Forged Steel's Wrestling Journal

Entry 15

Working as a face has been without a doubt my biggest challenge in this sport, and I’m only a month in. The psychology is so much different, so is my normal pace. I also have to hold back on my impulses because I’m trying to be the opposite of who I was for the past three years.

The venue is interesting. It looks like an old, old auditorium on the outside but is anything but on the inside, having modern amenities that are on par with Canterlot. Iron Maiden says this was done largely at her own expense, but feels it pays for itself. It also has an exclusive royal box, where Princess Cadence and Shining Armor will attend at least once a month.

Work out here is a small territory, shows are every week, and most of what’s done is publicity. This means that there’s a lot of downtime. Because it’s so spread out up here, there’s a lot to do. I thought my first week that I would run through the entire city in my morning warm up, but it took me three weeks because it’s so expansive.

The environment is great too. Because it’s so far north, it’s cold so I almost feel at home. I can push myself even harder than I usually do without worrying about overheating. Also with the penthouse loft I’m renting I get a nearly perfect view of the Northern Lights every night, plus an incredible sunrise to greet me first thing in the morning. It’s almost enough to make me want to remove the curtains.

Everywhere I’ve been I always get pressured to go to strip club, or titty bars as they’re called in some places. I continually turn it down, making up some excuse as to why I can’t go. Eventually the veterans around here would no longer take no for an answer so I was dragged along. They spent the whole trip raving about how the ladies and their shows out here are second to none.

I used the darkness of the venue to slip away from them to a corner to stay by myself, writing and looking out over this place. It’s dark as I already said, the place is filled with either smoke or some sort of dry ice fog, the music's too loud, and the thumping feels like an earthquake at times. A passing waitress wearing only a thong offers me a drink and I only get a tonic, no drinking tonight.

As I sit here in solitude, writing and enduring this thumping that’s supposed to be music, and wondering if I’ll get a headache soon, I noticed someone leaning over my table. "I can't stand a shy customer. Come along, I have plenty of entertainers who would love to meet you." Without looking up I respond that I don’t doubt it, but would prefer to politely decline.

Uninvited, she sits down and slides over, interrupting my writing. “You didn’t come here for my choice of fine liquors, or my choice of even more fine ladies. I’d like to know what you did come here for. You’re not in trouble, I’m only curious.”

I’m in quite a dilemma now. Do I really say what all I think and risk offending her, or feign interest in a VIP show just to go back to my solitude? I continue to sit in silence, pondering my two options. The former would likely piss her off unbelievably and would make me look like an ass for even coming. The latter would be passive-aggressive, ultimately solving nothing, word would get back what I’d done, and I’d again look like an ass for not having the courage to just come out and say it.

“I’m still waiting,” coos the sing-song voice, “You’re only making me more interested the longer you put off your answer.”

To tell the truth, I hate this place; this music isn’t enjoyable as the bass levels are so high as to feel like I’m being bombed; the drinks taste fairly bland; just watching the alcohol being mixed, I can tell it’s significantly watered down; I can’t hardly see anything with it being so dark and all the smoke filling this place; and with the ladies, I can probably find even better looking who can do far more than just simply shake their ass or tits in my face, and just from what I’ve seen I still don’t see even one that suits my tastes. Apparently I had said all this out loud.

The waitress’ eyes go unusually wide as she sets down my refill and hurries away. Looking over at who I can only presume is the owner, I can see the involuntary eye twitch that indicates offense. In an unsettlingly calm manner, she nods in slow motion, her voice is still somewhat cheery but each word sounds much more pointed as she now asks “So… Why did you come here, sir?”

I only came because I was forced to simply to shut up my colleagues. If I definitively refused when they pressed, then the word would circulate all throughout work that I was a “fag” ⏤ the word makes me shudder, but that’s neither here nor there ⏤ or a “puss” because I maybe challenged their idea of who a stallion should be. I’m still new and with how much perception matters, a negative opinion of me would kill any momentum I’ve worked so hard for this far.

“Hmm…” She thought for a moment, then came up with an idea “How about this; I’ll find you a lady, take you to a VIP room, and you can give them the slip out the back?”

That was my idea all along, and hearing it from her makes me wonder why I didn’t just do that in the first place. Regardless, I go with it and follow her to a VIP room. I had to pass by other wrestlers’ table on the way over, getting stares of awe from them.

I sit in the room, which is surprisingly well insulated from the main area and one of the dancers is in there, I presume on a break. She goes by Candy, cliche name. She was only a year out of high school, doing this for college tuition, going to be a med student, won’t go back to dancing once she leaves, the exact kind of typical story you expect these ladies to have.

Having slipped out the emergency exit in the back, I walk in almost complete silence through the night streets. No wind, but overcast and not giving any view of the sky. As my steps echo off the buildings and down the empty paths, I can’t help but think about why a place like that bothers me so much.

For how much sex I’ve had and how casual I often feel it is, why should someplace like that bother me so deeply? It just doesn’t make any sense thinking about it. I can absolutely enjoy the psychology behind teasing and foreplay, and in fact prefer it; however, when with a sexual partner, I always know that said teasing/foreplay is always going to end in actual intercourse, whereas with a stripper it will not. Perhaps that’s why, it normalizes a part of the carnal process that I enjoy so much.

Before I turn the corner to go back to my apartment for the night, I pass by a small jewelry shop. There has to be several of these in town, but I don’t know why this one stood out so much. I’ll have to check it out sometime soon. All the lights were off, obviously, but a few things sparkled quite spectacularly in the dim moonlight and street light offered. If not tomorrow, I’ll stop by before the end of the week for sure.