I don't pretend to be something I am not, I never have. That's why I didn't fit in with all those fucking barbie dolls at school. Over tanned and fake. They were sluts. They professed to be nuns.
I got good grades in school, and studied sociology in college. I took a part time job in a bar to support my 30 a day habit and active social life. Times were never dull. My life in the bar took over - I thrived on the social buzz, and constant partying - not to mention the fantastic entertainment. It was a strip club. I loved it. I knew then what I was.
I kind of accidently moved into my job. I regularly drink at work - shots of Jameson on the rocks is my poison. This often led to joining in with the dancing girls on the odd raucous night. I got sucked in to the thrill and the freedom of releasing my body and my rythm, my inner voice screaming, escaping through the music of life. It was exhilerating.
I quit college, didn't even have to think. What was I losing - I make a fuck load in tips. Horny cocks everywhere desparate to see a young, supple body writhing rythmically in front of them. I give them what they want.
You'd be suprised how many dancing girls are gay. I love it. I love my life. I'm judged for it, but I fucking love it. How many corporate wankers out there can say they are happy in their stuffy suits and bare offices. Not many, that's why they visit me. A taste of the wild life. I'm sure their wives are at home, assuming they are working late or on a business trip. And after they enjoy our dancing naked bodies, and take whatever 'specials' are on offer that night, they return home to their stepford cliches. And as dawn breaks and they are getting their perfect family ready for their day, I'm stumbling out of a club in 7inch heels, wiping the suspicous substance from my nostrils and throwing an empty Jameson bottle into a gutter, along with my life...
