As we keep our blog running, we gain followers and supporters from all over the world! One of them is Olivia Olivia 🌿 (@lovenatureolive) / X who kindly offered us her story to be published! Please read it and give your feedback and comments – they will be very much appreciated and supportive! And tell if you her want her story to be continued – more spicier, more sexier! 🙂
Some moments in life arrive without warning. We never really think about them – and even if a fleeting thought crosses our minds, we quickly push it away, refusing to believe that such a thing could ever happen to us. Yet the future remains impossible to predict, especially when we are young, inexperienced, and suddenly swept into a current far stronger than ourselves.
I already knew in high school that I would leave Poland one day. Not because I burned with some great dream of escape, but because I understood that if I wanted to live with dignity – to have a real job, my own money, a chance to stand on my own feet – I would have to go. At the same time, I also knew that the place where I had grown up would always ache inside me like a quiet, permanent absence.
I come from a tiny village – just a handful of houses scattered along the edge of an ancient forest. There is nothing spectacular about it. The buildings are old, some of them remembering times long gone, a few half-heartedly renovated years ago, their former glory now faded and forgotten. Deep in the woods lie several small lakes, so hidden and far from any main roads that hardly anyone ever reached them. Except me. I had those lakes almost entirely to myself.
The village had lived for so long in quiet symbiosis with the surrounding nature that it was hard to say where the forest ended and human life began. The houses, the paths, even the rhythm of the people’s days seemed to have become part of the woods. It was a place of extraordinary beauty for anyone craving silence and peace. But it offered nothing else. No jobs. No prospects. No future you could build a life upon.
So the day after I finished high school, I packed my suitcase, took the little money I had managed to save – painfully little – and left for London.
Taking my first steps in a city so vast felt like stepping into another universe. I was completely lost. The endless sprawl of concrete and steel, the constant surge of anonymous faces swirling around me like colourful confetti caught in the wind – it all left me dizzy, almost drunk on overstimulation. A girl who had grown up among wild forests and silent lakes had suddenly landed in the beating heart of a metropolis that never slept.
In those first moments, my head was spinning. I kept asking myself the same anxious question: had I really packed everything I needed? Had I managed to fit my entire previous life into that one suitcase?
The suitcase itself was ancient. My parents had bought it for me when I was much younger – so young that I was now dragging behind me a bright yellow rectangle on tiny wheels. An intensely cheerful, almost aggressive yellow, decorated with a smiling cartoon butterfly that looked ridiculously childish and downright ugly. It was a cheap market buy from BiaĹ‚ystok, purchased right before a school trip, long before I even started high school. A knock-off, poor quality. That journey to London turned out to be its last – after I unpacked, the zipper broke for good.
With the last of my savings I rented a room. After paying the deposit and the first month’s rent, I was left with almost nothing. I had managed to buy some basic groceries beforehand, but that was it. I wasn’t too worried at first – after all, I already had a job lined up before I even left Poland.
Or so I thought.
When I showed up, it turned out the job was only temporary. They let me work for exactly one week. Then the girl who usually held the position returned. I hadn’t fully realised – or perhaps hadn’t wanted to realise – that I had thrown my entire life away for a short-term gig. The information had probably been in the original advert, but in the whirlwind of emotions before I left Poland, I simply hadn’t noticed it. Or maybe I had seen it and chosen not to register what it really meant.
What registered very clearly, however, was the reality I now faced: I had a room to pay for, bills on the horizon, no savings left, and only a week’s wages already mostly spent.
And then, almost like something out of a story, it happened. While wandering the streets one evening, I drifted into a club. There, talking to a complete stranger – a girl I had never seen before and would probably never see again – I was handed a small business card. She simply said, “Go there. They’ll give you work.”
And they did.
But one thing at a time.
My mind has always worked in its own peculiar way. I tend to idealise things, overlook the obvious, and sometimes fail to understand what’s right in front of me. I’m aware that I can be naive and overly trusting. I know this about myself, yet that knowledge doesn’t change how I behave.
When the girl handed me the business card, I could have easily guessed what kind of job it was. But I didn’t. For most people it would have been obvious. For me, it wasn’t. My thoughts wander along strange, winding paths – much like the crooked forest trails back home.
I arranged the interview. When I saw the club, I thought: Great, they’re probably looking for a waitress.
They weren’t.
They were looking for dancers. Not the kind who serve drinks.
The conversation itself was surprisingly kind and supportive. I felt comfortable, even when I finally understood what the job really involved – dancing and taking my clothes off on stage. No one pressured me. Not for a single second. The pressure came only from life itself: the rent, the bills, the terrifying absence of any safety net. I didn’t think about it for very long. I simply said yes.
Before I started working with massage and tantra, I worked as a dancer in a nightclub.
If you want to hear the rest of that dancing story of my life, just let me know and I’ll write it.
(To be continued?)