I had an amazing time interviewing this girl. It’s an incredible interview. Please check out AIPDaily.com and give her a follow on twitter!
With your back turned to me,
pushing wardrobe on hangers
from one side to the next, you
came to a decision. A decision
Still rubbing the sleep from
my eyes, barely awake and blurry
eye’d, I felt something was amiss.
Women’s intuition I suppose.
You continued to get dressed,
avoiding all eye contact with me,
as well as physical contact. You
couldn’t escape fast enough.
And then you spoke.
You said three lines:
“This isn’t working out.”
“We can still be friends.”
“I want to live alone.”
You couldn’t even look at me.
You dressed quickly and raced
right passed me. I didn’t even
have a foot out of bed and you
You avoided everything about me.
You avoided my entire being. I
didn’t even exist to you. Then I
heard the front door slam as you
left for work.
I was dumbfounded and at a loss
for words, but the slamming of
the door & the dangling of keys,
the turn of the lock, helped put
things in perspective for me.
I sat in bed, in the same spot
where you left me & went over
your callous, empty words that
came with your vacant expression,
over and over again. Repeating
every line you said.
I pulled myself together. I grabbed
my things, left nothing behind, just
as you left me behind. I wanted no
memories of me ever being there. I
was nothing to you that morning.
Perhaps I never was.
I didn’t want to leave any trace of
myself behind. I didn’t want my ghost
to linger in your apartment. I made a
choice that morning as well. I no longer
wanted to exist in your world and I still
Your text message two days later gave me
quite the laugh. “Hope we can still be friends.”
When do the jokes end? An eight year friendship
gone. I’m sure it matters less to you. But you
did matter to me. And because I’m not a heartless
bitch, I wish you nothing but success and happiness.
I have no hard feelings or ill will towards you
& will never bad mouth you. Hell, I’m not even upset or hurt.
I’ll admit that I was for about a week, but that faded quickly.
I know you’ll do well and have much success in your endeavors.
And you’ll always have my support from a distance, but I cannot offer
you my friendship.
I hope you find what you’re looking for.
I wake up every morning to a battle. A battle within myself. A battle I created. I struggle trying to figure out who I am, not only to myself, but who other people think I am. I battle my mind, my heart, my soul and my true feelings. Feelings. I play my feelings pretty close to my chest. I was told by my mother, when I was very young, to never let people get too close or give them any information they may use as ammo against me in the future. I have been following this advice since I was fourteen years old and I’m not sure if it has protected me or ruined me.
I’ve had a few slips and have given in to friends or lovers because they made me feel safe and protected. They made me feel as though I no longer had to wear my armour, which has proven my mother right. Eventually all the wrongs I’ve committed, mistakes I’ve made, the insecurities I allowed them to see, were all used against me as ammunition. And I sat there, taking every bullet like rapid fire. I didn’t even bother to fight back. I had already lost the battle by revealing my strategies to these people who were never friends or lovers, but enemies.
The same person who warned me to never reveal too much about myself to anyone, is also the same person who taught me to never show weakness. The predators of the world emerge at the very sign of weakness. They can smell it and like snakes slithering in tall grass, they come out of hiding. It’s better to show strength even if you have to fake it. But I’ve been faking my strength for so long that I’ve lost myself. I fake my strength and I fake my feelings. I have faked my feelings for so long that I can no longer tell if I’m hurt, angry, happy or in love. Numb is what I feel.
Feeling numb, feeling nothing or not knowing what to feel, this has been my armour. In the past year, I’ve been had, I’ve been used and abused both verbally and mentally by Friend, lover, boyfriend, it’s irrelevant. They were people that I cared for, trusted and loved. I gave them all of me. The good, the bad and the ugly. My kindness was taken for weakness and I will never allow that to happen again. Even now I have revealed too much. Normally I save such things for my journal entries where no one can see or read the truth. So, why am I sharing this now?
I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be vulnerable. I don’t even know or remember what it’s like to just be held by someone who truly gives a shit about you and will just hold you and allow you to be completely vulnerable. And before any of you jump to your lame conclusions about porn being the reason that I’m like this, you can shut the fuck up with your bullshit theory. Porn had nothing to do with this. Porn has never been my battle or my struggle. I have no demons when it comes to porn. I’m not sure where my demons came from, but their numbers are growing.
Anyway. Before I reveal too much…
(if you can relate, feel free to share your thoughts)
Congratulations to those of us who made it to 2015! Myself included. This being my first blog in over four months I feel that I should be wowing you with wisdom and wit, but it appears that you clicked on the wrong blog post. So, you’re shit out of luck.
But while you’re here…
…A few things to get you through the new year…
1.Don’t be a dick
2.Don’t masturbate in public
3.Don’t name your kids after food groups
4.Don’t watch Fox News
5.Don’t say Bae if you’re in your late twenties
6.Don’t say Bae at all
7.Relax. It’s just sex…but get tested
8.Kale is for people who hate themselves
9.Listen. Smile & then do whatever the fuck it was you were going to do anyway because you’re a fucking adult!
10.Drink your Ovaltine
…There seems to be a lack of creativity in the porn name department and very little originality these days. Every girl fresh off the boat is either a Jenna, Jesse, Nikki/Nicole, Brooke, Brooklyn, Alexis,Emma, Abby, Alana, Bailey, Tegan. On my agency site alone, there are two Anna’s, which are both spelled differently. Two Mary’s, two girls with the first name Miss and unfortunately, two Scarlett’s, which are also spelled differently. (Let it be known that I’ve been Scarlett for seven years, so, I think it’s fair to say that, that name belongs to me). 😉
…On LA Direct’s site, there are two Addison’s and four Alexis’! Is that absolutely necessary?
…OcModels has two Brooke’s, both spelled differently, two Holly’s, two Lilly’s also spelled differently, and two Summer’s.
Anyway, you get where I’m going with this.
Jenna Jameson, Jesse Jane, Jenna Haze, Alexis Texas, Nikki Benz…they’ve earned their names. They made these names household names. They are recognized everywhere. And yes, Jenna, Jesse & Nikki are cute, little girly names, but guess what? THE POSITION HAS BEEN FILLED! (no pun intended). Giving yourself a porn name that has already been made famous by the person who first thought of it, will not make you a porn star overnight or win you any awards or recognition of any kind. You may just end up pissing off the wrong person who worked her ass off (literally) to make that name what it is today.
Newbies, don’t be afraid to be creative when it comes to choosing your stage name. Especially if you want the name and yourself to stand out and be memorable. Stage names like Jenna, Alexis, Nikki, Jesse, or Brooke will only get you lost in the crowd. I know strippers with better stage names and that’s not saying a whole hell of a lot.
Your stage name should stand out and look great on a box cover, but don’t get carried away either. If porn is something you’re looking to do, before you sign with any agency, before you do anything…do your research on the industry and spend some time thinking about your stage name. Don’t let your agent choose it for you. Some agents are lazy and may just end up calling you Fido or Grassy Knoll.
Well, kids, that’s all for today. TaTa!
*Not every strippers story is the same. These are my experiences. I have over two years worth of war stories. Some funny and some that will have you reaching for your cocktail of xanax and zoloft. But fear not, my little Crumb Snatchers. I will take you through the bog of eternal stench that is the strip club scene and just when you feel the nightmare may never end, I will guide you safely back to Happy Land. This is pt: 1 of the G-String Chronicles…Proceed with caution.*
***DISCLAIMER: For those of you with heart conditions, whiplash, fibromyalgia, can’t read without pictures, can’t read at all or don’t give two donuts and a rolling shit or are easily offended by, well, everything, I suggest you go back to watching Teen Mom or Gossip Girl. This story is not for you. For those of you who made it this far down the paragraph, lets get this shit storm brewing, shall we?***
Once upon a time, in the enchanted kingdom of San Fernando Valley, affectionately referred to as Porn Valley, nestled quietly on the corner of “walk and don’t walk,” a full nude strip club was erected. It was the biggest and said to be the most popular club in all the land. It was rumored that only the most beautiful maidens frolicked behind its doors, serving up all your wildest fantasies and favorite appetizers. With all the free soda and water you could drink! The girls would dance to their native songs and the men would tip them handsomely with $1 bills. The more coin you left on the stage, the more naked the girls became. Truly a sight to see. The men would come to relax in the arms of a beautiful woman after a hard days work storming the castle. Only the finest gentlemen were permitted inside to see the naked dancing girls. All who came to this magical place had a gay old time. Yadda, Yadda…blah, blah, blah…and they all lived happily ever after.
Oh, wait! That’s another story…Here’s the truth about what happens to the girls working behind the closed doors of the strip club and the grotesque transformation that happens to men after they pay their $20 cover charge.
There is no good, the bad & the ugly. THERE IS ONLY ZUUL! No, but seriously…Strip clubs cater to the most fucked up stereotypes you can possibly imagine. Stereotypes of all ages, shapes, colors & backgrounds. Stereotypes I thought only existed in movies.
And, yes, I know what you’re all thinking, “but Scarlett, you do porn. How can stripping be any different?” I asked myself this same question two years ago as I was filling out my application for the strip club.
I’ve always been a Curious George type of person. Always wanting, needing to experience different things. Good experiences, bad experiences. I craved it all. Change & adventure. Fuck. This blog is beginning to sound like the opening to a Mark Twain book. Ahem…It didn’t matter what I was going through or what I went through because ultimately, the good & the bad molded me into a very well rounded person. No, really! (cue the laughter & enjoy laughing at your own jokes. I’ll wait)…
Ok, did ya’ get that outta’ your system? Great. Now shaddup & lets move on.
I may have screwed up once or twice as a teenager, but for the most part I was a great kid. I did well in school. I was involved in extra curricular activities, I didn’t drink, smoke, do drugs. My parents got really lucky with me. Shit could have been worse. Although, I did receive a Saturday school for ditching in the 8th grade, but I highly doubt that has anything to do with my decision to do porn and strip.
The usual signs and symptoms of becoming a porn star/stripper were never there. What do you look for? I am the last person on earth you would ever expect. In fact, one girl, who I loathed, told me that I was going to be a nun. Maybe my folks or my guidance counselor, whom I was sent to for a “dress code violation” because my pants had a hole in the knee, is to blame. If only they had seen the obvious cries for help. If only they had realized that by wearing jeans with holes in them, I was secretly planning my career in the porn industry while also day dreaming of being a stripper at 28 years old.
I initially became a stripper for two reasons. 1. There’s a stripper inside every female whether you’d like to admit it to yourself or not and we all have that burning curiosity about whether or not we could actually do it. 2. I was told that there was a possibility I may be booked for a Feature Dancing gig and getting some experience on the pole was encouraged. I’ve been dancing for two years and have never been booked for any feature dancing opportunities, but it’s something I’d really like to do. Pornies never say die!
However, clubs don’t want to book just some chick who does porn, yet, lacks major exposure. They want to book a porn star that will bring in fans and money. They want a name. My only claim to fame were the Lindsay Lohan parodies I shot for Hustler that got me some exposure on TMZ, E! News and other little media outlets. So, I figured this teeny, tiny bit of notoriety may give me a shot at feature dancing. This friend assured me that he would be able to get me the feature dancing gigs I needed that would somehow catapult me into the famous porn star I always aspired to be. (cough). So, off I went to audition at this strip club, which is less than ten minutes from my house in the valley, hoping to pick up a few tricks, (pole tricks, that is. not actual tricks) and hopefully learn how to put on one hell of a show.
As Britney Spears so elegantly put it, “There’s only two types of people in the world. The ones that entertain and the ones that observe…” Well, I was definitely a “put on a show kinda’ girl.”
I got dressed and gave the DJ my song requests. The first song being Shaking Hands, by Nickelback. (Yes, i like Nickelback and i refuse to apologize for this. You, however, may continue to eat Bilbo Baggins dick). I came out onto the stage dressed as a school girl, (obviously I was lacking a little creativity), shook my ass, bent my ass over, touched my toes, did a few spins around the pole, arched my back, and smiled. HIRED.
Confidence has never been an issue for me. Well, perhaps confidence is not the right word. I never felt nervous. I wasn’t nervous on my first day of school. I wasn’t nervous auditioning for my very first school play and I wasn’t nervous shooting my very first porn and I definitely wasn’t nervous for my audition as a stripper.
*Note To Aspiring Strippers: Do not reference movies like Striptease or Showgirls…That is all. *
I love dancing. I like risqué, seductive dancing even better, which got me some attention at the Middle School/High School proms & winter formals. I was never trashy, but I definitely wanted people to look. Stripping is supposed to be a tease. Humans like a good tease just as much as we like a good chase. It’s not enough to just “get it over with.” We’re visual creatures attracted to beautiful images and colors. It’s hot to put it all out there, but it’s far more enticing to leave something to the imagination. I know. It’s terribly cliche, but if you’re given anything all at once & too easily, you lose interest.
For those of you still with us, assuming there’s actually more than one person reading this other than myself, I promise that there’s a point, a message & an actual story to this tale. Bare with me.
Ahem…back to being seductive…while on a stripper pole, dressed like a baby prostitute…
Being in cross country and track taught me mind over matter. Becoming a Thespian in theatre and playing different parts in many plays taught me to act, to create a character & make that character my own. While also never losing myself in the process. Scarlett Fay is my character and I may amp things up a bit while on set or on stage, but I’m always me. You’re not going to experience two different people sharing one body, but I definitely know when to play the part and when to turn it off.
Porn was a crash course on how to utilize all the things puberty had given me, but what my mother failed to teach me when I was younger. Smart woman.
There is a certain high that comes over you when you see how fast and easy the money is as a stripper. Having guys throw money at you or spend money on you, just to be with you for a few minutes gives you this Wonder Woman type feeling. Well, maybe not Wonder Woman, but you definitely feel like a “boss bitch,” as the kids would say.
At this point, I had been shooting porn for four years. I figured stripping would be a cake walk. A goddamn bake sale. I. was. WRONG.
Stripping has never matched anything I’ve made in porn, but at the time I was only shooting GG scenes, so, my bookings were few and far between. Making a couple hundred dollars for five hours of work just seemed way too easy and at least I would have some cash on me while I was in between work or waiting for paychecks. Not to mention there is something about commanding the attention of these complete strangers that made me feel in control and fucking sexy. At the time, I was working pretty steady for PlayboyTV, so, I didn’t spend much time at the club. On the nights that I did come in, I only stayed from 5pm-10pm. I wasn’t ready to work a late shift. I didn’t feel I was experienced enough or mentally capable of competing with thirty other girls. Picture that for a moment. Thirty girls in one room. I know it sounds very erotic, but it’s actually terrifying. Girls are very wicked creatures. Females were not a well thought out plan. As strippers we have nothing and everything in common, but we all share the same goal. Money. Many of the dancers I work with are natural born hustlers and then there are those, like myself, that have no fucking clue what we’re doing. My first year as a stripper was pretty pathetic. I never approached customers for dances and sometimes the only money I would make would be from the tips I received on stage. Some days I would get lucky and a customer would approach me for a dance and buy several. But for the most part I kept to myself. I was still adapting to my new surroundings, getting the lay of the land and studying it’s indigenous people. A strip club is an anthropologist’s wet dream. Everything you need to know about human behavior is on full display.
A strip club is like walking into one of those weird oddity museums that have strange beasts mounted on the walls from the far corners of the world that you never knew existed and a two-headed stillborn baby is forever preserved inside a mason jar.
Cue the dark and ominous music…
I’ll try to keep you on the sunny side of the street while we’re here. After that, I should probably list a suicide hotline number below. Hopefully, most of you are so medicated you’ll barely feel a thing.
Stripping, being a stripper, has a way of breaking you down and molding you into someone completely different and usually not for the better. It’s like the military, but with G-Strings and stilettos. Only the strong will survive. Or the mentally ill. Sometimes I wish Morgan Freeman would appear out of the bathroom stall to give me a pep talk before my stage set. However, the only thing appearing out of the bathroom stall is a young, stumbling drunk girl with a broken heel and different food stains from different days of the week lingering on the outfit she pulled from her locker. I’m sure she’ll get to that when she can, but right now, she’s on a drone strike. Her target? Anybody. Her mission? To make money. With a little help from liquid courage and her newfound love for self medicating, she’s ready and wiling to do whatever it takes to make that money. Anything. That’s what I like to call Army Strong. With a shotgun dose of uppers and downers, she is ready for duty.
Thankfully she’ll have enough drugs on board to wipe out her memory when she wakes up at four in the afternoon….(*to be continued.* This is a work in progress. Pardon our dust. Just wanted to get this out there)………