I’m a very ethical stripper if anybody is doubting that. I never had sex with a guy while he was a client. Besides, I had a boyfriend for most of that time. I dare anyone to try to pay me for sex! Ha! I’ll hit them so hard that they won’t be able to piss without having painful flashbacks. Anyway, I would breeze into some club, dance a few nights, and breeze out again. *G* hated moving all the time, but at the time, all he wanted was a steady job around me and the bragging rights to my body.

I may have liked being a stripper in the U.S., but I LOVED being a Burlesque dancer in Europe. Working my stuff in Paris or Amsterdam made me happier than any g-string club could. *G* loved coming back to his homeland of (some small village,) Spain while I was working in Madrid or somewhere.

That’s why I had to quit when we broke up after 5 years together. Every time I tried to dance after that, all I could hear was *G*’s words echoing in my ears. “It’s over, Lark. All you know is Rosie now. The Lark I loved has disappeared.”

*G* wasn’t very outspoken unless we were alone. He loved to quote Clara Janes Nadal in his fluent Spanish just because he knew that I couldn’t understand it. It made me melt anyway. I spent many bad nights trying to forget *G*. I took drugs, drank, and fucked a lot of different guys, but it wasn’t until I visited my parents in L.A. that I found that home helped me cope. My parents were the same as always… oblivious and high on prescription drugs.

My mother’s family was once a distant relative of some noble in line for the throne, but my great-grandmother married a pleb and was cast out. We still have the old money of a noble family, but my parents have been blowing bits of Mom’s inheritance since they got married in the 70s. My father was a writer for a famous sitcom in the 80s, but he’s been retired since I was 5.

I moved on the opposite side of L.A. from them and decided to push my entire past from my life. With my savings, i can live comfortably for a few decades before I ever have to touch my inheritance. If I had such money in my family, you ask, why did I become something like an exotic dancer? I have only 1, very clear answer. Bettie Page. I didn’t want to be her, or be like her. Her style and life just helped me decide that i wanted to be one of those women that everybody looks down upon but really wants to be or to fuck. And, I do believe that if you ask any of the girls at the clubs I’ve worked at that they will say they hate my snooty ass, but they’re thinking about how they wish they had the balls to stand up for myslef like I do.