Sex Me graphic
by Theresa Dulce


New Speed
Indie Revenge

Carnal Knowledge
Viva Las Vegas
Sex Info Highway
A Secret Life
Dirty Books
Pornos for Primates
Sex Me
Heavy Petting

Erotic City
Los Angeles
San Francisco

Los Angeles
San Francisco

Los Angeles
San Francisco

Los Angeles
San Francisco

Internet Search

“Why isn’t there a documentary about 2nd generation dancers?” Veronica asked the table. Betty passed me the flask, “tell Teresa your story.” Taking a drag off her cigarette, Veronica blows out “Okay, so my mother was a dancer. That’s what she did for a living when she raised me. I always knew about it. Then I started dancing when I was 17. I know other strippers who learned about the business from their moms, and I think somebody should do a movie on it.”

I knew some, too. There was this one gal in Texas who danced like a mother. I mean, not like YOUR mother, but like kicked ass. The moves, the hustle, flexible like crazy, but didn’t twist herself in that retarded ankles ‘round the neck slap your ass move. Her name was Porshe, and her mama was a dancer. Porshe’s sister started dancing at the club, then a third sibling joined in. So one night I’m in the dressing room and Mom is fixing daughter’s t-back, while listening to kid #2 rant about a customer going puppy on her.

“You’re trippin, huh?” Porshe asked me. Fuck yeah I was. It reminded me of that time in Planned Parenthood when I was 16. Some girl my age came in for an abortion and her mom was with her and paid for it. On the Visa card. That was crazy talk for me. I thought this was the stuff you hid from your mama. Sharing was meant to be with your friends on the phone late at night.

So many dancers lie to their families about what they do for money. It’s a bummer. And dancing is legal. How much harder would it be to break the news at Thanksgiving that baby girl takes money for sexual activity? I talked to a lady who worked the streets and she was telling me how her daughter did the same for cash. This was a shame-free conversation. Mom broke it down like this: father of child boogied out early on, mom didn’t want to lose her kid, and she did whatever she had to do to get by.

To some people, getting by means making a payment on two houses and three cars in order for 2.5 people to live comfortably. But you know what I mean by getting by for normal people. People who work all day and barely make it, surviving on shitty pay and worse management. When daughter was in her late-teens she decided she’d rather trade sex and be on her own than work all day and make the money you could guess someone under 21 without a formal education or marketable skill building adolescence gets these days.

Working girls need a touch of guidance if they are in the field. Guidance, support, an open ear, a frank discussion–anything! All of it! How lucky if mom digged your gig. But hey, if she hates your guts because of dancing, shag it. A family discussion could happen in the dressing room.

“Yeah, we need a movie about mother daughter strip legacy,” I tell Veronica. “Totally,” she says pulling a swig, “we’re so cool somebody should know about this.”

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