Roadwarrior

by Nick Molloy

  His attitude and their reticence to do anything about my accuser left a very bitter taste in my mouth. I decided to ask for the £10 back that I was initially promised when they asked me to submit a copy of Roadwarrior into evidence. It had never been sent to me. I’d been assured it would be paid back via the expenses department. When I telephoned and asked for it back, Blackpool police denied all knowledge and I was passed around different people, told to phone back repeatedly. After 4-5 times I began to get irritated by their behavior, which seemed wholly deliberate. The next time I called it was the same so I told them I was going to bring a civil prosecution against the department where I would dredge up the behaviour of their disgraced detective and their complete and utter inadequacy to pursue my accuser for her crimes. As it was an article in the local paper that had been the catalyst for the whole thing I suspected they would also be interested in this story. A cheque arrived a couple of days later. It was a real shame that I had to resort to this to get what was rightfully mine.

  At the end of the whole thing I was left with a really empty feeling. I felt violated by the false accusation and then disgruntled to say the least by the police procedure at the end. It was obvious at the outset that they knew she was a liar but they were prepared to let her get away with it. Of course some of this may not be their fault. Harriet Harman was providing the guidelines for more men to be prosecuted under rape accusations.

  Any person of right mind would like to see more criminals locked away for heinous crimes. However, setting targets for prosecutions will not achieve this. Cases have to be assessed on their individual merits. Criminal cases do not fit simply into a bureaucratic model created in the brains of some desk jockey in Whitehall. They are far more complicated than that. By having an increased target for prosecutions, it will just lead to an increase in innocent people being convicted for things they never did. On a fiscal point the majority of the cases brought where the evidence is flimsy will be thrown out. This just costs the tax payer more money. If the police think a man committed a rape then let them prosecute him. However, they should do this because they believe the evidence fits the crime not because they have a target for rape convictions. If rapes decreased tomorrow that would be a great piece of news. However, Harriet would still have had us increase the number of prosecutions on the innocent. What kind of intellectual barbaric Nazism she was advocating is beyond me. I once watched her chastise a member of the question time audience for mentioning the BNP. Yet, she is in no position to chastise others over such political leanings when she is trying to enforce a fascist policy.

  The Equalities Minister should be doing as her name suggests. That is, bring about increased equality in all walks of life. By the very definition of the term, equality should mean the end of discrimination and imbalance. Yet, in rape cases there is no equality. Men do not have the right to anonymity in law in the way that women do and our former Deputy Prime Minister is pushing hard to increase the numbers in the dock in an unequal manner. Right and wrong is an irrelevance in her world. All that mattered to her is that the statistics looked good. The quantitative story will never give her the whole picture. There is a whole qualitative issue behind every case.

  Furthermore, her lack of action to eliminate the false accusers serves only to harm those that need the protection the most. If real rape victims only represent a minority of those actually reporting rapes, then police time (a finite resource) is wasted investigating innocent men rather than pursuing the brutal villains that have perpetrated the crimes. It is also inevitable that police attitudes to rape claims will/have become somewhat disingenuous. This in turn will inevitably scare off the real victims, meaning they won’t come forward. If there is no deterrent to the false accuser they will continue to multiply. Off the record, several police officers have now told me this is a growing problem. Harriet Harman haunts my nightmares.

  After this occurred I did actually approach a few newspapers about giving the male perspective about being a victim of this kind. So few men who had been through the process wanted to discuss it. Indeed, most are still haunted about it and many are still recovering from it. It has had a permanent effect on me. I tend to drive into Blackpool these days, perform and instantly leave again. That in itself is a sad side effect. Sadly, none of the papers I approached seemed interested in a male perspective. Men have been denied a voice on this matter. Nobody seems interested. I felt I needed to pen this update mostly to give men a voice on this matter. I hope I have given the topic a fair hearing.

  As a slight addendum to the whole rape episode, it has now made me very wary where I really shouldn’t have to be. For example, at a Ladies Night one less than delectable member of the audience broke into our changing area whist we were out on the floor. She raided my bag and nicked a police hat and asp. Some detective work and analysis meant a phone number was acquired for the thief. I politely told her that if the items weren’t returned then the police would retrieve them on my behalf. The game was up and she agreed to return them. However, fearing a false allegation I told her to hand them into the local police station. I was then accosted by said police for possession of an illegal weapon ! It was only after I provided them with a copy of the legislation and my Equity card that they reluctantly accepted an actor could own such an item for re-enactment purposes. What a kerfuffle !

  Another night and another ladies night - yet another less than desirable member of the human race. This one tried to punch me in the testicles for no reason. I wasn’t expecting it and my reaction was late. However, it was effective. I pushed her quite hard in the shoulder that was throwing the punch, meaning I only received a glancing blow to the crown jewels. It sent her flying as she stumbled over a chair. A couple of equally poisonous friends started crying assault. I was the victim of assault but being a man, I actually feared a backlash. If I was a female stripper it would be deemed that I was a victim of sexual assault almost every week. If a man fingered a woman his feet wouldn’t touch the ground until he landed in the cell. As a male stripper, when a woman tries to pull my penis off, I should smile and accept that girls will play these games when they get together. I needn’t have worried, but there is a double standard and it makes me nervous.

  As I am soon to depart from the business of erotic disrobing, I find it sad that I will be leaving the industry behind and not taking too many friends with me. I have acquaintances, people who I have worked with and enjoyed good times, but alas, not many I can call close friends. That is, nobody I could rely on to carry me when wounded, nobody I could turn to if I were in need. I find this sad.

  I’ve become close to numerous people who were in the audience but I’m talking about the performers. I cherish dearly Dave, aka Penny Change. However, my friendships with drag queens start and end there !

  It isn’t as if I haven’t tried to form these bonds over the years, in fact I have craved this bond with a fellow stripper. The business is so catty and nasty on the political side, it helps to have a friend with whom you can share such burdens. I really like Tom (aka Stimulation). However, we are in different parts of the country. There has been many a time I wish we weren’t. After a busy night erotically disrobing it’s nice to sit down and unwind with a mate who is a fellow professional. Tom was over 100 miles away.

  Occasionally, I meet up with Ron (aka Sir Dancealot), usually at a McDonalds around 2.00am on a Sunday morning should our paths be crossing on that night. We’ll chew the fat until the early hours. Ron is a really laid back character, he lacks the ego of the average stripper. It could be a trend but all the ones I get along with are over 50 !

  Alas, the stripping business seems to consume and devour its participants and then spits them out again as somebody far removed from the previously devoured whole. I’ve met people who seem down to earth and amiable, but sooner or later they let things go to their head and start thinking they are a celebrity. If they weren’t already, they become insecure and body conscious, they turn to steroids. Narcissism becomes all consu
ming. I am uncomfortable with all of these things, but not everybody is like me.

  I paint an ugly picture but strippers really will ruin a friendship so that they can pocket an extra £50. The question arises again though does the industry make people this way? I’d like to think not. After all, I wouldn’t sell my granny for £50. The fact that other people do however, just shows the type of people it attracts. The question is why does it attract them? I guess it just proves what I have said elsewhere. You CAN generalise. Strippers do fit a stereotype and that stereotype mostly matches the people within the profession. It’s a shame and something I really do regret.

  One final thing to add from the ‘confessions of’ section. This was pulled from the first edition on the instructions of the publisher. However, the publisher has allegedly gone bust and has pocketed a fair few of my royalties (you must realize by now I really am unlucky). People are still buying the book as I was asked to sign one only the other day when I attended a hen night. They had obtained it especially. Who’s getting their money you ask? Well, I ask too? I thought it better to publish the 2nd edition myself. Thus, I choose what goes into this edition and this ‘confession’ is a must tell :

  I’m in a club in a famous university town. It’s a private affair. That is, the club has been booked by the private party. It’s organizer briefs me beforehand on what she would like. She tells me that she wants it to be outrageous, really filthy. I tell her she is being unrealistic, her audience won’t want that and I can’t force them to play along. Sure enough, they don’t play along. I goes down in a manner that I would term ‘procedural’.

  The organiser comes to me afterwards and says she is really disappointed. The implication is that she doesn’t want to pay me unless I can make it up to her. With my Asperger literal bias I completely misread her initial approach, the penny has now dropped. I am ‘reluctantly’ dragged into a small office where I am ‘forced’ to penetrate the hot English teacher (what is it with teachers?) from behind and fuck her until she is satisfied. I was then duly paid.

  If I was a woman and a man had forced/coerced me in this situation, would I have been raped? How did I feel as a man being forced/coerced by an assertive woman? I LOVED it of course! The reality is I could have said no at any time and my literal bias was initially outraged that she was perhaps trying to get out of paying. She wasn’t, it was just a different way of saying ‘you’re hot, can we fuck’? It’s my strong belief that this woman should be made equalities minister!

  There’s More…….

  Most of what you have read in the update was actually written across 2012 and 2013. I write now in 2015, having finally hung up the thong and having been forced to make a comeback. It hasn’t been a pleasant experience. Maybe a long time stripper doesn’t adjust too well to re-entry back into the real world? More likely, I’m just not a lucky guy. I have to work hard for everything and never get anything for nothing, even when I thought my luck was about to change – I was wrong.

  In May 2012 I was approached by my old friend from Dubai. He had re-located back to Dubai after economic collapse in his country. Naturally, I thought he was insane but he assured me things had improved. He wanted to know if I would be theoretically interested in a position in Dubai as Head of Strength and Conditioning for a major new facility. They were yet to pitch the idea to a bunch of venture capitalists but wanted to put my CV into the bundle that represented their team.

  I was hesitant. I detested Dubai first time around and all it stood for – superficiality, shallow nature, slave labour, etc. I was assured things had improved beyond recognition so I agreed.

  The pitch was successful and $20 million worth of funding was allegedly forthcoming. I was therefore allegedly hired as the Head of Strength and Conditioning on £70k per year. Things have never come easy for me. Yet, here was the opportunity to take up a decent job in sports just as my stripping career was entering its twilight years. My boss would be a mate. We’d have fun together making money from sports. It seemed too good to be true. Remember, things never run smoothly or go easy where I am involved. Where was the catch ?

  Sure enough, there was indeed a catch. One day my friend informed me that I’d actually have to formerly interview for the position I was being offered. My friend had a friend who would be the overall boss. Alas, I knew this guy. I’d met him twice in 2003 and couldn’t stand him ! He was the worst kind of Dubai resident – a rich arab from another state, born into privilege. He was schooled abroad at great expense and hired servants to do his every bidding. I was always perplexed what my friend saw in this guy. It turns out not an awful lot, but the arab had provided opportunity.

  Anyway, I interview with the arab on Skype. I’m horrified by what I see. I play the game but can see a penny pinching, manipulative, insecure, silver spoon munching

  rich kid through the screen. My friend tells me his friend says I’ve passed with flying colours. He had raised the issue of me coming to Dubai early to help them out on shit money. My reply was designed to test the reaction of the arab and sure enough he reacted badly at my perceived rejection of his whims, confirming my suspicions.

  I tell my friend I’m not sure I can work for his friend. My friend assures me that he reports to his friend and I will report to him. There would therefore be a barrier between us. I was sensing that my friend wasn’t exactly best friends with his friend and could do with another friend to help the cause. We agreed that my friend would patch things up between myself and the silver spoon and we’d move forward.

  Months of irritating delays ensue. I don’t know whether I’m hanging up my thong next week or next year. Suddenly, my friend tells me I have a further interview with the head of Human Resources. I ask if it’s a formality or a proper interview. I’m told a formality, just a chat. I’m then given an interrogation on nonsense by somebody who clearly doesn’t know anything about my role or general recruitment. She seemed most perturbed that my answer to ‘what book are you reading’ was a history of the Cambodian Genocide. It felt like a set up and it was. The friend of my friend now wanted to put my money down until I had proved I was worth it. Apparently, they were concerned about my ability to manage people. My friend had told me not to divulge my stripping history (if she was the head of HR wouldn’t it be better to tell her) ?

  I had a difficult decision. I told my friend that it feels like a stich up. He assures me that all will be well and I only have to play ball for a couple of months. After all, he is my boss and will be doing the review to restore my salary to its original level. He makes sense. I agree to continue the journey.

  The next obstacle is that they want me to have some paper qualifications. Breaking world and national records through self coaching is not considered sufficient knowledge. I ask my friend if they will pay for these qualifications. He replies in the affirmative. I’ll be reimbursed when I land on the ground. I hurriedly work through an international qualification in Strength and Conditioning completing it in a matter of weeks. I score 93 per cent. I learn nothing new.

  I tell my friend that I think the history as a stripper may be a problem in a place as oppressive as Dubai. I suggest I change my name. He says it is irrelevant. A couple of months later he sends a contrite email. Apparently it is a major problem. They have worked out that if you google Nick Molloy naked pictures appear, not least the cover of this book. I change my name by deed poll. Nick Molloy is now just somebody that looks like me. Hopefully nobody will ever come across him.

  I arrive in Dubai in June 2014. Several weeks prior I begin eating what I would like and put on a few pounds. It’s actually quite a nice feeling to relax about my appearance for the first time in a long time. I had just forked out another $1000 to do another course upon arrival in Dubai. I’m not worried. My friend, whom I trust, has assured me I’ll be salaried within a couple of weeks and that the cost of my flights and courses will be reimbursed. Silver spoon has also apparently been impressed with my can-do attitude in the meantime and has overwritten the HR Direct
or and her probationary idea. I’m back on full salary.

  I had expressed numerous concerns to my friend before leaving but he had assured me of everything. The first couple of weeks were spent familiarizing myself with them and Dubai, hunting for a place etc. However, it didn’t take long to realize I’d been sold a complete lie. In Dubai without a resident’s visa you can’t do much. For example, you can’t rent an apartment. They knew when I’d be arriving months before but this was not ready. I was therefore forced to rent illegally for the first couple of months. I stayed with my friend for the first few weeks but then my girlfriend arrived. We wanted out own space.

  The ‘gym’ was actually an empty shell. They hadn’t started work on anything. It would take months of development to convert it into the working product. There wasn’t even a place to train in the meantime !

  Two weeks after my arrival my friend informs me that silver spoon has informed him that there is no budget yet to pay me as agreed. The wheels really seem to be falling off now. I inform them I’ll return to England. Suddenly silver spoon comes up with a subsistence wage of £1300 per month. It will only be for a couple of months I’m assured and then I’ll be on proper salary. I weigh up the cost of the return flights, the loss of my girlfriend’s flight and the time it will take to pick up stripping work again against subsistence living for a couple of months. I’m in it for the long term so I decide to stay. The warning signs are a deep shade of red, however.