Every day we learn something new.
This morning, I learned that, for a staggeringly high price, you can buy fantasy portraits of menopausal celebrities.
Yesterday, however, I learned something even RADDER:
It’s a new secret that I am just itching to share with strippers everywhere:
PRICKLY LEGS ARE A GODSEND.
When you’re sitting with a client, giggling, smiling, and smoothing out his lapels, trying to get him to invest in some quality time in the Jungle Room, your john will probably be reaching to your knees and thighs, because that’s what hungry men do. And, if your legs are freshly shorn and Nivea-commercial baby soft, then his hands are likely to keep wandering up, up, up to your honey pot. Then you have to tell him, with angelic flirtation, ‘no baby, not yet,’ when really you want to swat him away like a deer fly. Amiright?
Last night I was in a hurry and didn’t have time to raze away all my lovely angel hairs. I had a nice stubble that was on par with the handsome mug of Clive Owen.
Needless to say, I feared it would affect my income.
I sat down with some nice old fart at the bar. He bought me a drink, reached for my knee and upon contact with my sandpaper gams, politely retreated his pervy paws. By the time I was sucking on the ice of my $20 “vodka” soda, he asked if I would join him in the Jungle Room.
He got wasted, we had a merry old time and he only occasionally pet my calves in a downward motion, never once reaching for the no-go zone.
Another *brilliant* repellent for mommy-issued titty-lickers was imparted to me by this total babe of a stripper who was spritzing Chanel Noir everywhere one night, and, because it wasn’t from Bath and Body Works’ Cotton Candy line for baby prostitutes, I decided not to throw a fit about my delicate respiratory system and asked her why she was spraying such a concentrated amount on her areolae.
“So when they go to lick you it tastes like shit,” she says with a devious megawatt grin.
The lesson, Cunts:
If a man’s going to spend money, ain’t no thorns protecting your divine rose bush gonna stop him.
So save your razors, strut those sandpaper thighs and get back to me on this.
(originally published on www.thesapphicstripper.com)