“It is better to remain silent at the risk of being thought a fool, than to talk and remove all doubt of it.”
– Maurice Switzer
Before Vegas I would go to church three days a week. Sunday was normal church day, Wednesday was second dose day and Saturday was bible study. I’d made some friends, went to Krispy Kreme with them and dedicated myself to the church until I couldn’t any more. Vegas was calling me. God told me to go. My friends would pray for me.
When one visits Vegas for the first time, there is a culture shock. Billboards of half-naked girls are everywhere, drinks anytime, and lots of hustlers. I didn’t go to Vegas alone. I went with my best friend Joy, who happened to be the one who taught me how to dance and sold me my first pair of 6-inch heels. We did what many new dancers did when they came to the city: we stayed at Budget Suites across the street from a well known gentleman’s club. I had forgotten a second piece of ID for my entertainer’s license so I had to stay in and watch The Sopranos as my friend danced the weekend.
Topless dancing can be a fright – especially if you are new. Guys will always insist they know the rules while trying to make a grab for your boobs. They love the new girls, a young naive girl to take advantage of. You’ve got to evolve quickly! I was lucky to have great friends who taught me the game. “Always make them think they are getting more.” My very first Las Vegas dance was unforgettable because the guy kept on trying to bite my nipple off. From that day forward I used my hand to cover my breast whenever I was close to anyone’s face. Frankie, a fellow stripper, got an infection from a bite because mouths are freaking dirty.
Grocery shopping one day, I met a pastor who wanted to save me. “God brought me to you for a reason.” Why not? After all, if I can’t trust a man of God, who can I trust?!? I went to meet him at his place over by Maryland Parkway across from The Boulevard Mall. I entered his home and there were hoards of junk everywhere. He showed me all the stuff that was given to him and his church. Told me we can get a bunch of stuff from people. Letters of gratitude, checks and lots of donated junk. I realized he wasn’t trying to save me… he was trying to date me. That is when I noticed a backroom where a woman was sleeping. She did not look like his mother. I left shortly after that. Bullet dodged.
Not even a week later I hear a familiar line. “God brought me to you for a reason.” This time it came from an outgoing evangelist. I joined him at a jazz Bar that same day. He sat down and took some sanitation wipes out of his suit jacket and proceeded to wipe his glass and utensils. He talked about germs… but did not offer me any of his wipes. We drank, we ate, and he talked non-stop. I sat and listened to this “holy man” and soaked up all the spiritual insight he could give me while sipping on my vodka-cran. “I am a man of God… but also a man,” he said over and over again as he told me dirty secrets of evangelists and preachers. All the women in his congregation wanted to have sex with him. Affairs, adultery and strange hookups… laughing and saying his “also a man” justification. I was totally turned off, but entertained. This was a whole new world, and after meeting the other pastor this was a crazy conformation that… God must be testing me. He explained the reason they wore robes is because they would get excited sometimes. Women would intentionally not put panties on while sitting in the front row of church. And if all this information wasn’t enough he told me about getting a blowjob in a parking lot from one of his flock. And that he wanted a repeat with me. I politely declined and he proceeded to tell me about one of his sexual escapades and left me these words of wisdom: “A woman should always have condoms and KY Jelly in her glove box.”
I drove away, questioning God and the purpose of KY Jelly.