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Somewhere along the way, Bliss turned into a network of safe spaces for women and others with nowhere else to turn. It’s for people who can’t walk into a mainstream shelter or nonprofit with resources to help for whatever reason. Most of the people who show up at our door are trying to escape something. Many are trying to get away from abusive exes. There are those who have been kicked out of their homes by family when they came out. Others got a bit lost along their path and need someone to help them start over.
Sarah Rose, now simply Rosie, was the first. My best friend Jay and I knew her from college, but we’d drifted apart after she started dating this one guy, Matt. It had been over four years since we saw her last, but when she showed up at the back door of the club sobbing, we knew something was wrong.
It turns out Rosie’s ex was a textbook narcissist who spent the past four years isolating her from her friends and family. In the years before she came to us, he turned into a belligerent and violent drunk. Then the guy was stupid enough to get caught using drugs at work and was fired, but he never put himself back together enough to move on. He started to take out his anger on her, and she finally reached her breaking point.
When she turned up, it was like no time had passed, and without a second thought, we stepped in to take care of her. We set her up in the spare bedroom of the house Jay and I shared at the time, gave her a job at the club behind the bar, and helped with the police reports and restraining orders. We even beefed up security when the dick decided to show up threatening her.
I guess word spread after that, and people kept coming.
Honestly, it’s been great for business. We’ve never needed to actively recruit new staff. For many of them, we’re able to offer something they’ve never known before—safety and security for sure, but also a community of people who understand.
I’ve barely finished locking my notes and everything away when Jay walks in.
Standing in the doorway, he looks refined as ever. Jay dresses in a way somehow making him seem larger than his five-foot-six stature. At first glance, you think it’s because of the polished shoes and crisp suit he wears as armor. But upon further inspection, it’s how his sienna eyes contrast his dark Filipino coloring that captivates you. The multiple piercings in his ears are the only tell that he’s not as straightlaced as he tries to appear. With his midnight hair slicked back into a tight bun and faded perfectly on the sides, he looks like a modern-day Bond villain when he smirks.
Right now, it’s not a smirk he wears, but the mask he adopts when something is bothering him. To an outsider, he appears almost serene, but there’s the tiniest of furrows in his brow. I can tell he’s worried by how his lips press a little tighter together.
“Oh, goddess. What now?”
“Sorry. Some guy is becoming a problem on the floor. Rosie texted that he’s more than a little drunk and won’t keep his hands off the dancers, but he keeps yelling he knows the owner and won’t leave until he talks with ‘him.’” He scoffs.
I adore moments like this. Anyone truly in the loop knows I’m in charge, with Jay right at my side, but I learned early on that people respect a man’s word before they would ever accept mine.
Thus, the invention of “James.”
Jay plays the role of James flawlessly. The mysterious playboy club owner typically has at least one dancer hanging off him anytime he’s on the floor, namely me, “Bunny.” It’s a system that works for us. Has since the beginning.
Plus, if all the dancers get pseudonyms, why not us too?
Anytime trouble starts brewing, or someone starts trying to throw their weight around, James and Bunny head over and smooth things out. James acts as a mouthpiece as I whisper sweet nothings in his ear. I’m merely suggesting to him how we should approach the situation. Although now, he’s so good at handling things that I’m mostly there for my own amusement.
We’ve had things get out of control before with patrons who got a little too loud or aggressive, but because of Jay’s rough upbringing, he was adamant from the beginning that everyone received at least a little self-defense training. So, no one’s ever really been hurt. For the most part, our patrons are respectful and keep their hands to themselves.
The whole charade of James and Bunny is hilarious to everyone on staff since I like to stand in lingerie acting the perfect bimbo girlfriend. The outside world is oblivious to the actual workings of the club. Jay gets a kick out of it since he’s got more queer in his pinky finger than the whole of Pride. Passing as the stereotypical cishet man is merely a fun game at this point.
Everyone on staff has a little bit of a dramatic flair. It comes with the job.
“Alright. Give me a minute to get into uniform, and we can go deal with it,” I say.
“Sounds good, Julia.” He glances at his watch impatiently.
I finish locking everything away and straighten my desk. Before Jay steps out of earshot, I grab his attention.
“Hey. What do you think? Baby doll tonight? Or do we go full-out in the lacy set?”
“For this dude? Baby doll, one hundred percent. He looks like a guy who would get off on that.” The grin that lights his face is captivating.“Perfect. Meet you on the floor.”
I make my way down the hall towards the dressing room where all the dancers get ready. I walk into the room and greet everyone cheerfully before strolling to my section. I could have taken on a purely managerial role by this point, but I still love dancing, and knowing the girls is important to me. We spend so much time together that it’s hard not to want to know them.
Opening the wardrobe, I search for the dress I have in mind. The baby doll silhouette dress is like magic with how its color shifts in the light—sometimes more blue and sometimes pinker.
One perk of the job is definitely the clothes. I love getting to play dress-up, and it helps that all the lingerie we wear makes me feel sexy as hell.
As I pull the iridescent dress off its hanger, I marvel at the concept—me feeling sexy in lingerie. Years spent in a dance studio scrutinizing every part of my body planted a judgmental voice in my head. Even now, I will occasionally find myself lost in painful memories of underhanded comments from well-meaning adults and crying in dressing rooms at department stores because clothes don’t fit. It wears on you.
But when I took over Bliss, when I took up stripping, something changed. I don’t avoid looking at myself in mirrors anymore or hide in the bathroom to change instead of out in the open with the rest of the dancers. There’s something about having a patron’s lustful gaze on me as I dance that makes me feel powerful. My size eighteen body is a weapon of seduction. I can manipulate them because they see something they want but society says they shouldn’t desire.
Jay was the first person to ever make me feel like my body was beautiful. We had one night together in college, and the memory of how he described my curves and stretch marks makes me blush every time I remember. It was the first time anyone ever contradicted the negative things I told myself when I looked in a mirror. He saw radiance I didn’t think existed, and over time, he taught me to see it too.
