in high school i got on birth control and my breasts got bigger. not that they were small to start with...but the point is that people noticed. i'm not the one to throw it in people's faces (literally or figuratively) but i dont care if they notice.
now in adulthood, my bike butt has returned. it never went away, but i havent actually been on a bike in ages and in ages has anyone but kesi made comments on my rear. until the short shorts.
i have a pair of shorts that literally only covers my ass. i wore them to a concert (if you seen my myspace page you've seen that whole outfit) and looked sexy but not hoochie. but i had to go to the grocery store first...
and so began old guys buying cereal and saying DAMN! as i walked by. since then its like they put out a memo. joy=booty. i'm not used to this! i cant control the butt. its hard to hide or cover up when not in use. at least when i'm at work i'm not cleavage central, but i have to wear lycra pants...
another thing is that my face, body and brain dont match. i had an older guy -who i'm comfortable with- tell me that men his age would hit on me if they talked to me cuz my mind isnt 22. i can hold my own in an intellectual convo. but if he tried to take me somewhere he'd look like a molester cuz my face is too high school. i actually had a very charming 17 year old hit on me at work cuz he thought i was his age. at least he's got taste...
and maybe that explains 32 year old scooter man.
dont get me wrong. i love my body. i'm glad i'm cute. and i always say that if my butt was flat i'd be sad. to which some nearby guy replies, me too.
Showing posts with label dirty talk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dirty talk. Show all posts
Monday, August 21, 2006
Thursday, December 08, 2005
the whore and i...
Does every hotel have a resident whore? Mine does. It also has a ghost, but thats another story for another day.
i dont know her name, and clearly thats for a reason. The first time i saw her she had on see-through pants. The moment she walked into my gift shop i thought: stripper? She asked if we carried condoms, and if lifestyles was "all we had." i then thought, prostitute!
It was wild. I had never spoken to someone i thought might actually do something so irreprehensible. She came by many times and had a routine: condoms out of the box, no receipt, exact change. she was the woman whom i would talk about behind her back: "i wonder how much she makes? people have sex with her? her boobs are sooooo fake." i was the ultimate in this seasons hater fashions. she was 6 foot garbage walking to the bar. a person i could look down on with VERY good reason.
but...
as time went on something weird happened. i realized she looked like a girl i used to know. a girl i used to laugh with but had lost through the years. that girl had a name: lindsay. I even mentioned them -lindsay and the unnamed whore- in a poem i wrote. Thats when she became human. Thats when i started to think of how she spent her day.
A few weeks ago she came into the shop in a cute outfit (Over the past months she'd realized dressing like a whore wasnt the key to making money). Before i knew what i was doing, i complemented her. We joked about how before someone bought it for her, she had no idea how to even pronounce enyce, a point i could relate to (NYC? ennice? e-nee-cee?). here i was, this person who believes i am so much better than this girl whose only source of income was between her legs, talking and laughing with her.
the othe day, i watched a documentary which included this group of asian transxexual cabaret performers. of course i watched in awe and novelty as i relayed the things they said and did to kesi over the phone. "they look like women! they have boyfriends too! there's 300,000 of them in thailand!" then one of them said something like, "we may be different, we may be men or women or both, but no matter what we look like, we are all alike in our emotions."
all this is is to say, everyone is human. I at one point looked at the prostitute as something to not be. Everything about her was wrong. and while i cannot follow in her particular choice of career- at the same time, i couldnt be a nurse or an accountant- there's got to be some redeeming qualities in her and anyone. god loves her- and me for that matter and i have done some dumb shit without taking money- so who am i to judge?
in conclusion, stop hating.
-from "searching for michelle"
"there's a girl
a prostitute who comes by my shop
buys condoms and pays with exact change
she hands me the box and the reciept
she looks like lindsay
and every time i see her i want to ask
'did you ever shave your head?
do you have a sister?
what happened?'
but i dont
who wants to ask why youre a prostitute?"
i dont know her name, and clearly thats for a reason. The first time i saw her she had on see-through pants. The moment she walked into my gift shop i thought: stripper? She asked if we carried condoms, and if lifestyles was "all we had." i then thought, prostitute!
It was wild. I had never spoken to someone i thought might actually do something so irreprehensible. She came by many times and had a routine: condoms out of the box, no receipt, exact change. she was the woman whom i would talk about behind her back: "i wonder how much she makes? people have sex with her? her boobs are sooooo fake." i was the ultimate in this seasons hater fashions. she was 6 foot garbage walking to the bar. a person i could look down on with VERY good reason.
but...
as time went on something weird happened. i realized she looked like a girl i used to know. a girl i used to laugh with but had lost through the years. that girl had a name: lindsay. I even mentioned them -lindsay and the unnamed whore- in a poem i wrote. Thats when she became human. Thats when i started to think of how she spent her day.
A few weeks ago she came into the shop in a cute outfit (Over the past months she'd realized dressing like a whore wasnt the key to making money). Before i knew what i was doing, i complemented her. We joked about how before someone bought it for her, she had no idea how to even pronounce enyce, a point i could relate to (NYC? ennice? e-nee-cee?). here i was, this person who believes i am so much better than this girl whose only source of income was between her legs, talking and laughing with her.
the othe day, i watched a documentary which included this group of asian transxexual cabaret performers. of course i watched in awe and novelty as i relayed the things they said and did to kesi over the phone. "they look like women! they have boyfriends too! there's 300,000 of them in thailand!" then one of them said something like, "we may be different, we may be men or women or both, but no matter what we look like, we are all alike in our emotions."
all this is is to say, everyone is human. I at one point looked at the prostitute as something to not be. Everything about her was wrong. and while i cannot follow in her particular choice of career- at the same time, i couldnt be a nurse or an accountant- there's got to be some redeeming qualities in her and anyone. god loves her- and me for that matter and i have done some dumb shit without taking money- so who am i to judge?
in conclusion, stop hating.
-from "searching for michelle"
"there's a girl
a prostitute who comes by my shop
buys condoms and pays with exact change
she hands me the box and the reciept
she looks like lindsay
and every time i see her i want to ask
'did you ever shave your head?
do you have a sister?
what happened?'
but i dont
who wants to ask why youre a prostitute?"
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