Jesse wrote an amazingly insightful and interesting story for the Guest Chapter contest (you can find it here - if you haven't read it yet, you probably should before you read this selection). She originally wrote this peice as a followup to that story, but decided it would probably work better as it's own story.

Joe said that I could post a clarifyer for my story... I suppose that the only clarification you'll really need is that I'm not really as bad-ass as I sound most of the time. I try to be a tough-guy... Really, I do, but sometimes I'm just a klutz that never quite grew out of that high-school dorkiness... So for your further reading edification, I offer you a snapshot of me-as-big-dork:

I'm sure that every good dancer has some funny stories about the trials and tribulations of learning pole work. These stories are mine:

As I mentioned before, the first person I ever saw do a pole trick was a dancer named Reina. It was my first or second day a stripper, and her death defying stunts completely floored me. I thought I would never, ever be that good.

As time passed, I realized that every dancer has their strong points, and while my hips may never undulate exactly the way Reina's did, I am, nevertheless, a fairly athletic individual. After 3 months of dancing, I realized that pole tricks were definitely within my realm of possibilities. Having taken ballet lessons for 12 odd years, I knew that while no one had offered to teach me, I was perfectly able to watch what the other dancers were doing and translate their movements to suit own body. (That's apparently a lot harder than it looks.) But when would I practice? Our club is never open unless there are customers inside, and in our little city, there's no such thing as a "Practice Pole." (I've heard that some clubs have poles in the dressing rooms, and are even kind enough to provide a cushioned surface on which to land if your stunt doesn't turn out quite the way you planned it. To me, that would be the height of luxury...)

After several weeks of contemplation, I decided that it would probably be OK if I practiced on the daylight shift during the slow periods. That way if I fell on my head, at least there wouldn't be more than 4 or 5 people to laugh at me. I also decided not to practice on main stage, since that is where most people look, if they're looking at the dancing girls. Very few people actually pay attention to the side stages, unless "their girl" is on one of them.

So one day, I finally screwed up my courage and decided to try a pole trick.

Having done my research, I knew that it was good to wear PVC shoes, so as to get a better grip on the pole. Knowing this, I figured, the more PVC the better, right? With that in mind, I was wearing a pair of knee high PVC granny boots. I liked those boots a lot, because they were lots easier to get into than my 20 hole Doc Martins. They actually had speed laces consisting of little hooks running all the way up the fronts of both boots. It didn't seem relevant at the time, but that little tidbit became glaringly important 5 minutes later.

When it was my turn to dance on the little stage, I jumped up and wiggled passively until I was sure that no one was looking. When the time was right, I made my move. I locked my calves together and shimmied up the pole. The PVC made it a breeze, and I was grinning with confidence 10 feet later as I perched triumphantly at the top of the pole. "And now for something flashy and sexy!" I thought to myself. I flipped my hair tentatively and even let go with one hand. Everything went well, and I didn't fall. My friend Hailey noticed what I was up to and waved encouragingly at me. I waved back.

At that point I was getting brave enough that I wanted to try doing something with my legs. "Maybe a split or a grip change," I thought to myself. That was the point at which I realized I was in trouble.

While I was climbing the pole, the ends of my boot laces had gotten tangled but good around all those little hooks that made up the speed laces on my granny boots. It shouldn't have been a big deal to untangle them, only I was 10 feet in the air, and the tangled bits were on the other side of the pole where viewing them would be awkward at best. Not only that, but 10 feet in the air, I could only let go with one hand to see to the untangling process.

I tried to get down, but as I mentioned before, PVC grips a brass pole like nobody's business. Until I could get my boots separated, there would be no getting down for me.

"Don't panic." I thought to myself, as I tried to get myself loose one handed. It was slow going. The first song of a 3 song set had ended, and I was now half way through a second song. "At least no one has noticed that there's a problem...."

Except for my fine friend Hailey, who was, unfortunately for me, gifted with a fine wit and a vicious sense of humor. It only took her a few seconds longer than it took me to realize what the problem was, at which point she started to laugh and clap, thus calling unwanted attention to my predicament. I tried making a "kill" signal at her by slicing my fingers across my throat in a threatening motion, but that just made her laugh harder.

People were really starting to look at me, so I decided to just ignore Hailey and concentrate on getting down as quickly and with as much dignity as the situation would permit. I was making good progress when I felt something hit me in the back of the head. I ignored that too, until I felt it again. My head whipped around in time to catch Hailey winding up for a third time. Still convulsed with hilarity to the point of speechlessness, Hailey was rolling dollar bills into little balls and pitching them at me. Her customer was a gleeful participant in that he was feeding her singles as fast as she could pitch them.

"You just wait until I get down there!" I whispered as loudly as I dared. I didn't want to attract any more unwanted attention than I already had. The second song ended and the final song of my set began.

Hailey grinned mercilessly and let out a piercing wolf whistle. Now EVERYONE in the club was looking at us. I wanted to die. Instead, I smiled weakly and waved at everyone.

"Is something wrong?" Someone asked.

"I think she's stuck," Someone else volunteered.

"Call the fire department!" Hailey howled.

My efforts reached a feverish pace. Hailey's customer ran out of singles, but another customer readily supplied more ammunition for her torture without even being asked. He even tossed a few himself. I glared murderously at the two of them.

My third song was coming to an end, and the girl who was to replace me was waiting uncertainly at the bottom of the stairs up to the stage. "Are you going to be much longer?" she asked politely.

"I don't know," I growled through gritted teeth. The thinly veiled violence in my tone cowed her, and she looked for something to do other than staring at me. Tentatively, she picked up a few of the singles that had bounced off the stage and added them to the mound that was accumulating beneath me.

At last my laces relented and allowed me to loosen them enough to slide down. I spent another second or two at the bottom of the pole untying them all together and flung off both boots in disgust.

"At least you got some sympathy tips..." offered the girl who was still waiting to take my place on stage. I growled threateningly. Quickly, she helped me stuff all my tips into one of my now empty boots.

It's really hard to stomp off in high dudgeon when your naked except for a t-bar and a pair of pink and green striped knee highs. I tried it anyway.

And that is the story of how I made $60 in tips in under 10 minutes. It's definitely not for the faint of heart...