Let me tell you about my life as a laser technologist. It was me and a bunch of men — and they made sure I always knew I was outnumbered. I’d spend days, weeks, months at my job at the Lawrence Livermore Lab dealing with the daily drain of being on the bottom, the butt of jokes, the one left out when it was time for after-work beers. As a woman trying to find success in purely masculine terms, I wasn’t making it.

I’d never been low profile. In fact, for most of my life, I was pretty obvious: A striking blonde, smart and fit, But eventually, life with men robbed me of that. I was still blonde, still fit, maybe even still smart. But I was somehow defeated. I felt more than invisible. I felt completely and utterly powerless.

Then one night, at age 33, I went into a crowded club, went out on a stage in front of a roomful of men, and took off my clothes & I was way past nervous, beyond scared. I was both terrified and, strangely, resigned. But I did it, And everything changed.

I suddenly felt like, the most desirable woman on earth. I was certain I could get any man to do anything I wanted. It was a rush of power and it was exhilarating. Now, after a few years of this, I still can feel my ego swell. I drop my dress and the whole room goes, "Ahhhh!" I feel cocky and arrogant and excited. I’m happy and elated and having fun. When there’s a whole club full of people accepting and applauding just you, there is nothing like it.

I make a production of it, like I’m unwrapping something special, and this causes me to realize I am unwrapping something special — me. I don’t understand the fascination with breasts and nipples, but I know it’s real. And it gives me the power I need to do my job well.

It’s easy for me to tell when I’m doing a good job. Most women think an erection is the true barometer of the power of a naked body. But for me it’s how quickly the money rises from a man’s pants, Whether it’s a guy who gives me $800 or one who spends all of what little he has, including his cab fare home, I’ve got him where I want him — by the wallet.

In some ways, things haven’t changed much. When I’m at work, I’m still surrounded by men in coats and ties — bosses and underlings, jocks and nerds. All of them are the kinds of men who made me feel so small. But now I can reduce the top dog to a lapdog by staring at him, opening my top, and smiling. Like the time when a guy from Livermore stopped by a club where I was performing. He was reading a newspaper, just killing time before the next act: mine.

I was scared. For a moment, I was the lone woman at work again, and he was every man who had kept me down. But as I walked toward him I remembered that in this office the fact that he’s a man means that I’m in charge.

"Hi," I said. "I didn’t know you came here."

His eyes went wide as they took in my body, breasts, and hips bursting out of my tight leather vest and skirt. Then he recognized my face. Suddenly, he wasn’t one of the guys, he was one of my guys. Terrified, he dropped his paper and almost ran out the door.

I can make a man act foolish or macho or boyish, just by dancing. If I feel sadistic, I can do what was done to me: I can ignore him. Make him invisible. Or I can choose any guy out of a group of his friends and make him a lady-killer. When that happens, I know I can take him any place I want, and he’ll thank me for the ride.

A lot of things about this surprise me. For example, when I’m in this powerful role men open up to me in ways they never do with their wives and girlfriends. The odd thing is, I find that when a man expresses himself in mawkish, maudlin ways, I actually care. In the lab, I was surrounded by men who couldn’t have cared less about me. As a result, I felt the same way about them. But now I have a different job. Now I’m surrounded by men who care about me very much — even if it’s only a temporary, blinding flash of desire. And now, finally, I can afford to return the favor.

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