It couldn’t be a midlife crisis, I was nowhere near the age for that morbid shit. And weren’t men supposed to lose their damn minds and seek out younger flesh when going through that fuckery?
Instead, I couldn’t even stir up enough interest to even look and there was plenty to look at in my line of work. But the harder they tried, the less tempted I was.
Maybe I’ve become jaded after just a few years in the business. Maybe too much exposure to what really goes on behind the scenes had warped my mind.
Owning and running clubs like mine have given me new insight into the world of glitz and glamor. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
From drug abuse to underhanded schemes, I’ve come to see the dark underbelly of some of the most beautiful women in the city and it’s not all good.
Some of these women are at the end of their rope, some are struggling hard just to keep their head above water, and willing to do whatever it takes to get ahead, even down to being exploited.
And some are young and naïve, just starting out in the world and have convinced themselves that dancing on stage is a first step up to their future.
I don’t judge, I know only too well what curve balls life can throw at you, I’m a product of one of them. In fact, when I see some of the females that come through my doors looking for a job I can’t help but feel for them.
I always think of my mother and the choices she’d had to make in her young life to put food in my belly and clothes on my back. It’s because of that that I go above and beyond to make my dancers feel like more than a piece of meat.
Though she hadn’t gone that route, dancing half naked on a stage, I’m sure my own mother had faced a lot of difficult decisions that she never shared with her only son.
I’ve listened to the down on their luck stories enough to know that life was hard for most of these women.
And the ones who were really looking for something better for the young kids they had at home, I always tried to find a better way for.
I hadn’t started out wanting to own this kind of business. I wasn’t exactly proud of the stigma that came attached to it. And it’s not my mother’s favorite thing.
I’d done the college deal on a football scholarship, which led me to a first draft pick for the NFL. I thought that would be my life’s work until I retired some time near the age of forty.
Three years in an injury sidelined me, ending my dream and any hopes of a comeback. I took the payout money and left. No hard feelings, shit happens. I couldn’t play ball but I still had my life.
Because of that college degree, and a mother who knew the worth of a dollar, I was wise enough to invest more than I spent and had never learned to be frivolous. I’d made more than enough from my signing contract alone to live comfortably if I was careful.