The first time I took off my clothes for a guy, it was on a dare. I was ten, he was eleven, and we were behind one of the counselors’ cabins at Camp Iroquois Springs.

I learned two important things that day. Guys always find a way to get their jollies first, and watching someone watching me peel off my clothes brought to life an itch I’ve been scratching ever since.

These days I took my clothes off all the time, only there were no dares involved, and the end result proved to be fistfuls of money instead of poison ivy.

For the last two months, I had been scratching my itch on The Quad circuit, a rotation of the four largest clubs for exotic dancers in the tri-city area. My favorite club on The Quad remained Floyd’s Den of Iniquity. With three runway stages, lighted poles, and plush, private lap dance chairs, it was the nicest place I’d strutted my stuff…publicly, that is.