Come Amuse Me ~~ (or the art of the run on sentence)

Greetings, my loyal readers. Sorry I have been absent for so very long. I was busy having fun. I’m going to bring you up to speed.

I have been traveling a lot. Last update here suggests that I was in New Orleans, which I was and will be again soon. I am currently in Las Vegas for the weekend. I will be in New England for Easter weekend, then I head to NOLA for Jazz Fest, April 29th through May 10th. I will be dancing at Barely Legal again.

I’m getting antsy to be over this stripping thing for a while. I like the slutty aspects of it but my feet hurt, I’m bored with hanging out in bars and when I tell people who I am they either don’t believe me or they think I don’t need the money.
I’m not hanging out in strip clubs for my health.

Yes, it is fun, well it can be fun at times. I’m getting my pole dancing on, I have been able to have several very sexy encounters in the VIP rooms, and the overall experience of dancing naked for money is rather titillating.

But I’m bored with the repetitiveness of this. I have a financial goal that I am rapidly approaching. When I make the money (to pay the bill) I am going to have a hard time talking myself into doing this.

I’ in a position where if I’m going to keep dancing I should really loose another 20 pounds and get some fake tits. I’m not really sure I want to do that. I could dig loosing a few more pounds, maybe ten, not twenty. I don’t want to be a skinny bitch. My big phat juicy ass makes me happy. And fake tits? WTF? I’m not into the construct of plastic surgery as a viable method to achieve beauty. I like my tits – I have orgasms through nipple torture. I most certainly do not want to let some Dr cut on me so my boobs can meet the current standard of beauty that requires young women to feel inadequate and inspired to go under the knife. When male identified people start feeling inadequate and getting cut up by surgeons in the name of looking sexy for the attention of female identified people, then I might be persuaded. The guys who come into the club are generally so out of shape, sometimes they lack a lap to dance in, they come in with this huge distended gut that gives them more of a belly slide to work with. I can’t grind on that thing. If you don’t have enough self-respect and self-control to make having a lap a priority how in the hell can I justify a dangerous surgical procedure so that you like the way my boobs bounce?

Right. I’m almost over this gig.

In the meantime I need to figure out a new way to get the sex I enjoy. I’m not into having sex for free, in loving relationships. I need to have the element of business transaction to get me where I need to go. Stripping allows for a little bit of exhibitionism, a little bit of money, a little bit of anonymous sexual interaction, and if I don’t dig the dude I’m dealing with there is another one just around the corner. So how can I come to terms with the idea that I am a very sexual person but I’m looking for a certain kind of sexual experience that borders on the fringe of the law?

Stripping was doing it for me, for a second there. But I’m getting bored. Maybe you will come in and amuse me. Let me haul you around the club on a leash, spank you in front of a group of your friends, let me take you to the champagne room and give me all your money.
Come visit me in one of the clubs I dance in and amuse me. Get me out of this funk.

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