Sex, Money, and What I Wore

I have so many thoughts going through my head that maybe if I get a few out I'll be able to sleep tonight.

Today what happens to be on my mind (for the first time in a while) is sex. The power of sex? The illusion of the power of sex?

My current job is working in a Haunted House called Blood Manor. Satu has been working there for 5 years, I dropped her name, got an audition, and now I am by day, a (mostly) dedicated acting student, but by night... I am either Barbara Blue Bush, the maniacal mutilating beautician, or Amber DeCay, Zombie Stripper/ Go-Go Dancer extraordinaire.
Now as good ol' Blue, I scare the crap out of people with huge fake scissors, blood running from various wounds on my neck and face, with a mile-high blue beehive hairdo. I get to yell, insult them, intimidate them, and it's all fun albeit rough on the voicebox.
As Miss DeCay (get it? cause I'm a zombie and I'm decaying. ha. ha.) I get to do those things as well... but in the stripper room, we have the opportunity to get tips. And a scared customer is not a tipping customer.
This is where the lines begin to blur.
My outfit is pretty much underwear, boots, and a lot of body paint. I have a dog collar around my neck, and I twirl around the pole with grace and vivacity I never thought I would have back in high school. When people come in, I perform what acrobatics I can and then go into sexy mode. The words 'baby' and 'you gotta dollar?' fly out of my mouth, and only when I see that they are not going to tip do I try to intimidate them out of the room.

The question is: Am I sacrificing part of myself, even though Amber is not technically me and no one who didn't know me could ever recognize me, to get a measly crumbled dollar? I am playing a stripper character, but where is the line? And more importantly, why do I enjoy it so much in the moment, but then feel some shame when I am pulling out a wad of fake-bloodstained singles from my wallet?

I have done many things in the past 2, hell, 5 years that I never thought I would do. Some to be proud of, some to be ashamed of. But does this qualify as something shameful?

In high school all I wanted was to be sexy. I've now figured out that being sexy is all in your state of mind, and it is hard to understand sexuality if you've never had sex. But, like any other woman, I sometimes have to fight to reignite that specific fire.
There is this girl from my high school named Chynna. In almost every facebook picture of her, she has that predatory intensely sexual look down to a T. She is a beautiful curvy girl, and she pulls it off effortlessly. A small part of me wants to be like that, but I am awkward, silly, a total dork, who has some good sexy moments that most often stem from being adorable rather than a Venus-like apparition.

As Amber DeCay, I get to live out my inner fantasy of being that purely sexual creature who is out for fun, money, and if she can, the power of the scare.

The important thing in the end? Just as I was not Christina in Red Light Winter, I am not Amber. She is a facet on the gem of who I am, but not the whole damn stone.

So I will continue to fly around the pole without shame, probably fall off once in a while, and revel in my mask of sexuality and gore for the rest of the month. And with my tip money, buy the real Rachel a couple of extra groceries and a much-needed manicure.