as I walked in.The atmosphere was steamy, intimate, intense. I was surrounded by Christian Grey clones, who were undressing me with their eyes, even before I could do it myself. I was wearing my signature accessory...black seamed stockings, with cuban heels. Add to that black lace garter belt, matching panties, G string. My legs have always been one of my best assets, and I used them . I took my time. My movements were slow, deliberate. This was no bourgeois bawdy run of the mill gig, that was for sure. It was Eyes Wide Shut; sophisticated , decadent, erotic , with the feeling of repressed sex all around ( especially evident in the bulges that caught my eye, in more than one crotch.) The groom to be especially liked it when I knelt down in front of him, and stroked his leg, under his pants. Even I was turned on, when I left. I was given a great tip, and many compliments. Mission accomplished.

My First Rodeo! My agent really sent me on what could have been a very dangerous scene. Once again, two bachelor parties in one place. The location? Wild West City, a tourist attraction in western New Jersey. , where, during the day, was bustling with kids and families, enjoying much cowboy styled fun.Certainly not the scene, when I got there. All those western themed buildings were now in the dark, and in the rain. . I remember how creeped out I was, driving into the parking lot. I saw lights on in the 'saloon,” so I parked the car, and went in. There was supposed to be another stripper there, so I would be all right. Of course, she was a no show. For the first time , I was a bit scared. There were at least 30 – 40 guys there. I spoke directly to the guy who had made the booking, and let him know that I has called my boyfriend, and gave him the license plate numbers of at least 10 cars parked out side. A total lie, but it worked like a charm. They were a rootin tootin rowdy crowd but I dug my spurs in, when needed, and managed to bump and grind my way outta Dodge , in one piece.

There was one gig that was so off the wall, however, that it turned out to be my last.. It was down the Jersey shore. Why I agreed to such a faraway job, I don't remember, but it probably had to do with a lot of money. When I got to the location, it was one of those sand filled wooden weather beaten houses that filled all the seaside towns. Before I knocked on the door, I actually did stop, to write down the license plates of a bunch of cars parked outside. I had a bad feeling, about this one. And I was right.

These guys were trouble, right from the start. They were not only drunk, but seemed high, on other drugs, like cocaine. Mostly Italian, very good looking, and well built, like the guidos on that jersey shore sitcom, all with really fresh mouths. Mixed ages, but mostly in their 20's. It was crowded. The place reeked of spilled beer. They had put the bachelor in a chair, and I started dancing in front of him. At one point, when I bent over, wearing just a G string, he bit my ass. That was the first, and last time, anyone touched me. I spun around, and faced him, furious. He had his legs spread open, with shorts on. I picked up my leg, and placed my foot on his balls, shoving my very pointy heeled stiletto into his crotch. His friends oohed and ahhed, and howled with delight. I picked up my boom box, and clothes, demanded my pay, and just left.

That was it, for me. I had been pushing my luck, for a long time.

The take away? That while I had remained sober, the entire time, I was hardly living a serene life. I had lived my life on the edge, since I was 14, and craved excitement like an addict craved whatever made him or her ..escape reality. I never really realized that, until now.