Whore Impulses

peeled-banana

I’m not a bad girl.  I have a big heart and I really would love to save the entire world if I could.  No child would go hungry and no puppy would walk the streets unloved it were up to me.  I swear it’s the truth.  I am a good friend and a kind person.  Like everyone else, I long for true love that lasts a lifetime…

But you see….  I happen to be a stripper and I happen to like it.  I don’t understand why I get such a bad rep or why many of my exes have gone crazy.  All I’m doing is being myself.  I am a good woman and I am intuitive and emotionally attuned to how others feel.  I’d say I’m a great girl to get to know.  But I am impulsive.  I have these deviant urges that feel healthy to me but illicit jealousy and rage in those who love me.

Here’s a classic example: I got pregnant very early into the relationship with my new boyfriend.  At the time we had not been together long but were in love and expecting a baby already.  The guy was young and dumb enough to think he could go to the strip club and find love.  Lucky him, he did.  (Take that however you will: as truth or sarcasm. Either way, it fits.)

There was this guy who used to be head of the maintenance department at the [job] where I worked during the day.  He used to come into the club to see me.  Then I’d see him at the [day job] and he’d smile at me in the hallway.  We’d both pretend that he didn’t know what I looked like in my underwear.  It was our dirty little secret.

I was only pregnant enough to have just started to show.  I was tending bar at the time as well as dancing on the weekends.  One day I wore tight black pants with a tiny yellow G-string that slightly peered over the top of my pants revealing just the top of my butt crack.  The black shirt I wore with them was one that fit loosely to hide my little belly.

Mr. Maintenance man came in that night and told me how much he loved that little yellow G-string.  He tipped me well all night and nicely asked if there was any way he could have that pair of underwear.  I told him that I needed to wear them tonight but if he came back the following day, I would gladly give them to him.

The following night was a dancing night for me.  I couldn’t part with my favorite pair of underwear but I found a pair that looked just like them in my stripper bag.  I sprayed some of my perfume in my hand and rubbed the G-string in my palms until it had my scent on it.

Mr. Maintenance man was ecstatic and gave me a nice tip for the panties.  We also did some lap dances and shared some good conversation.  He had always been respectful to me.  If anyone deserved a pair of my underwear, it would be him!  He even ASKED NICELY!

Since I am like an open book and I crave truthfulness in relationships, I used to allow my boyfriend to read my journal.  When Mr. Boyfriend read about how I sold my underwear, he was not very happy.  To him, it was betrayal, something like cheating even.  I sat there in total shock.  “I didn’t fuck him.  I gave him a pair of my underwear!”

“Yes! YOUR underwear! That’s personal!”

“My pussy wasn’t IN THEM when I gave him the panties.  In fact, I haven’t even worn those in a very long time!”

“It doesn’t matter! What don’t you understand?!  You gave him a personal item that is very intimate and I’m supposed to be okay with that?”

“They were clean.  My vagina smell wasn’t even on them.”

“You don’t do that.  You just don’t.  I don’t care if it’s a brand new pair off the shelf from the store, you don’t do what you just did!”

Needless to say I stopped letting boyfriends read my diary.

I sold the man my underwear because I wanted to.  I liked that the man had spent the night before and the next day thinking about how my panties would smell and what the soft yellow fabric would feel like up against his nose.  I liked giving him that satisfaction of finding out.  It didn’t matter that he wasn’t my boyfriend.   It didn’t make me a cheater or a bad person.  I simply have whore-ish impulses.  We all do.  I just embrace them instead of hiding from them or pretending they aren’t there.

I was sitting in my car recently while waiting for a friend to get out of work.  I had bananas in the car and decided to eat one while I was waiting.  I was so bored that I began eating my banana very slowly.  I then got the idea to fellate it and take a picture.  I was enjoying my little photoshoot, snapping pictures until I got the perfect angle of my face with just enough of it in my mouth to look sexy but not over the top slutty…. when I looked up and saw a man walking by with his bike.  He was definitely looking into my car at me blowing this fucking banana.  When I looked at him, he looked away and laughed to himself.  I was SO EMBARRASSED!  But the upside of it is, I PROBABLY MADE HIS DAY.  If I saw someone doing that, my day would probably be a little bit brighter too.

We all have such impulses.  My ex-boyfriend used to sniff panties.  Whenever a new friend came over our house and left her underwear, he used to pick them up, throw them over his face and smell them.  We had a lot of hot, young women coming in and out of our house so it was not a rare occurrence for women’s underwear to be found in various places throughout the home.  I started saving them for him.  Soon, we had a collection of dirty underwear that I kept in a pink Valentine’s Day Candy box.  Each pair of dirty underwear was placed in plastic bag to preserve the scent.  I labeled each one with the name and hair color of the woman who wore them: “Tammy-blonde” or “Bridgette-red head”.  I tried sniffing the panties myself but could never get much of a rise out of it.  We decided that it must be a “guy thing”.  However, I loved going through the collection and touching the baggies of the multicolored underwear and remembering the women who wore them.  It was a sweet way of remembering each one of them individually.

I want to have a loving relationship that lasts but I don’t think many men would be understanding about the fact that I like being a stripper and if given the chance, I would strip all over the country.  I would mark off each state with a colored pencil on a map as I complete a night of work in each and every one.  It may not be the most conventional hobby and isn’t likely to win me a husband, but you’ve got to admit, it’s so much cooler than collecting stamps!

 

 

 

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