Rated PG--Happy Birthday"Miss B Haven!" We celebrated her 25th birthday Saturday. What a night it was!!! Dinner! Drinks! Dancing! Debauchary! We had dinner in Charlottesville where I met up with some of my girls from school and Haven and her girlfriends arrived @ the Maverick and all 14 of us had a lovely dinner. When asked "Whats the wildest thing you've done this year?" Since it is only February I had to break out with the Strip Club story. Everyone agreed that it was the wildest. The waiter actually said it was probably the best strip club in that area. The girls channeled their inner lesbian and decided that we should go. I said why not and thats exactly what we did!!! We belted out all of our favorite 80's tunes from Heart's "ALL I WANNA DO IS MAKE LOVE TO YOU" to Sinead O'Conners "NOTHING COMPARES TO YOU" all the way there. We got to the club and guys immeadiately offered to buy us all drinks because as we entered the Bouncer announced that it was Haven's Birthday.Their pheremones drove me crazy. The place reeked of testosterone. We were all watching "Ivy" do her thing when Nick from Fairfax approached me by pulling my hair {Big Turn-On} and telling me that His boy who was in VIP sent him down to tell me that I was the hottest chic in the room and he wanted me to dance for him--being in WV I'm not sure how I really feel about that.
They were the kind of guys who slap on pink button down shirts and Curve cologne before they hit up house parties, and their sex appeal is effortless. Boyish dimples, long fingers, with trendy shaggy haircuts-- not really my type at all. We all agreed that they were the boys that had posters of pre-K Fed Britney Spears and Brooke Burke on their walls. Everything an 18 year with a push-up bra and an exposed navel could hope for. He was just feeding me bullshit. I'm sure he used that line a lot that night. I told Nick that his boy could not afford me! We sat there and watched them live strange, predatory, exciting lives as we hid behind our Martini's with a knowledge base far beyond their understandings. Young, what I wouldn't give to be young. I am young, but I'm 26-young. I'm not 21 young, and none of this is new to me. I'm not going to fall for Curve cologne and a pink shirt, just as I'm sure that no one I'd want falling for me would prefer me in a shirt exsposing my tits and skirt revealing my sweet stuff. I have a voracious sexual appetite, but I'm not an easy girl, or an especially careless girl when it comes to sex. I'd still prefer to know someone's middle name before I allow them to peel off my panties, I'd still prefer that the person undressing me knows at least that my favorite color is pink and that I prefer my eggs unfertilized! I then made eye contact across the room with a goodlooking blond hair, blue eyed guy who was with 2 women. We were sitting near head to toe mirrors so I turned to reapply lipgloss and he was staring at me in the mirror so I winked at him--it was on from there. The girls he was with kept shooting me evil eyes so that made me fuck with them even more. The girls went to the bar and left him there alone with me and my girls...He turned and asked was I having a fun time--Of course I was. We shot the breeze and immeadiately asked for my number. Although it was rather soon I did it anyway. I love being scandalous. So I stuck it in his pocket and little did he know I gave him my girl Trish's number. She lives for sleeping around with guys she doesn't know. I'm wondering if he's called yet. He'll get whatever he wants from her. She's not picky at all. He told me that he was wildly turned on when he seen me sitting on Anna's lap. Funny guy. He was thinking I was bi. He was mildly disapointed when I had to burst his bubble and tell him that Anna is a sorority Sistah not my lover. We all danced with Haven and it was clear that we got more attention with our clothes on then the cheap little girls on stage. Out of nowhere this Dark haired, italian Versace clad with blue eyes came from behind and started dancing with me. I felt the rock in his pants on my lower back and the way he was moaning in my ear with hot breath on my neck I could have sworn he came in his pants. He's not the type to wear underwear. Fucking sexy. I'm by no means a prostitute, but it's something that as a woman, I come to find myself doing naturally. I export myself, I make myself valuable with the clothes I wear, the narrow slits of my blue eyes, the thick rope of hair that falls down my back. Perfume that smells like hawaiian fruit, teeth bleached to the shade of a snowflake, my skin as brown as a freshly toasted muffin -- I'm a product of the product I sell. And just because I sell, doesn't mean that I can't also be addicted. I'm addicted to hot breath on my neck, a warm tongue sliding up the curve of my lower back, a hard yank from the hand twisting my ponytail. I'm addicted to being the object of fantasy, addicted to shallow breath in a dark room, addicted to the curl of my toes and the tension of my teeth biting down hard on my lower lip; addicted to someone else's hands slipping down into forbidden areas, addicted to another's addiction to me.
Sex sells. He bought me a drink and gave me $20 for the dance! I know that he doesn't mean for it to look like he's 'tipping' me for a night of cheap fun, but that's what it feels like. $20, wow. What is the going rate, anyway? But then again, I think to myself, if I'd been paid $20 everytime I danced, I might have already had my penthouse-dreamhouse in Chicago, so I don't say anything and stuffed the money into my bra. With a quick kiss on the cheek he was gone. I know what you're thinking... you stupid girl, you've just been had for $20 and a dance, lured in by the familiarity of someone who knows how you like your eggs. But you would be wrong, because I'm no naive virgin, and I hardly expect anything more at this point. He's the one who's been had. I've fed my addiction and managed to get $20 and unfertilized eggs out of the deal.
Sex sells. And we're all sell outs.
