Thank You?

I can’t believe that it’s been nearly a year since I’ve flashed my gash for cash. I left Melbourne last April. Since then I’ve been naked in the New states of Mexico and York where your pussy stays bundled up in its g-string.


She’s out and ready to smile at everyone. It’s an easy, breezy and beautiful way to make fast cash.

Last night, I was seated with a guy who was way too drunk for his own Canadian tuxedo (At the end of the night, outside the club, he will fail to make the three paces to the snow bank and instead piss down his Levi’s). I would have upped and left, but he had already paid for a dance so we were waiting our turn to get into the VIP booths, which had been occupied for what felt like eons. I try to pry a conversation out of him. For all my efforts, all he says to me, over and over again, is “you’re so sexy.”

Me: “So where are you from?”

Drunk: “You’re so sexy.”

Me: “I just moved here. Where can I find some tasty and moderately healthy food in this town?”

Drunk: “You’re so sexy.”

Me: “Thank you. And what do you get up to on your days off?”

Drunk: “You’re so sexy.”

Another drunk, although less-drunk man comes skipping in my direction with his hands full of whiskey-cokes, arms outstretched. With great enthusiasm, he spills some of the contents from his left hand onto my shoe, yelling to his fellow patron,


(google search result for ‘drunk canadian.’)

"Uhhh, thank you?"

It’s been a while since I’ve been paid pussy compliments from someone other than my mistress. I think I handled it pretty gracefully, no matter how crapulously it was slung at me.