love story

I rubbed your Ego. I asked you to guide me. swollen as it was it spit thoughts into my hand.
"You're beautiful", I was telling you. You laughed and said: "you're warm".
the art of us being together was envied. there is rythm to our hate. we fight. I don't want to stop fighting you.
I climbed your mind. I found infinity. you were startled by it. you asked me about eternity in between two kisses. I gave you the end in between two tears.
you challenged me: "surprise me!". you just didn't know I'm just about the most competitive animal on the planet. I fell in love. You're surprised, aren't you?
you don't know what to do with it. it's bigger than you. our time is just too small.
what beauty were we part of? I forgot. we got so close to each other that we burned at the slow, blue flame of jealousy.
now, we just have to wait. let's wait inside our tornado. let's keep fighting. for love.

friday night

M called me about a party on Friday. he always laughs three times when tells me about a party. he sent me an e-mail with all details and coordinates.
On Friday night, I took a 2 hours long shower and I stared at myself in the mirror while putting on some lotion. I did my make-up and since I felt good about myself, I added blue eye-liner, which I never do on regular party nights.
My driver pulled up in front of my building right around 6.30pm.
the 101 N was completely packed. nothing changed when we jumped on the 170 N, other than it started raining. a blinking little light signaled my driver that the alternator was about to die. two minutes after that light came on, the car stopped. in the middle of the freeway. in the middle of the traffic. under the rain.
my driver pushed the car off the freeway and onto a gas station territory.
I called the party. The guys told me not to move. They came to pick me up in a Hummer stretch limo. We were supposed to reach a house, but we simply had the party inside the limo. grey goose was flowing, joints were being rolled, cocaine was being spilled. we stopped a couple of times for those who needed a breath of fresh air. I did my lap dances, charging $40 instead of $20. I think I exhausted every monetary resource they had. not that they were complaining. fun fact: men like pretty girls in bikinis and lap dances for no reason.
after taking the guys home, the limo driver gave me a lift.

idea

"If at first an idea isn't absurd, there's no hope for it."
Albert Einstein

He

the one thing I mostly like about him is that he picks me up with his big, manly hands and slides me on his errect penis.
he never asks before he does that. It's his viril right, according to him.

boys

I entered the room. It was a chain hotel, nothing too fancy. two boys from Virginia were waiting for me to entertain them.
My driver set up the lights. The boys were expecting a beautiful sharade. Waiting sense crystalized into keen observation of every gesture I made to prepare myself for the show.
I put on a Rock Cd, that I burned from some illegal website. It had a song they loved, country mixed with rock'n'roll.
I danced and they watched.
One of them said: "Come closer. I wanna touch you"
I continued dancing and he unbuttoned his pants. He liberated his cock. It was hard and pink.
The other boy was sitting on another bed. He was the shy one, laughing at his friend's impulse.
I took my clothes off as slowly as I could and besides the music I could hear the strokes the boy was working his cock with.
The shy boy took his cock out. It wasn't hard and he was trying to fit in the fantasy, but somehow it didn't work for him.
I was naked, touching myself and the two boys were looking at me with predator eyes.
One of them exploded in a harsh, felt sound and the other one was just starting to take in the illusion.
At the end of the show I left them the CD.
They were both relieved and embarassed when they said good bye.
I wonder if they ever knew they played my fantasy. I wonder if they knew I wanted to abuse of them and if they ever thought about the intimacy they shared with me. I wonder if they knew I was watching.

singles

as I am a stripper, I tend to carry lots of singles in my pocket. went to the supermarket the other day and I paid $34 worth of groceries in singles. The cashier guy jokingly asked: "did you rob a stripper?". I said: "guess again, wise boy".
I also paid a $97 restaurant bill in singles. the owners of the place were friends, so they abstained from judging.

vicious

vicious I am. I only choose to hear what I want out of what you say. I remember.
things that you want me to forget. I want to hurt you.
so that you can feel me.
I decided to be quiet. I want to be inside your head.
manipulative, you say. no.
I'm just defending myself. the best I can.
there's never enough love, or enough best shit, or enough of you in my life. you can never satisfy my psychosis.
don't ask if it's best for us to just split. we won't.
don't ask if I have someone else. there's no one.
who can love me as much as you do.

my very own private millionaire

he lit his cigar with a hundred dollar bill.
"Ridiculous" I thought to myself.
He poured money on me taking bills out of a big stash of hundreds. I danced for him.
He grabbed me by the wrist and asked me:"How much for the night?"
"Make me love you. Money is too easy for you."
"I like you" he said.

spread the love

there is a ritual that I follow every night when I prepare for a show: I take a shower, shave my legs and brush my teeth in this order only. I pull my hair up with a hair bend and do my make-up. I try to appear as much of a regular woman as I can. never overdo my make up. I hate vulgarity and vulgar strippers is such a clichee, that I can't help but be repulsed by it.
I choose my clothes carefully. the first impresion the customers have when they see me walking through their door is decisive for the amount of tips they'll throw at me later on. what I'm hoping to hear is: "Dude, she's here. She's hot"
after I collect my show fee, I first pull out my stripper shoes. I've been wearing these shoes for about two years. they're made of brown leather and have stiletto 6" steel heels. they're the most comfortable stripper shoes I could find and they look pretty worn down by now.
then, I put on my outfit. the most popular one is the cop outfit. from time to time I get requests for a school girl or business woman. my very first show ever I did in a hospital for a cancer survivor, and I used a nurse outfit that almost gave the man a heart attack.
I give my driver time to set up lights and give the audience a couple of rules to follow throughtout my show. He'll then start the music, introduce me to the crowd, and I'll make my entrance. Entrances are important. they set up the vibe for the whole show.
I abuse the man of the hour bachelor/birthday boy/bachelorette/birthday girl. yes, I also do parties for women, and I have a hell of a time doing it, cause no matter how shy they are in the beginning, I always get them naked and doing stuff they've never imagined they'd do in front of all their friends.
I then offer lap dances for the rest of the crowd.
I like strangers seeing me dance and wanting me. I know that most of the guys who see me naked are eventually going to fantasize about me. that's why I like to think of myself as sort of a Cupid. spread the love, people. spread the love.

dating

dating in hollywood has nothing short of a social study.
I know cause I've done it. I dated all shapes and sizes. Took notes. If you want to avoid getting hurt while dating in Hollywood, come ask me about it, I might save you some time and pain.