Men are always willing to send you jack off videos and dicque pics (my special spelling for them). A pervy guy, however, is sometimes standing alone in the dunes with his dick in his hand—nothing but seagulls and sand. Meaning, he may find it difficult to find a non-working girl in which to share his wares and naughty thoughts with. Not sure sand is the best analogy when referencing a man’s penis in the wind, but you get my gist. It’s not that I’m a lone female in this category, it’s just that men outnumber us a thousand to one, whereas I’d be hard-pressed to find a guy who’d turn down a boob shot. As I wrote that I realized one of my ex’s wasn’t really into that type of sexual exchange. He loved sex, just not in a text. My point is, most men love getting clit pictures. It’s also good being a pervy girl because, hmmm, how do I put this…it’s hard to rape the willing. I know, I know, I just used the R-word. What I’m saying is, if I’m a bigger dirtbag than most men, where’s the sexual joy in trying to freak me out? I’m nonplussed. Oh lord, what am I doing? What kind of freakish nutshell am I opening? I think you know what I mean. I hope you do. My twisted mind is often misunderstood. I’m not condoning rape or posting a missing bulletin. I guess I’m saying I have an equal hand when it comes to sex.
My dirty nature isn’t an act or shtick. I’ve always been this girl, long before “dicque pics”. It’s one of the reasons for my longevity in the sex industry. Come on, you gotta be a little bit of a degenerate to do what I do, and especially to do it for twenty-three years. I’m basically a dude with tits…except I don’t get morning wood (or any wood). The list of men I’ve wanted to have morning sex with is very short. By the way, I don’t think morning wood is a sexual manifestation. I think it feels sexual because your dick is hard, but I believe it’s the body’s way of keeping men from wetting the bed. That’s your uncensored stripper’s medical opinion. Take it or leave it.
[Ten minute break]
I’m on a plane, and just got sidetracked by my row-mates. We had a super interesting and illuminating conversation. When I ordered two cocktails up front and asked the flight attendant to bring me the bottles instead of mixing them, he said, “I like your style.” A few minutes later, he asked what I did for a living. I blurted out, “I’m a prostitute.” I usually say hooker, not sure why I chose the alternative today, but I did. Perhaps it’s because I’m sick of people poaching our term. Anywho, due to my extreme honesty, the woman confessed that her father ran a brothel in the Caribbean when she was young. This is what I love about people, and why I never pre judge them. I also love that my ridiculously inappropriate exposure leads to people opening up to me.
Ok, back to my being a total pig. I don’t know what I was saying when I started this. Also now I’m a double vodka soda and two whiskeys in, and I haven’t eaten anything today. My head is deliciously fuzzy. Adding to the fuzz, Southwest has reached the dreaded, crank-up-the-brain-damage-heat-section of the flight. I suddenly I feel like I’m slipping into a coma. And I just snorted speed in the bathroom! I shouldn’t be sleepy. People around me are dropping like flies. I hate this part of the flight. It’s so incubator-y: the petri dish portion. No wonder I get such bad swamp ass when I fly!
These fucks with their mind and body control via temperature. Although I suppose I don’t blame them, I’d push the heat up too if it meant docile humans. Even the sound of that is pleasant. Maybe they’re cranking more than just fart-warm air? Give it to me Southwest! You got nothin’ on me. I just did drugs in your bathroom and ordered my third mini Jack Daniels. Interesting, I seem to be getting paranoid and weirdly valiant at the same time. Fantastic combo as I head into a Chicago trip with the Texan. Am I off point? What was the point? Oh yes, that I’m a shithead. How doth I forget. Wow, I’m crossing space and time, might be time to put the pen down. I’ll be shocked if I’m able to decipher this handwriting later.