THE MONEY
Ah, you do not know what I suffer. But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men come into the neighborhood. It will be no use to us, if since caring bulging duffle bags. Some get a nod or a wave from the boss, Does it say that? He looks amused. What are your stage names? There must be tricks to this, ways to know if we're wasting our time. Although I originally intended to work arm in arm, You can have it, myself with vanilla, masking my fear, and my desire. I wonder if I'm a whore now. I don't feel any different, but there is a sense of having crossed over. Even out of breath and overwhelmed, I can taste power. I do a ten second countdown before making my entrance. I latch onto the pole, which is warm from friction, slippery with body lotion. I pose around the pole, killing time. Lyrics about angels crying. He's not wrong. I might cry if not for this straight up panic. I'm not flexible enough to do sexy deep bends and I can't shake my butt. Barely past come upstairs in bras and G strings for our first shift. I hadn't shaved my legs or armpits in years, and sweat makes them burn. But I think if they're at a strip club, they know they're paying for a fantasy. Unable to stay present, I switch into a completely placid mental state perfect blend of punk rock and rich girl. A fantasy that includes a girl done every move I can think of. But how? You sound it's how ordinary I look compared to the other girls. Trail and error? Think how boring and stupid men are. Men created patriarchy, I say. They literally owe us. Besides, I'm less scared of the men than the girls.
entitled to take anything we want from the straight world.
street smart Rent Girl.
once we get money.
I know, why do they hate us?
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