Cuento de Mi Id
“The Liar”
I’m smiling at the back of some geezer’s head, trying to pretend he didn’t just ignore me in favor of some young slut with tits full of silicon and ribs like a xylophone.
I smile some more as a man makes his way to my stage to tip me. I can tell from here that’s he’s not even pretending to look at my face. But it’s been a long day and my feet ache. Besides, they don’t come in here to look at my face.
The song is almost over and pretty soon I’ll be moving on to the last stage in the room. With luck, that should be my last time on stage for the day.
The man is saying something about how he liked the way I dance and I pretend to believe that he’s really interested in my dancing technique. With luck, I can get a few more dollars out of him before my shift is over. It would be nice to get more, but people his age don’t give up their fivers that easily. Not when they can spend them on drinks. So I may have to line up a few more table dances when I get off the last stage so I can make my quota for the day.
One of my regulars walks in while I’m climbing off stage. With luck, I can talk him into a table dance or two, and if I tell him a real hard luck story, I might even get more than that.
Not that I have to make up too much. My ribs still hurt from where my ex once kicked me and I still have nightmares about the time I almost bled to death on the bathroom floor.
But I won’t tell those stories tonight. Not yet anyway.
And he probably wouldn’t believe me even if I did tell them.
Because they say we strippers lie, you know.
We’ll tell you anything you want to hear if it will make you part with a few large bills.
And, hey, it’s not like you guys don’t make up shit either. Whether it’s the guy with the bandaged ring finger who pretends he’s single or the geezer with the blue pills who thinks he can still get it up if the right girl comes along or the “Christian” who talks about “saving” me from my evil life while he is staring at my tits, it doesn’t matter. There’s always some guy who thinks he can pull something over on me. And sometimes he does. Then again, sometimes he doesn’t.
I should have learned better by now. But I haven’t.
“The Liar”
I’m smiling at the back of some geezer’s head, trying to pretend he didn’t just ignore me in favor of some young slut with tits full of silicon and ribs like a xylophone.
I smile some more as a man makes his way to my stage to tip me. I can tell from here that’s he’s not even pretending to look at my face. But it’s been a long day and my feet ache. Besides, they don’t come in here to look at my face.
The song is almost over and pretty soon I’ll be moving on to the last stage in the room. With luck, that should be my last time on stage for the day.
The man is saying something about how he liked the way I dance and I pretend to believe that he’s really interested in my dancing technique. With luck, I can get a few more dollars out of him before my shift is over. It would be nice to get more, but people his age don’t give up their fivers that easily. Not when they can spend them on drinks. So I may have to line up a few more table dances when I get off the last stage so I can make my quota for the day.
One of my regulars walks in while I’m climbing off stage. With luck, I can talk him into a table dance or two, and if I tell him a real hard luck story, I might even get more than that.
Not that I have to make up too much. My ribs still hurt from where my ex once kicked me and I still have nightmares about the time I almost bled to death on the bathroom floor.
But I won’t tell those stories tonight. Not yet anyway.
And he probably wouldn’t believe me even if I did tell them.
Because they say we strippers lie, you know.
We’ll tell you anything you want to hear if it will make you part with a few large bills.
And, hey, it’s not like you guys don’t make up shit either. Whether it’s the guy with the bandaged ring finger who pretends he’s single or the geezer with the blue pills who thinks he can still get it up if the right girl comes along or the “Christian” who talks about “saving” me from my evil life while he is staring at my tits, it doesn’t matter. There’s always some guy who thinks he can pull something over on me. And sometimes he does. Then again, sometimes he doesn’t.
I should have learned better by now. But I haven’t.
Labels: Cuentos de Mi Id III, Cuentos de Realidad, Desnudistas, Mentiras
posted by Tonio Kruger at 4:50 PM
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