I don't cry.

I really, really don't. Which is why it threw me for a loop tonight when I lost my proverbial shit.

Going to work has been hard for me. My husband doesn't make me, he's sweet, easy, understanding. I feel like an accessory wife, like I go well with any outfit; I've been losing weight because I haven't been boozing, and it's been forcing me to deal with my emotions.

My manager scares me. He's old friends with my husband, but sometimes I go in later than he expects and he corners me and says

Catherine, I've made exceptions for you

and telling my friends

She's a distraction for G

even though he doesn't baby me.

One day I was sitting in the window, swinging my long legs in a decisive manner, showing my eight inch heels and a man comes up, and pokes me in the thigh, right where my tattoo is and he comes flying saying

YOU TOUCH MY GIRLS I TOUCH YOU

and I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling, because I admire such dedication.

Tonight, I washed my hair and ironed all the curls out pin straight, facebook chatting with a girlfriend of mine who is equally adventuresome but a little less polished than I.

I could never be with anyone who couldn't decide to travel on a dime with me

she related

and I replied

Why do you think I even entertained the idea of getting married? He's like me, the idea of moving around and not being settled sits well with him.

I called a taxi that never came and the music next door started booming through my walls, rattling my feet and making me shake with the thought that

I'll never make it.

The police came and blocked off my street; I live in a nice neighbourhood but I'm the lightest girl on the block; despite my Canadian upbringing I am still relatively cautious; had my husband been home he would have been outside screaming at them to

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

Even though it seems trite I sat on my couch and cried.

I cried for the fact that I am terrified to go to work.
I cried for the fact that I seem ungrateful.
I cried for the fact that no matter how impossible I am, he loves me no matter what.

You would think that unconditional love wouldn't be hard to swallow but it is. You mean you will love me, even though I'm a slob? Even though I have a bad temper? Even though I have no family? Even though sometimes when I try my best, it isn't good enough for me?

He came home, tried to make me laugh. I rebuffed him, wallowing in my own sorrows, trying to make sense of it all, as he grabbed my kneecaps and smiled at me. I tried not to look him in the eyes, lest I smile and forget how I felt; I'm not honest with my emotions, so when they do come, I try and let them overcome me.

What if I go and I don't make anything? The house fee will be astronomical.
Anything you make will be more than we had before.

In less than twenty minutes I was in the car, covered in kisses, love and support, and went into work.

I didn't do as well as I had imagined. It was long, impossible, though I did meet someone for good conversation. I met an agent from Los Angeles, who did a 3 for $100 with me, talking about how he is disenchanted with his lifestyle and wishes he could meet a girl like me.

At the end of the night, my husband came to get me without complaint, even though I woke him from a nap.

We came home, and I layed on his shoulder before we went to run errands.

When I lay there I feel nothing can get me, the warmth seeps through his shirt and into my skin, his arms wrapped around me so I can only peek over them to glance at the television, but it doesn't even matter.

As hard as work is, when he comes to get me, I am home. Wherever, whenever, whatever that may be, as long as he is there, everything is going to be all right.

Just breathe.

Yeah, people have been telling me that all my life.

Me, the reigning Queen of the Kingdom of Freak the Fuck Out, who never learned how to breathe, who spent too much time being high and mighty, thinking she knew best, looking down on everyone's opinion.

Because yeah, I knew it all. I tore down other people's opinions relentlessly, scoffed at everyone; thinking just because I was a little smarter than the average bear, the average bear didn't know shit.

Or frankly, the other above average bear for that matter.

My eyes have been opened a lot recently, my heart feels like it grew a new chamber, my sense of trust is huge.

For him at least.

This was new, but the softness of his lips is always new and old at the same time. Thinking

Whoa this is new sensation

but

You feel like home to me; I've known you all my life.

Impossible.

Push me in the swing. I trust that when you swing me over your head you won't drop me like I've always been afraid of.

I've always been afraid of the pavement. It's hard, uncontrollable, it hurts and when the impact supposedly comes you can't stop it and

Ow. Ow. Ow. Why the fuck did I do this that was so stupiddddd.

He assured me over and over while my hands shook as I climbed in, and suddenly, I had no idea what I had ever been afraid of. Perhaps it was other people's tales of how they had crashed and burned, while I would vainly touch my bow shaped lips, my skin thinking

I could never do anything that would give me a scar.

Our home is like a safe haven. We curl up in our living room, our stories dancing around us in the air. I'm staring into his dark eyes, aware that I am openly flirting; touching my hair, lowering my gaze... even though it started unconsciously.

Who flirts with their own husband? You're shameless.

I think it's absolutely imperative to flirt with your own husband, to create such a strong emotional givemethewordstodescribeit bond that is more intimate than any sexual escapade I have ever had. Emotional foreplay before you get that kiss that feels like pop rocks in your mouth.

My heart thumps in my chest.

I've always been hard on myself. When I look in the mirror, I see a collection of pieces rather than an entire picture.

Porcelain skin, yet you could stand to lose weight. Beautiful eyes, but your upper lip needs to be fluffed up.

Your best friend said she could get you free collagen injections.

He'd never forgive me. Secretly I am glad for lately I am getting a grip, seeing that what he sees is most important; the rest seems irrelevant while I am home in the warm decadency that is Time Off.

Before work, when he is gone I think no layers of grey eyeshadow could cover what I see, covering myself in false lashes, fallacy, opinions of strange men that are just so temporary and meaningless. I struggle with my first table these days because I don't drink at work anymore. I hang back while the VIP hosts tries to sell a room for myself and a coworker to Parisians who look at me with confusion in their eyes, even though I speak perfect French. Las Vegas shook me to the bottom of my guts. I don't want to rock the boat, even though I never hesitate to grab the face of the dirty old men who try to lick me.

Despite those occasions, here I don't have to take baby wipe baths. I don't go home disgusting, revolted, swearing a blue streak hunting down leftover Bacardi Razz drinks I don't even like that my room mate abandoned in the fridge weeks ago.

Six days a week is not reality for me anymore. I should work more I know, he can't do it all.

Sometimes I feel guilty about it. He dismisses me when I am melting with apologies saying

I look real upset right?

smiling as he picks up room.

Last night he picked me up without protest long after he'd gone home for the evening. The guilt creeps up in me as again I try to explain why I called, lamenting

I'm so sorry darling. I could have called a cab, I don't mean to be inconsiderate.
What kind of husband would I be then?

We walked up to the house. He always unlocks the door for me to go in first as he holds it open. I throw my bag on the floor, complaining about incompetence, seething with frustration, throwing my hands around, the same complaints every dancer has after a slow night where she sits around for hours before anyone makes a move.

He always listens to me without protest, I think I must sound like a horrible whiner until he suggests we go for a swing.

I feel like you did this for me as a special treat.

I don't think there's anything wrong with needing it sometimes; to whoosh through the air, fill the silent night with secrets. It's our time, the once in awhile to just let go, be ourselves, let go of work persona corporate drama garbage that clouds the little things to take joy in.

In my house these dismissals dissolve like sugar cubes in my mouth, sweetening my speech.

In my house it's the norm for there to be no arguing, no uncomfortable silences, no tension, no outside opinions telling me

You're being ridiculous.

Everyone has their own swing, whatever the metaphor means to you. Yet upon suggestion the image in anyone's mind beings about the same emotion. There's no stopping the smile no matter how hard you bite your lip.

Our swings go well past dawn. They are full of sparkling kisses, soft gestures.

I think to myself that heartbreak is obsolete now. He touches my hair, my face so delicately, like maybe I'm made of china.

I look up; everything I thought was wrong in the world is gone.

One day, I hope every one of my loved ones can be looked at like this, and feel enough trust to be pushed on their personal swings.

It's been a long time, and I have a lot to say.

Despite being in love with Austin, I moved to New Orleans a month ago for a reason I never expected and a reason you, my audience, would likely never expect either.

A month and a half ago I received a phone call from my friend friend J who is so dear I could call her my sister that changed my life forever.

So you should come to New Orleans.
I know, I know. I just can't afford it.

The money in Austin had been lackluster; she'd been asking me for months, and I always had to decline, for if it wasn't one thing, it was another.

I'm serious. When you come here, I have the perfect guy to hook you up with.
Really? Is he cute?
I think he's cute! I think you guys would be so good together, I'm serious. Can I give him your number?
Sure, what's his name?
His name is G, you'll love him. I promise. Here's his number, actually, you should text him!
Ok, I think I will.

J and I had broken up recently due to his legal issues in Dallas, and my realising that yeah, it wasn't going to work, especially since I had been broken up with over facebook message and was trying not to take it seriously.

I figured what the fuck. I will text him.


Over the next three days, there was no less than two hundred text messages per day, hours of phone conversation that made me smile. The click was instant and deep, like I had known him all my life. It began with I will see you in three weeks. Then I will see you in three days. Then, I'm coming tomorrow.

Admitedly I am a hopeless romantic but I had related to this same friend six months ago

J, there is no one for me. I will never meet anyone who wants the same things I do.

She assured me, over and over, that when the right time came, I would.

G texted me late into the night one night with a phrase that would change my life.

So, you want to get married?

I stared at it. I didn't know what to think.

If you're serious, you will call J right now and tell her.

He called me and we conferenced called J, she would later tell me she thought we were playing a joke on her. He drove out the same night.

I went to work, elated, drank with my girlfriends, and threw around words like my love and my fiance and my husband. I went home and fell asleep on my couch, woke up with a start at seven in the morning. I followed my gut and went outside, and there he was, everything I had imagined; tall, broad shoulders, dark eyes, curly hair, with a five o'clock shadow that suited him surprisingly well, though it would prove to be murder on my skin.

I married him six days later on the 22nd of April, in an eight and half minute ceremony in Austin. My new in laws came, took us and our friends who had managed to come out to a fancy sushi restaurant. His mother hugged me, and his father kissed me on the cheek; they called me their daughter from the moment I met them.

G took a job in New Orleans a week later. I wasn't ready to leave Austin, but it was a guarantee, and dancing in New Orleans has relieved me of my alcoholic demons. It's changed my diet, my hips are flat again. He's changed my life saying things like

If anything happened to you I'd kill someone
Lock the door behind me when I leave
I love you woman
I'd do anything for you
I absolutely adore you.

He makes me lunch when I wake up, and notices when my clothes are hand wash only. I sleep on his shoulder every single night, while he reads or watches movies to fall asleep; he needs far less sleep than I do. He proudly introduces me as his wife everyone he knows, and tells me I am beautiful.

Every morning around 4am when I hear the click of his key in the lock, I run up and throw my arms around him, stretching to my tiptoes to kiss him good morning, running my hands through his wavy hair and exclaiming

Look! I cleaned and made you chocolate raspberry cupcakes, just because I love you.

I've never had to do that before. Though trivial, it makes me feel small and protected... when I lay in his arms, nothing can get me. He always smells warm, faintly like clove menthol cigarettes and Kenneth Cole Black cologne. I bury my face in his neck; he purrs with contentedness and strokes my hair.

I never believed in this kind of love. When people say you just Know, and that the love you have for your spouse is different than other love, I would roll my eyes, thinking yeah right give me a break.

But it's true. It isn't a crazy lust drunken madness rollercoaster of emotions. It's a safe, I've got your back, I love you as you are for better or for worse til death do us part.

He completes me.

And I've never been happier.

‘Cause it’s nine in the afternoon, and your eyes are the size of the moon...

You could ’cause you can so you do
We’re feeling so good, just the way that we do
When it’s nine in the afternoon.

I remember the last time I was with you before you had to leave and attend to personal reasons in a city far yet so near all at the same time.

You sat in my living room with your dress shirt on, open, tie hanging around your neck with perfect abandon. You danced in my kitchen, wide grin splashed across your face. You met my sister over Skype.

We sort of look alike, you and I. We both have large,wide eyes; though yours are blue green and mine are decidedly more grey than blue every year. We both have wide electric smiles with straight teeth, long lanky bones, and sharp cheekbones, full lips. It's cute in a way, but what's even cuter is how you can write in a letter, however sad "I know how we are".

When I kiss you it's like falling into bed, but when I talk to you or read you, it's like I'm meeting myself.

You aren't the sentimental kind. You shy away from saying things and largely rely on actions. You kiss me when I'm in a haze in the morning before you leave, spend hours on video chat with me a week, sometimes not saying much of anything, but sharing your screen so you can show me websites you think I'd like.

When I fell down the stairs and split open my knee you dragged me into the house, my blood dripping onto the pavement outside. The blood is still there. I see it every time I leave the house, big bold now purple-black drips. You bandaged my knee, and still acted like I was the most beautiful thing in the world when we went to bed together, even though I bled on your expensive jeans from Saks Fifth Avenue.

You've been gone three weeks.

My blood on your jeans all came out in the wash. I know this will too, in one way or another.

I am WTF'ing all over the place...

.. not that I should be, because every night we go out there is an adventure, but...

yeah. Overusing ellipses should convey my stunned state of mind.

I was ready at 6:45 as planned, waiting to zip on my knee high red vinyl boots. You have a distinctive knock usually so I knew it was you immediately.

Hi. Sorry, I'm late.
It's fifteen minutes, not a big deal.

I always give you a hug and a kiss when you come by, today was no exception. How I didn't notice you holding a rose behind your back I don't know, but when you told me it matched my hair my hand flew over my heart in delight and my already big eyes got saucery.

Come on, K is waiting for us in the car.

We met up with M and R, we've had M home with us before and R is aware of it. Your skill in asserting your position is so cultivated that you come off as being the nicest guy in the room, but really, you're taunting him with it- you even brought out a roll of Magnum condoms from your blazer. Your laugh is incredibly disarming, it always sends ripples of warmth through my body, and I am positive it has the same effect on other people.

We always recount the story of our first date, again today was no exception.

The first bar becomes loud, we go to get R some pizza. The second bar won't let them bring their outside food in so we stand outside- M offers you some and I say

Don't you go spoiling your appetite with pizza.

M squeals.

Oooh she just said "don't go spoiling you appetite with pizza!"

You smiled and rolled your eyes.

I can eat as much as I want.

They leave, we can't convince them to stay out. We walk the several blocks to the restaurant- it isn't cold, the night is clear.

The restaurant is beautiful, we sit in the lounge area, side by side per usual. I always say I feel insulted if I am on a date and they don't sit next to me; you agree with me but say corners are an exception.

I have always wanted to do omakase, so we got the three course; each dish was more beautiful and delicious than the last. Restaurants always seem to give out an odd number of pieces, so we split the last piece every time.

You friend is going to meet up with us on a corner, we window shop and you ask

You're not cold or anything, are you?
Oh no, I'm fine.

He comes up to us, the way he exclaims at you leads me to believe you haven't seen him in awhile. I'm always surprised at how warm and sweet your friends are to me- they greet me with hugs and smiles every time, include me in the free shots, talk to me when you're in the bathroom.

After a few hours, one of them asks me if we can go to the club. I stop in my tracks.

Yes, but you guys have to be VERY, VERY WELL BEHAVED. Do you understand me?

I know I don't have to worry about you. Your friend I am not sure.

We get to the club and go sit in the VIP. One of my coworkers gives you a lap dance; I know they don't do much for you, but I like to watch them salivate over you.

The next thing I know we are being thrown out. You are irate at your friend- we aren't even sure what happened. I put his jacket on and you take the car keys so he can't leave.

I am angry at you but I can't admit it. I am angry with your friend and I can't admit it, although I do tell you I feel like I am going to start crying.

Your friend is drunk and tells us

You just don't know where you live!

when he takes the wrong turn.

I storm into the house and throw my keys onto the counter. You're good with me when I am upset and suddenly we are taking it out on each other- I'm all over you you're all over me and we fall asleep in a heap.

The light peeks in the window and I can feel you in that twilight between sleep and full wakefulness. I sleep so much more soundly with you there. You usually have something to do but today I get to lay in bed with you until nearly noon.

You say something sexual to me and I smile at you.

You're going to have to work a little harder for it than that.
I know.

I keep bursting into laughter while I am kissing you- takes three or four times to get anything going.

I want to comment on something but I don't want to jinx it.
Then don't jinx it.

I suppose your curiosity got the better of you.

What were you talking about, the jinx thing?
Don't worry about it.

Tonight, I find out what was so dreadful that we were asked to leave the club.

As one can imagine, I am horribly nauseous.

You're an enigma...

but so am I and I love it.

We went out of town with friends, flying down the I-35 to a destination I had never been before,telling jokes, recounting awful stories of drunk friends who puke in our cars- a three hour drive feels like five minutes. I notice you keep eye contact intermittently in the rear view mirror.

We get to your friend's house, our other friends go to a separate apartment to prepare for the evening. I get ready in the bathroom next to your best friend, shadowing my eyes and frosting my lips red to match my hair. I'm not a fussy thing; it takes me less than a half of an hour, and when I ask you

What do you think? Good yes?

you grin at me and nod.

You have pockets, here's my passport,the cash and here, put my lip gloss in your pocket

You groan at me in a joking manner and say

I have ruined many a jacket with lip gloss

and I reassure you that the lid is on tight.

We go downstairs and your friend tells me I look pretty, I thank him and kiss him on the cheek, tell his date she looks pretty and hug her as well. I slip my arm into yours, you walk as fast as I do if not faster and I feel like I am keeping count with the CLACK CLACK CLACK of my high heeled shoes.

I am thankful you are three inches taller than I am, I can wear these shoes and not tower over you.

The club is glowing, green and your friend hasn't gone on to DJ yet. You ask if I want to go outside to the glass deck overlooking the city. I say yes and even though I rush towards the door with glee you are there to open the door for me. We stand close to each other looking over the edge, you point out buildings to me and explain the architecture. I am thankful it isn't windy yet, and that you are wearing a velvet jacket that warms my bare shoulder as I lean against you. You introduce me to all of your friends, they are so warm to me, welcoming- when I mention it you say

I hang out with good people, not assholes.

like I would think any differently.

Inside a woman easily thirty years your senior takes a shine to you. You spin lavish tales for her, she hangs on every word and believes you, though that doesn't shock me.

Go for it, if it was flipped, I would milk it for all the free booze it was worth.

You beamed at me, kissed me decidedly on the lips, blue green eyes looking at me in that way where I never have to say a word- I know what you're thinking.

We float around the room, you dance with the older woman while I stand with your friends.

Does that bother you at all, that he is dancing with her?

your shyer friend asks me.

I place my hand over my heart and say

No, I'm so proud of him!

Later on I walk up to you in her presence, maybe to assert my position even though I am not jealous and ask for twenty dollars. You give it to me, as we pool our going out money, and she looks at me quizzically, as if wonder who the hell am I. I go up to the bar with you, you buy her a drink. I hadn't any idea she had bought you three, so when I go outside to sit with your best friend and lament, he rolls his eyes.

Catherine, really? You know how he feels about you. You know how he is, he is just networking.
I know but that is OUR money and I don't like him spending it on her to drink..
It's nothing, seriously. Don't worry about it.
I know.

You later explained to me you felt obligated. I understood, I have been there before myself, and sort of admire the gesture.

The night goes beautifully. I sit in your lap on the porch, wind whipping through my hair,taking pictures thirty six stories above the earth. We drink whiskey and coke, pacing ourselves as to not get entirely shit faced. I dance with you, your best friend and your shyer friend, who says to me

Don't feel like you have to sit here and mingle with me...
Oh come on, I don't have to be his satellite, I'm fine.

You kiss me throughout the night, hold my hand on the way to the bar, cozy up with me on a couch to talk. They say when you're dating you should be close. We are, but often I feel more than a standard Closeness with you; I feel a wash of warmth, and like you would understand anything I tried to tell you. You pay attention and never say WHAT or PARDON ME or UH HUH. Your eyes don't leave mine unless you are looking for something or someone, even then- I know you are paying attention so I don't mind.

The night is over in a flash. When we get home, you feed me vegetarian pizza with ranch dressing for the first time.

That's disgusting.
Oh come on, just try it.

I roll my eyes but trust your judgement; when you see my eyes light up you're all

See? I told you ranch is good on everything.

In the morning you leave to go retrieve our other friends, one of whom was mistreated by the person he was staying with- a mistreatment that ended up in a trip to the cosmetic dentist and me fixing up a gashed eyebrow in the bathroom while you stood in the doorway in amusement, sandwich in one hand, beer in the other.

Go make yourself useful and make me a sandwich.
I already ate all the steak.
You know I don't eat steak.
Then I don't know what to make for you.
Grilled cheese would be fine.
I don't know how to make that.
Seriously?
It's ok I will figure it out.

Even though you enlisted the help of a girl friend, I was impressed with the fact I could ask for a sandwich and not be met with a FUCK YOU MAKE YOUR OWN.

The afternoon was spent visiting your friends, all whom I found to be good people. On the way home, you were decidedly quieter, falling asleep in the dark car. Yet I know your silence isn't due to anything I did; after all, when we stopped, you bought me a diet Pepsi without my even having to ask.

Upon arriving at home you are bleary eyed and have to be up early for work. You pulled me into an exhausted embrace, I had my high heels in my hands, so stood barefoot on my toes to kiss you goodnight saying

You look tired sweetie.
I am.
Get some rest babe. I will see you soon, ok?
Ok, good night.

I blew kisses out the window as we pulled away. Whether you saw them or not it doesn't matter, one way or the other.

Hey, you disgusting fuck face!!

Ok, so I'm a dancer, not a provider.

I hate inside the club prostitutes, I do. But peep show girls, independent escorts and prostitutes- hey, they aren't hurting me and I support them.

I belong to an online community of sex industry women. I repost this because THIS ASSHOLE FUCK FACE is being a GIANT DOUCHE secretly recording girls in Las Vegas, San Diego and Los Angeles as WELL AS RELEASING THEIR PERSONAL INFORMATION. So I repost this warning for all providers in those areas and dude- if I ever hear your voice around or behind me, rest assured I am going to beat the everloving shit out of you and possibly wear a vial of blood around my neck as a trophy to show I beat your sorry ass.

"We have been notified that there is a guy going into peep shows, video taping the performances, then posting them online. He also posts names and other personal information he learns - the city they work in, where they're from, high school, graduating class, college, etc. Additionally he records encounters with San Diego and Vegas prostitutes. We recommend you take a look at him, hear his voice, and spread the word.

If you are in one of the videos, you should contact xHamster at: http://xhamster.com/contact.php. Provide xHamster with a direct link to the video and state that you did not grant DA5150 permission, written or otherwise, to film you nor to make a user submission to xHamster.

This link is to his video collection:
http://xhamster.com/user/video/DA5150/new-1.html

Please stay safe!"