Dear Twisted

The Roads Not Taken

2011-12-20T09:14:00.000-08:00

Lolita and I swapped anime doodles as our teacher droned on. The woman was closing in on eighty, referred to us as her precious flowers, and insisted on spelling tests despite our being advanced Global Humanities and Literature. Nobody liked her. She was given a classroom of the best and brightest students in the school, the ones who were ravenous for knowledge, and she wasted our time with slow paced curriculum and off topic lessons.

This week we were finally onto our poetry unit. I've always loved poetry, whether it was writing or reading. I love finding profound hidden meanings, or relating to characters across worlds.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

The teacher read far too slow for me. I had already read and nearly memorized the poem, so I occupied myself by doodling a tiny fork stuck into the ground between the roads in the illustration. I listened just enough to be able to pick up the spot in case I was called on to read.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

We finished the poem and our teacher asked us to analyze it. Her question was greeted with silence. She called on me. "Jessica, what do you think the metaphor is in this poem?"

I stared at her blankly. I knew the answer, this poem was an open book. I never answered this teacher's questions though. I liked to push her buttons. The class suck up's hand darted into the air and she said "oh! oh oh!" Until the teacher called on her so she could answer.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

We had to write an essay about how the theme of two diverging roads play a role in our own lives. I bullshitted the entire thing. I was sixteen! When had I ever had to make a life decision that took me in one direction instead of another? Marching band instead of cheerleading? I guess.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

But now, now things are different. Now I can clearly see Frost's two roads. I can clearly see two paths laid out in front of me. Two roads diverged in the yellow wood that is my story. I've seen them over and over again. I've chosen the road I would not take over and over again.

You know what? I can't remember a time when I've come to a crossroads where I chose to take a path that was laid out for me.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.
And sorry I could not travel both
and take comfort in knowing my fate, long I stood.
Then left the paths in the yellow wood,
To forge my own road,
And knowing how way leads on to way,
I was comforted that I should never look back

Might be moving to California soon.
To quit the office job.
To be a surfer girl.
And professional writer.
To make my marketing career explode.
To make my dreams come true.
To forge my own path.

Ferberizing.

2011-12-17T19:12:00.001-08:00

Scientists noticed that ferberizing causes an imbalance of hormones which results in higher instances of anti social disorder, anxiety and ADHD in children.

My mom used to just put whiskey in my milk.
Whiskey-izing.
What does that result in?

A stripper.

Self Talk

2011-12-17T06:45:00.000-08:00

Model Boy says he wants to see me after work today.

Dear Jess,
You are the strongest lady I know. Don't forget that.
Stick to your convictions.
Do not love a man who doesn't love you.
Don't stay with something that isn't going to work for the temporary comfort it brings.
Cliche, yes, but if you love it let it go.
If it comes back then it's yours forever...
and if it doesn't come back,
go be promiscuous
drink too much
talk too loudly
and have some fun.

You'll fall in love again.
-Twisted

Welcome back, Twisted.

2011-12-16T15:07:00.000-08:00

I carefully dabbed a tissue under my eyes to soak up the remainder of my eye liner. I made eye contact with the girl in the mirror. I saw something familiar. That mischievous glint of independence. Welcome back, I thought.

I am single again.
I'm actually really really upset. I know I talk a lot of shit about Model Boy, but my blog is my place to vent. I leave out a lot of his awesomeness. But I don't want to get into that right now because he dumped me and I am really bummed out. So, despite my sarcastic wit, you should know that I just finished crying my eyes out and am stoned out of my mind.

Model Boy texted during the middle of my work day being all bummed out. It escalated to him saying only "Fuck :/"

I called him.
He didn't answer.
I called him.
He didn't answer.
I texted that I'd call his mom if he didn't answer because I was afraid something was wrong.
He called me.
Said a little bit of what was in the letter.
I asked him to wait for me and LEFT WORK, where I was winning the sales competition. I drove home to the apartment and met him there. He immediately apologized and i knew shit was going down.

Model Boy told me that things had changed and he just wasn't feeling it anymore. I was pissed he said he wanted to marry me and shit and now wasn't trying, but I kept my cool. I even said a sad but inspiring good bye speech. Then I gave him his Christmas presents and let him leave. Then I cried for a long time, smoked a bowl, and now here we are.

Hmm :/ I guess that's it.
Thought it was going to be more dramatic and crazy.
No, actually I thought it wasn't really going to happen.

Well this sucks.
Also, I can no longer afford this stupid apartment, or food. So Twisted's probably coming back.
Welcome back.

Let the slutstorm begin.

(Until then, I'm off to buy whiskey and cry.)

Christmas Gift Ideas: For the Ladies

2011-12-14T12:50:00.000-08:00

Did you procrastinate your Christmas shopping this year? Well don't fret. Here are some gift ideas for the lady in your life. Perfect for girlfriends, mistresses, sisters, moms, and any other female who might be wandering around your life!

1. A ball gag
This is the gift that keeps giving, two ways! She gets to feel sexy and kinky, and you get to enjoy not hearing her voice.

2. A realistic mold of your dick
Especially useful for men who are out of town a lot. Now she can worship your cock no matter where you are!
*Bonus points: Have it made 1.5 or 2 times larger than normal!

3. Gourmet Chef's Knives
For making you sandwiches in style.

4. The Rabbit
I'm serious here. The Rabbit vibrator is everything you wish you were.
*Bonus points: Great way to lead into anal sex. "Oh hey sweetie! I see your pussy is busy. Let me just slip in over here instead..." She'll be so distracted she won't even notice.

5. A heartfelt note, symbolic jewelry and the promise of your eternal affection.
Or some shit like that.

Anal Sex: A Beginners Guide

2011-12-13T16:24:00.000-08:00

Ah, the legendary Black Cherry. Made popular by such actresses as Belladonna and Sasha Grey. Immortalized as the final fucking-frontier in the classics Pirates 2: Stagnetti's Revenge and Backdoor Sluts 9. Here I answer pornwatcher's question "why do most porn come with anal sex?"

Why indeed, pornwatcher. Why indeed. I never say that there is no such thing as a dumb question because that, my dear boy, was the stupidest question I've ever heard.

Anal sex is epic.

It's one of the final frontiers of sex! That is unless you're into eels, but let's not go there tonight. It's dominative and primal. It hurts a little, but that only heightens the pleasure. It's kinky and so naughty that the thrill almost outdoes the pleasure. Almost.

So, where do you begin?

Clean That Shit.
Seriously. Go take a poo. Plan the anal in advance and make sure you've been getting plenty of fiber. Gross and unsexy, I know. But so is poopy dick. So have a poo and wash off well. After all of my washing off I use some baby wipes too because I happen to enjoy some down there oral action before to act too, if you know what I mean.

Lube.
Trust me, if you're a beginner to anal sex you do NOT want to try it without lube. Your ass is (probably) going to be a very tight fit and you'll need all the help you can get. Any water based lubricant will do the job. YOU MUST USE WATER BASED if you are using a condom. Oil based lubes dissolve latex. Most people don't know this. Now you do.

Not using a condom? Then you can use any lube you want. I find water based lubes tend to dry out quickly and require reapplication often. My lube of choice is baby oil.

Don't have any lube? I've been there, my friend. I've found myself without lube many a time.

What have I used instead?
1. Olive oil
2. Petroleum Jelly
3. Body Lotion
4. Conditioner
5. Spit*

Please note: I am not a doctor. I'm sure I could have died because I used cocoa butter lotion as lube. But I am content with my life choices and as far as I know I'm not dead. Unless I'm a part of some cruel M. Night Shyamalan plot.

At any rate, lubricate everything. Best foreplay ever. Get that cock all greased up, and that asshole soaked with it. DO NOT squirt the lube into the chick's ass! If anyone's read "Assholes Finish First" you'll remember that squirting lube into an asshole and then fucking it open will result in a nasty ass geyser of shit. Just don't do it.

Prepare Yourself

Ok, you're all lubed up. Now it's time for some finger action. If you're an anal virgin you're going to need to ease that baby open, and prepare it for the pounding it's about to endure.

Start with one finger at first. Even a pinky if you have to. Make sure your nails are trimmed. Stimulate the outside at first, rub her asshole like a clit. Then ease in a lubed finger. Go slow and easy, work your way up. Two fingers next, with more slow fingering. You don't need to wiggle your fingers or curl them. The asshole does not have a g-spot to find. The sensation is all in the asshole itself for a girl.

Finger her with two fingers for a while. You can go faster now or be more aggressive if you want, but don't go too crazy. At this point she should be pretty warmed up. I wouldn't really go past two fingers because you still want that asshole tight for your dick.

Get it in.
Add more lube if you need it.

You can choose any position you want for anal, but as a purist** I prefer doggy style. Leaning over a bed, stool or chair might make it more comfortable for you.

If this is your first time, go slow. Really. Start with just the tip. Ease it in little by little, using your hand to guide it. If she's an anal virgin this isn't going to be easy. Once in, continue easing in another inch of cock. For the girl this will probably feel like the entire cock. Ease it out, then ease it back in a little farther. Continue this until you're about half way and then do a couple of thrusts with only half of your cock before giving her the rest.

If you're being polite, go little by little. If not, make her take the rest.

For the first couple minutes of anal sex go slow. She's getting used to your girth, and her ass is really sensitive. Get her used to it. Rub her clit, talk dirty. Then pound her when she's ready for it.

Having trouble getting it in? Have the recipient "bear down." Push back, and push like you're trying to poo. It sounds weird, but it works.

All done.
Fuck her til you cum. That's really all there is to it. I prefer to be cum in, because I am a bad ass.
For clean up use baby wipes. It's gentle for a sore ass.
High five.

Questions?

1. Condoms: This is totally your preference. Keep in mind that STD's spread more easily in anal tissue because it is more prone to tearing than vaginal tissue. If you're with a random, use a condom. Or if you want to feel more clean about the whole asshole thing.

2. Cramping: Your asshole might cramp up. Have him gently withdrawal. The cramp will go away after a second. Continue fucking when it's gone. Problem solved.

3. Ass to Mouth (ATM) or Ass to Pussy (ATP): Go take a shower. Don't go ass to pussy or ass to mouth. When porn stars do it they've enema-ed themselves clean prior to fucking, so they don't have fecal matter and things like e-coli to worry about. Ass to pussy will most likely give you an infection. Ass to mouth will probably make you sick.

4. Ass Eating: I read an article in Cosmo that said to stick to licking around, but not on, the anal area. Fuck you, Cosmo. Don't just stare at it, eat it. Just make sure you clean up really well first. Shower if you can. Even enjoy your oral in the shower. I also always carry around baby wipes with me. They're the best for cleaning up before sex.

5. Taking it to the next level: Anal sex while using a vibrator is probably one of my favorite things in the world. My dearly departed vibrator, The Wizard, had a clit stimulator I could hold while getting anal from behind. Ladies, you will never cum so hard as you will doing that.

6. Butt Plugs: Butt plugs are awesome. I only didn't include them because this is a beginners guide. As with anal, use lots of lube and go easy at first. Hm... I should start reviewing sex toys. Someday.

7. What if your partner isn't into the idea of anal? Bend her over for some doggy style, put it in her ass, and say oops.

*Best tip ever:
If you give really deep, wet head you'll notice your spit gets a lot more viscous. It makes head easier, and makes for the best lube ever. Try it.

**Just kidding! I'm not a pure anything!

Creepy Guy at the Grocery Store

2011-12-13T08:36:00.000-08:00

Every time I go to Safeway the creepy bagger guy is there.

At first it started with exemplary customer service. Creepy Guy would bring me a basket upon entering the store and would engage in small talk for a moment before I headed over to the produce aisle. I'm a fairly antisocial person, but I would politely engage enough to not be rude.

Then it moved to Creepy Guy following me into the produce aisle. My work day is filled with forced conversation and courtesy smiles, so I really hate keeping it up into my real life. I want to relax and be an asshole in my time off. Creepy Guy follows me into the produce aisle, talking about the weather and vegetables. I politely evade him and escape to the soup aisle, because I don't like being watched while I pick out cucumbers.

Creepy Guy was waiting for me at the check out line and asked if I wanted help out to my car. No, I think I've got it. My cart has wheels. I politely declined. I must have spaced out on my way to the car because when I got there Creepy Guy was collecting carts in the parking lot.

"Let me help you with that," Creepy Guy headed over to me as I reached my car.

"Oh, nah I've got it. Thanks though!" I said firmly.

"Oh it's no problem!" Creepy Guy came over and grabbed a bag to help me load my trunk. Fucking awesome. I thought. I opened my trunk, which happens to be full of lingerie and stripper shoes. Creepy Guy hesitated for a second, taken aback at the trunk full of sex, and helped me load my three bags into my car. "Thanks," I muttered.

Another day I went to the store to pick up a case of waters. I didn't bother with a cart because it was just one case. Creepy Guy came over to load bags in my aisle.

"Now don't you tell me no this time!" Creepy Guy said, asking me if I wanted help out to my car.

"I'm definitely going to say no to this one." I said. This was getting too weird.

"You know," Creepy Guy said, "Females are the stronger sex." I blinked at him. He continued, "really, I've always believed that. A man would never be able to take the pain of having a baby." I stood there for a second.

"That's right." I said, because I had no other words.

My last trip to Safeway I checked out two boxes of Trojan XXL Magnums, a tube of lube and brought the boyfriend with me.

Creepy Guy was silent as he loaded my bags and did not offer to help me to my car.

That's right.

The art of Passive Aggressiveness

2011-12-11T15:25:00.001-08:00

Twisted: I won't be mad if you bring home hot wings.

Model Boy: Idk where to get them!

Twisted: Lol ok!*

*By "Lol ok!" I mean "FUCKING FIGURE IT OUT! I'M NOT ASKING FOR EXCUSES! I'M ASKING FOR HOT WINGS. He'd better show up with chicken wings AND maybe a coke to drink or somethin. UNFORGIVABLE

The other day a girl at my work commented "You say the meanest things in the nicest way."
Indeed I do bitch. Thanks so much!

Fuck Domestication Part 2

2011-12-11T15:11:00.000-08:00

Today I cleaned the kitchen, living room, bathrooms, man cave and bedroom. I asked you to sort laundry so I could do a few loads while you were golfing.

"Can you sort the laundry into work clothes, whites, blacks and colors, and towels?" I asked and pointed out the laundry baskets I had set in a row for you to put the piles in. Then I went to make us some lunch while you sorted.

We ate lunch and had a beer, then you went to golf. I went into the hallway start a load of laundry.

It looks like a bomb went off. The laundry baskets I had set out were unused. The basket of towels I had started was now empty.

The were strewn about the hallway in an attempt to form piles. I saw a pile of blues and reds. I saw a pile of whites and purples with model boy's nice black polo thrown in. I saw a pile of all of Model Boy's work clothes and sports jerseys. Mixed in with the towels were my work clothes. I noticed my brand new black silk button down crumpled under a wet towel.

Really? I resorted all the laundry, frustrated that the piles I had already sorted into laundry baskets to get Model Boy started were now mixed in with everything else.

Sorting laundry is not hard. Chores are not hard. You have a college degree. Figure it the fuck out.

Worst part? And I know girls all over the world face this. If I try to explain how to do the chores to Model Boy then I'm nagging. If I ask him to watch me do it so he knows how, I'm acting like his mom. If I complain when my white pottery barn rug is now black and ruined because it was thrown in with the workout clothes then I'm being a domineering girlfriend.

Fuck this mess.

Earn that Pussy

2011-12-11T12:15:00.000-08:00

Last night Model Boy and I were stopped at a red light. A hobo walked towards the car, screaming curse words at himself.

"I want the doors locked," I said while I looked for the button. Model Boy didn't react. The hobo wandered around the street. He didn't come to the car, but better safe than sorry, right?

"Why didn't you lock the doors for me?" I asked him after the light turned green. "Why didn't you ask?" He replied. "I don't know. I kind of stated that I wanted them locked? I figured that would convey my point." He laughed in response.

"Bro, you just lost yourself some pussy," I crossed my arms and looked at him. He laughed again.

"No, no. Seriously. You need to earn this shit. You don't get this pussy by default." He laughed again.

Seriously? To be in the fucking presence of my pussy used to cost twenty bucks a song. Just to look at it. There is no way that this shit is being given away for free.

I'm a huge fan of masturbating. You want to play this game? Game on.

Stripper from Birth

2011-12-11T12:12:00.000-08:00

When I was little we used to have this huge shade awning in the pasture for the horses. It was held up by four really tall poles. I used to climb up those poles and spin down them for hours when I was little.

A lot of the time I did this naked because I had a problem with clothes.

I wonder if my mother would be surprised that I turned out to be a stripper.

Sad things.

2011-12-11T11:08:00.001-08:00

Model Boy had been begging to move in together, and even though I wanted to wait a few years until we were engaged, I caved and agreed we could move in together at the end of my lease. I'd find a new job and be able to quit stripping for him.

I searched jobs tirelessly. My work experience was limited to being a coffee house barista and teaching water aerobics. It was lacking. I applied for over 250 jobs before I got a response. It was an hour away from my then apartment, but we could move to Phoenix to make up half of the distance. I took the job, quit stripping, and was set to begin a new life.

We looked at apartments. Places fell through until it was a week before my lease was up. Then the shit show began. Model Boy confessed he hadn't told his parents that he was moving in with me.

He told his dad and he disapproved.

Model Boy came over and told me he didn't want to let his parents down.

...

Wait wait wait a second. We were expecting they'd be upset. They're very religious, and Model Boy is their only child. Of course they weren't going to be stoked. I didn't expect that this would make him change his mind.

Up until this point I had been blindly faithful. I quit stripping. Got a job that required me to move far away from my friends and family, everyone I knew. The job required I signed a year contract with them, I couldn't back out. I hadn't found a new place to live and now was facing homelessness in less than a week.

I had changed everything without even a thought to the consequences if everything fell through.

I hadn't even wanted to move in together in the first place. The other plan was I would get a dirt cheap apartment and start waitressing. That way I could quit stripping for him and still go to school and be independent. I told him he needed a year of "bachelor life", living on his own with friends. But he insisted we do it together, and I was thrilled at that plan too.

We fought all night. He told me I didn't understand how stressful this was for him. For him?? What about for me?? I had changed everything for him! He knew our plans months in advance. He didn't have to wait until a week before to let everything crumble! At the end of the night he said he would move in with me. I felt betrayed and hurt that I had been dumb enough to put myself in this position. I felt like I was forcing him to live with me, which I didn't want to do.

The next day Model Boy found my blog's twitter and lied about it. He lied and said it had come up on his twitter feed. I couldn't believe he thought I would fall for it. A few months before this he had some of his friends tail me at a bar and ended up showing up and catching me dancing with a guy. A flamboyantly gay guy. A few months after that he looked through my phone. This was his third strike for being that boyfriend and I was livid. We nearly broke up. I screamed at him until his balls receded back into his body. I didn't want this. I didn't want the man he had turned into.

I told him I wanted the Model Boy I fell blindly in love with. He promised he was that guy. Apologized. And we commenced moving in together despite that horrible week.

...

Things haven't gotten much better. I used to see adoration in his eyes at my every move. Being more than two feet away from each other used to be almost painful. He used to love with an intensity that I had never ever experienced in my life. He made me feel alive, beautiful and like I was an amazing person. Now it's different. We're a ghost of what we were.

I hope it comes back. I really do. I know the first year living together is supposed to be the hardest.

Single Bucket List

2011-12-11T10:54:00.001-08:00

Currently I am in a relationship. You all know this. Model Boy and I moved in together in August so I could quit stripping. But since then I've occasionally worried we wouldn't last forever. If that sad day comes where we have to split, I'm probably going to lose my mind.

And my pussy is going to become an all you can eat buffet.

I've decided to write a bucket list for if I become single again.

1. Hit up Body Builder. Try the vibrator he bought for us. It's one that stays in and lays flat against my g-spot so we can bang and I can masturbate at the same time!

2. Find a guy with some serious S&M fetishes.

3. Bang a huge black guy.

4. MMF Threesome

5. More lesbian sex

6. Become a headliner for a strip club.

7. Have three fuck buddies. One that's fun to chill with, a violent one and a wild card or something. I don't know. Just so I can have a rotation of three boys and can have variety in my life.

8. Do cocaine.

9. Ruin a marriage

10. Graduate college my way. Paid for on my own. Like I had planned to do in the first place.

Fuck domestication.

2011-12-10T16:35:00.000-08:00

Men hate it when women nag.

Well fuck you. If you did the dishes the day I asked you to I wouldn't nag you to do them.

Really, how hard is it to do dishes right? I've told you on at least four different occasions that the dishwasher sucks so you need to rinse all the food off of dishes before putting them in the dish washer. We do not have a six thousand dollar dish washer like your parents. If you put a place crusted with cheese in the dishwasher I have to wash it all over again after the dishwasher has run. And not only that, but I need a power sander to get the cheese off because the dishwasher baked it onto the plate.

You don't like it when I sound like your mother? Well I don't like having to treat you like my son. Living together is supposed to be about team work. I am not your maid.

Oh, and stop saying "we need to do laundry" or "we need to clean the bedroom." Every time you say that you just sit there and never do it. When I do end up doing laundry or cleaning the bedroom it is never "we." Unless by "we" you mean "you do laundry and I'll play call of duty."

I've never been a girl who is fond of games. I don't play the "guess what I'm thinking" game. If I need help with chores, I ask for it. That's why every week since we've moved in together I've been saying "I'd really like it if you helped with chores" or "tonight I'm going to clean the living room and you clean the man cave." That's also why I praise you like a god when you help. I'm trying to make you understand that helping me is a good thing.

I do not appreciate when you get defensive or hurt when I ask for help and say that you do help. That is a lie. Doing dishes once two weeks ago does not count as consistently helping. Stop making excuses and do it. I don't like cleaning either.

Fuck.

The Panties Are Comin Off!

2011-12-10T15:19:00.000-08:00

Top Ten Ways to Get In My Pants

1. Wink at me

2. Tequila

3. Have a large penis

4. Be a douche

5. Be sarcastic and witty, but humble about it.

6. Whiskey

7. Large, nice hands. And yes, if you have nice hands I am thinking about you fingering me. Even if we're just talking about the weather.

8. Have similar sexual interests to mine

9. Act uninterested at me and be attractive

10. Be Gerard Butler

The Art of the Deep Throat

2011-12-10T15:01:00.000-08:00

I can deep throat. I don't mean jamming a penis in my mouth as much as it will fit. I mean straight up pornographic, cock down my throat deep throating.

Maybe I developed this talent in marching band. Our instructor always told us to open our throats big enough to swallow a golf ball in order to get the best sound. Having been very naive in high school I didn't realize why everyone always giggled when he said that. I do now!

Right after my nineteenth birthday, during a threesome in a tattoo parlor, I showed my friend Jenny my talent. Her boyfriend gasped "I've only seen that in porn! I didn't know people could do that in real life!" And then he came. That was when I realized I had something special on my hands.

The secret is to practice. I mean it. The more you stimulate your gag reflex, the less sensitive it becomes. Stimulate that baby until, little by little, it almost stops working.*

How do you do this? Oh I don't know. Jam a popsicle down your throat every now and then? A banana, a pickle, your finger. Whatever. I'm sure your man wouldn't be opposed to helping you out. Jam that cock as far as it will go until you're at the brink of losing it. Then do it again. I suggest using a cock.

My best tip? 69. Every so often that guy with a cock like a zebra comes along and even I just can't get that monster to slide all the way down my throat. That's when use my ace. 69 with girl on top makes it so the angle of the dick matches the angle of your throat, and you can swallow anything.

If you don't want to do 69 on top, lay on your back on the edge of the bed with your head hanging over the edge. Let your guy face fuck you.

Deep throating has never been easier.

At first it will be difficult. Push yourself to the limit every time, and in no time you'll be a deep throating pro. As your gag reflex becomes less sensitive you'll be able to do it from any angle with any size cock.

Cheers!

*Bitches who say they "don't have a gag reflex" be lying. So if anyone ever says that to you, tell her to prove it.

Bad bitches, I'm your lead-a

2011-12-07T19:42:00.000-08:00

Cause I'm in love with that

ass ass ass ass
ass ass ass ass
ass ass ass ass
ass ass ass ass
ass ass

stop

now make that motherfucker hammer time.

(I know I know, the photo is awful. That's Marley's phone's fault. [*Phew* apostrophes!] Don't bitch.)

Feeling a little insecure.

2011-12-06T11:22:00.000-08:00

That's the thing about stripping. Every stage, every dance, every night you are reminded that you are beautiful. That you are the best, and that people want you. Sure, it's petty, but people throwing money just to look at you, paying twenty dollars a song just for conversation, it confirms self worth without a question. There wasn't a night I worked where I didn't feel wanted or pretty. Spin around a pole naked for a living in a room covered with mirrors and you can't help but realize you look good. It sounds cocky, but i'm not talking about me. I'm talking any girl. Look at your body long enough and you can't help but begin to love it.

The downside is that once you stop dancing you stop getting regular confirmation of your worth. You forget you're pretty. You forget you're such a badass that no one in the world can compare. It just goes away.

Dear Jess,
You've never been more successful. You're almost done with college, you just got promoted and are fabulous at your job. You're gorgeous and in the best shape of your life. Yes, you're sexy and wantable
Stop forgetting your twisted side.
-Twisted

California Dreamin

2011-12-03T20:33:00.000-08:00

My family is from California. My dad is from Hollywood. I met Brad Pitt at my Uncle's restaurant. My Aunt and Uncle produced a certain animated Disney movie. Most of my family lives in Northern California. While visiting them I fell in love with the food and lifestyle of California.

Then Model Boy got me into Entourage.

I'm pretty darn sure California is where I'm going to end up.

Model Boy has been interviewing with a few modeling agencies in California. I decided that if he gets to move to California to pursue his dreams, I get to move to California to pursue mine. So I searched for writing jobs in California.

I found a job reviewing vibrators. Los Angeles, California, reviewing vibrators for a living.

Holy Shit. Yo quiero.

Christmas List

2011-12-03T20:31:00.000-08:00

Nike Running Shoes
-black and lime green
-personalized to say "Jezzy Baby" on the tongues

Tiffany Heart Lock Pendant

Good Eats: Season 3 Cookbook

Turkey Day

2011-11-29T14:21:00.000-08:00

I told you, I hate the holidays.

I always head over to Nana's early to prep the turkey. This year I cooked it right side up and remembered to remove the giblets. I forgot to tuck in the turkey's neck though, so it hung like the sleeve of a wizard, which was gross.

My sister Sky showed up at two. She's always the life of the party... in a bad way. This year she opted to wear a champagne colored sweater with an intricate and slutty neckline; size 7 jeans on her size 13 body; and sky high pink snakeskin heels that look like they've been around for years, which they have. This is why no one in the family suspects I'm the stripper, as I dress like a kindergarten teacher for family functions.

Sky brought along with her a guy friend whom she is almost ten years older than. I recognized him from the strip club immediately. I had given him a bush dive, so it's nice to know they guy sitting across from me at the table was very familiar with my vagina.

While waiting for the rest of the guests to arrive we all went to the yard to play badminton. Sky gave up because she couldn't hold the racquet with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. Model Boy, who it turns out is very very competitive even if it is badminton at a family function, proceeded to hit Broseph in the throat with the birdie hard enough to silence him for a few minutes.

My big sister Bones, her boyfriend (Rex) and my nephew then showed up. I immediately assured Rex that I had the turkey blessed by a rabbi and it was now kosher. (I make as many Jew jokes as I can during holidays, as Rex is half Jewish.)

All of the siblings sat in the yard talking. Sky, the aspiring comedian with an urgent need to be the center of attention, started telling us her comedy routine. It began with a bit about beanie babies. My brother's friend cracked a joke about pretending to be deaf and selling bracelets for spare money. Sky rebutted with a comment about giving blow jobs for spare money, which I hear she has done. (Again, no one suspects I'm the sex worker.) Broseph's friend made an off color joke about heroin. Skyler began making jokes about losing her virginity in a black gang bang, so I decided inside and check the turkey to easy my mortification.

Did I mention at this point we had been joined by our mother, father, 12 year old nephew and very old fashioned grandmother? Yeah.

Every year my mom invites a very inappropriate guest to thanksgiving. One year it was our neighbors who hate us because my mom is an asshole and put a sign in their yard reading "pock marked paula has a potty mouth." The next it was my sister's ex mother in law who brought a big gulp of fraznia to the dinner with her. Another year it was my dad's ex wife who broke his poor heart into tiny pieces. This year my dad and I were trying to guess who the special guest would be. I was guessing The Ex. My dad said he wouldn't put it past her. This year it was my estranged, religious fanatic aunt.

Ohhh. I had been wondering why my mom wasn't wasted yet. She was trying to be on her best behavior for Estranged Aunt.

As I walked into the house to check the turkey I noticed the estranged Aunt, who I hadn't seen since I was eight (again, because my mother is an asshole.) You know that awkward moment when you kind of recognize someone, but you aren't sure, and then neither of you know how to greet each other? Yeah, here we go.

My mom introduced us. "And this is our Jessie. Isn't she pretty?" It's awkward getting introduced to family.

"Estranged Aunt! It's been too long! How have you been?" I laid on the charm, walking up to her to give her a hug because she is family and that is what you're supposed to do for family. Or something. She put her hand out to shake my hand, as my arms were out to hug her. What an awkward greeting. I grabbed her hand and did kind of an awkward bro hug with her, playing it off smoothly. We had even more awkward small talk. I felt like she didn't like me, so I headed back outside.

(This is the only awesome part about my thanksgiving) Outside in the gazebo all the siblings and friends gathered with a couple guitars. (Everyone in my family is a musician.) We sat in the twilight, away from the uncomfortable tension inside, played guitar and sang Pumped Up Kicks together. It was a nice moment of peace and togetherness before the thanksgiving shit show started.

Dinner was ready. I moved inside to carve the turkey. Normally I use a normal knife, but this year I had an electric one which was something I wasn't used to. Estranged Aunt smirked watching me carve and said "it gets easier after you've done it a time or two." I laughed pleasantly, but on the inside I was punching her in the face.

This year we had to say grace before dinner, led by Estranged Aunt's husband. During grace Sky took a bite of her food and commented the turkey was dry. After grace we went around the table and said what we were thankful for. This year Nana took the liberty of printing off cards so everyone had something to be thankful for if we couldn't think of anything. She probably did this because last year Broseph and I were thankful for Taylor Lautner. My card said "my family," which is ironic because I kind of hate (most of) my family.

Estranged Aunt was thankful for her job working for the "best company in the world," USAA. My father, always proud of me, said "Jessie here works for *competitor*." Estranged Aunt gave me a look of pure venom and said "is that so? We take a lot of your customers." The table hushed and I looked at her with my eyebrow raised, "Our record breaking third quarter revenues and my fat commission check say I take a lot of your customers too." I winked at her. Bitch.

As food was passed around the table Model Boy looked at me to see what was safe to eat. "Don't eat the yams," I whispered, "they're pre-holocaust. Or that stuffing. That's where the turkey's heart went." We finished dinner first and headed out to the yard to get a moment to ourselves.

"Are you guys going to go purge?" Sky said, loudly. The whole table laughed.

Later in the gazebo we were joined by Bones, Rex, Broseph and Broseph's friend. Nana wandered out some time later. I don't know how, but that women has the ability to go from sober to trashed in minutes. Nana sat down at the table and detailed the entire day of our oldest brother's death, then happily trotted away. Through tears Bones told Broseph's friend that was why no one laughed at the heroin joke. Model Boy and I again made our escape into the kitchen for pie.

Rex, who always refers to Model Boy as Twilight (because he looks an awful lot like Edward,) joined us. I asked Model Boy how he liked the pie and he said "Eh, I've had better." Rex replied "Twilight's had a few centuries of pie. He knows a good one." It was funny. At that moment Broseph's girlfriend walked in. "Broseph's Girlfriend, this is Rex. He's a Jew," I politely introduced him.

After pie Model Boy and I were ready to leave. I had to say goodbye to all of the family, which I hate because it's awkward and my mom always insists on kissing my face when we're in front of company (but never when we're alone.) Everyone stood up for hugs except for Estranged Aunt, so I had to do one of those awkward ass out hugs to avoid a faux pas.

We made it to the car. "One holiday down, one more shit show to go," I said, slumping into my seat.

On S&M and Love

2011-11-23T17:55:00.000-08:00

I gagged, but that didn't deter him. Psycho's fingers threaded through my hair, seizing a hand full to more forcefully face fuck me. I pushed my head back, struggling for air, but that only quickened his pace.

"Oh fuck you're gonna make me come," he threw my head back away from him. I caught myself and dove back forward to suck on his balls. He let me for a second, then wrapped a strong hand around my neck and lifted me to my feet. He held his grip, forcing me to stand on my tip-toes and kissed me, hard. I tasted blood from his cock forcing its way down my throat.

"You gonna fuck me now? That tight little pussy?" I looked at him, teasing and defiant. My make up smeared across my face, my hair messed up, covered with saliva. He dropped me, and threw me across the room to the mirror on the wall. He pushed my face against it, bending me over and sliding two fingers into my pussy.

"You gonna watch?" My face pressed into the mirror as he replaced his fingers with his cock. He slid it in, hard, despite the tight fit. I stood on my toes again, pulling away from his cock, not fully prepared for the length. He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me down onto him, I gasped in pain. He pulled out, nearly cumming from the pleasure of penetration and the sound of my pain.

He gathered himself, and pushed his cock back inside of me. Again he grabbed my hair and pushed my face into the mirror as he fucked me.

We heard a breaking sound.

"Oh fuck," he muttered as we pulled back from the mirror that had broken on my face. We shrugged, and he threw me back onto the bed.

-----------------------------------------

Wow, that was over two years ago. Talk about a blast from the past. I don't miss Psycho. Sure, the sex was amazing, but the sex I currently have is also amazing. I do, however, miss S&M. I fucking love S&M. Sometimes I'm the sadist, sometimes I'm the masochist; either way I love it.

I like to be fully in control, or completely dominated. I like to hurt, and I like to be hurt. Mmm there's something so similar to pain and arousal to me. I don't know why, but it's always been that way.

Problem is, love and S&M have a lot of trouble mixing. Yeah, yeah I could have a fucking safe weird or something, but being able to say "no" kind of takes away the point of losing control. Also, the things I do or that would be done to me would make it hard to look into the other's eye the next morning.

It's just hard to wrap my mind around asking the man I love to "hit me harder, baby. Tell me I'm a slut. Make me bleed."

Ah, the sacrifices i make for love.

Thanksgiving at the Twisted Household

2011-11-22T10:08:00.000-08:00

I get edgy during the holiday season. Everyone says their family gatherings are crazy, but mine are an absolute shit show.
I am one of five kids. (Surprise!) I'm the second youngest at 21. The little brother is 20, the big sisters are 27 and 31ish and the eldest brother is in his 40's.

(You think my jaded fuckupery is bad, you should see the rest of the family.)

Every year I head over to Nana's around nine to start the dinner. I've been cooking almost the entire dinner since I was twelve. It's safer that way as my father prefers the kitchen ceiling not flaming.

Normally by the time I head over Nana is finishing up a wine cooler with Sky, the 27 year old sister.

Sky is the current crown holder for most fucked up in the family. When she was twenty she married a meth head, changed her name to Sky Miles, and who knows what happened from there. I've told her a million times she should blog about her experiences, but she decided a comedy routine about Casey Anthony would be more appropriate. Anyway, now she is just my eccentric alchy sister with serious hard-knock life superiority.

Sky and Nana are the dream team of shit shows. Normally they spend the day wandering in and out of the kitchen trying to annoy me (as I am the uptight, serious sibling who likes to get shit done,) or out by the pool smoking pot with the goats and drinking pink panty droppers.

Yes, smoking pot with the goats. Panty droppers.

Between one and three my little brother, Broseph, wakes up. Occasionally he'll wander into the kitchen to eat treats I set out for him and our father. While I wait for things to cook I'll head to his room and we'll show each other new media tricks we've learned and look at music videos. We go through exactly the same music phases, right now it's Drake. We both also have a weird insomnia that occurs after we see a really mesmerizing music video. Neither of us slept for days after seeing Bad Romance.

An hour or so before dinner, the oldest sister, Bones, shows up. (I'm utterly stoked about the nickname I've given her because that was one of my stripper names! Yay!) My father jokes that Bones and I are his two dike-y daughters, from when we had matching faux hawks, goth jewelry and matching breast implants. Bones and I have the tradition of gravy wars.

Gravy wars began four years ago, and it gets better every year. The first year began with us arguing that any gravy we made would be way better than my grandma's. Then I argued mine would be better than hers. That year my gravy congealed into a lump so hard it had to be fished out with a fork. Her gravy ended up in a grease fire. Since then we've spent the entire year between gravy wars training and shit talking. Model Boy and I insist my gravy won last year. She insists hers was the victor. Nana said Bones won because her gravy was light, and mine was more of a beef gravy. (I used a fucking darker roux, Nana! It tastes better! It's still turkey!)

A few years ago, after Broseph and I first joined our high school's media club, we began the tradition of setting up a camera in the corner of the room aimed at Nana to catch her holiday antics. Here are memorable moments we caught on camera:

Thanksgiving 1: Nana is thankful for Broseph, and only Broseph. The rest of the siblings stare open mouthed at her.

Thanksgiving 2: Nana stares at me with a wistful smile the entire dinner. We still don't know why.

Thanksgiving 3: Nana is thankful Sky's husband is in the hospital in a diabetes induced coma. She is also thankful Skyler never had a baby with said husband because Nana doesn't quite understand how that would work.

Easter 1: Nana preaches that she doesn't understand Christianity and that everybody should be Jewish. Between mouthfuls of ham and hollandaise sauce she explained how Jesus can't be real.

Christmas 1: Nana, stoned out of her mind, tells us all exactly what she likes to eat every day. This takes twenty minutes.

Thanksgiving 4: Bones and I begin trying to see who can make Nana have the most sappy moment. I say I'm thankful for how together Bones and Nana have grown. Nana cries and begins a long, incoherent speech.

Christmas 2: Nana calls grandson an asshole.

Thanksgiving 5 (this may have also been on a previous thanksgiving): Nana invites my Father's ex wife to dinner. Ex Wife, being very Christian, refuses to drink and thinks of all holidays as an opportunity to praise god. Nana pours her a glass of straight whiskey, which Ex Wife politely refuses. Insulted, Nana takes the whiskey and storms out of the room. She returns for food, then storms back out.

Christmas 3: Nana is thankful for all children except for Sky.

Easter 2: Nana invites Sky's alcoholic Mom in Law to dinner. The MiL gushes about the "taters" during grace, and insists bringing her big gulp cup of fraznia to the table with her. Nana falls in love. MiL tells me she hates my dog because she "doesn't look trustworthy" Neither is conscious at the end of the night. Nana loses her shirt.

After dinner we normally head outside to the porch for drinks and crying about our childhood. Normally Nana makes epic amends with one of the siblings. If this doesn't happen awkward family pictures are taken, in the dark, under nana's direction. If Nana becomes frustrated she throws a temper tantrum and yells at every body. Night become awkward.

I've come to realize if I can lure her into the kitchen (with pie or whiskey) and turn on a really upbeat song she'll forget she's upset and dance around the kitchen. I've had great success with La Roux's song Bulletproof.

No matter what happens, the night ends with Nana crying. Either because she hurt herself while drunk, she's so happy, or she's angry.

Everyone apologizes and awkwardly make their escapes.

That, is a Twisted Thanksgiving.

Reason #489 not to give Twisted liquor.

2011-11-18T19:08:00.000-08:00

(I am 602, texting Model Boy.)

(602) @ 9:02pm: Boop a doop a doo! I miss you! Hungry. Come home. We have rum.

(602) @ 9:10pm: and grilleeccheese
@ 9:11pm: grilled cheese.

(602) @ 9:40pm: disegaurd previous two messages.
@ 9:40pm: Fuck. Disreaguard. Direguard. Disregard. Disregard those mother fuckers.

(602) @10:26pm: Rum rum rum rum gone toooooo booooo
@10:26pm: ooobsss

Bull Shit Email!

2011-11-14T10:40:00.001-08:00

The other day I noticed an email in my inbox from a company requesting I link to their website. Here is the email:
-START-

Hello!

I just want to thank you for your wonderful blog 20questioned.blogspot.com.

I read the post "Reasons Not To Give Twisted Whiskey" and then I spent another hour on your blog by reading your posts with pleasure :) Every article is interesting and easy to read. I really like the "Protestors...ers... ors... RUM!".

I work for ***** company, we aggregate job adverts around the world.

My job is to persuade bloggers to link to our site.

I really love my job! We have a friendly team and good management, but unfortunately I have no idea how to convince a blogger to link to us, I'm afraid I might lose my job because of it :(

And that is why, instead of sending letters to thousands of different blogs, I am reading yours.

Honestly, I am not really sure if the link to our website in United States - *****-us.com, will be appropriate for your blog, but if you believe it will and you can add it, I would be really grateful to you! Our site is really cool, it can greatly help hundreds of people to find jobs.

I wish you to have a good day and excellent mood! Thanks again for your nice blog. Write more! Thanks!

P.S. I am a Capricorn by zodiac sign too :)

-END-

I googled this email, and noticed the writer had sent the exact same thing to several other blogs using the email as the template. He obviously hadn't read the content for the other blogs, and changed his zodiac sign to appeal to each writer. Really?

My Response:
-START-

Bro. Really? (I would read this whole thing, because there are life lessons in it for you, my dear man.)

1. Why is a professional job search site interested in a blog about strippers and internet smut?

2. I'm real sorry you suck at your job, but it's nice to hear you have a good work atmosphere. Maybe you should do some actual research on social-media marketing so you actually know what you're doing? (That or hand the CEO my email address cause I'm a fucking boss at social-media marketing and I'll blow you out of the water.)

3. Ohhh so I'm the easy way out? Instead of having to email thousands of people you email me and your problems are solved? I don't think that's the way it works. Especially because my word of mouth is the opposite of pleasant towards you and the perception of your company.

4. Don't tell me that your company isn't right for my web content! Good god man, you are supposed to be selling it to me! Don't scare me away! Fucking tell me that your company is perfect for an advertisement on my blog, and that without it my blog is severely lacking! Tell me I need it. Sell that shit man! How in the world did you get this job if your sales pics are meeker than a masochist??

5. Aww! You're a capricorn too!? Well that changes everything! We can talk about the birthdays and life ideals we share while we braid each other's hair at a slumber party!! ... Seriously, talking about astrological signs is never EVER a good idea in a business conversation. I have never taken you less seriously than I did at the moment I read "I'm a capricorn too! Like, smiley face!" You are not a fourteen year old girl, you are the face of your company!

At first, when I got your email I was a little flattered because I thought you were a reader who wanted a little bit of help with a website. Then I googled you and found a few other people around the blogosphere you had also propositioned. Did you realize that when you filled in the blanks in your little email you said you particularly enjoyed posts on HIV, Hepatitis C, and depression and chronic pain? You also told assorted bloggers that you are an ares, gemini and capricorn.

All of your bullshit aside, you really want your reputable website listed on a blog about stripping? You want my readers to look up from articles about alcoholism and anal sex and notice your website? Do you really think my readers will look up from an article about threesomes and think, "oh yeah, this website is totally relevant to my interests at this moment." No.

Cheers,
Twisted

PS: I will post your link in exchange for some dick pics.

-END-

Crossing my fingers for some dick pics!!

Under-boob

2011-11-11T17:32:00.001-08:00

My under-boob is epic.
I wish shirts cut off under the nipple were appropriate work attire for the new job.

Damn I miss my old job.

Promoted

2011-11-10T18:34:00.000-08:00

Guess who got promoted today? THIS GIRL!
That's right, four months into the job. I told you guys I was taking over. What'd you think was gonna happen?

So hard to find good drug dealers these days

2011-10-28T19:32:00.000-07:00

I smoke pot.
Like, a lot of pot.
I'm kind of a stoner.
Except I'm brilliant and a productive member of society. I work hard at my 9 to 5 (really it's 8 to 7, but who's counting?), study hard for my business degree, and unwind with a nice blunt at the end of the night. Not a typical stoner, but a stoner none-the-less.

Background:
Model Boy was driving his father's truck as his mustang was in the shop. His friend, Wilfred, looks exactly like Elijah Wood. Wilfred is his stoner friend and drug dealer who left his wallet in the truck. Model Boy and I had to drive back to our home town to drop off the wallet.

Begin Scene:

"Are we just dropping the wallet off?" I asked Model Boy. Things had been tense with us all week, so Model Boy surprised me earlier in the evening with a bottle of wine, roses and a pumpkin so we could have a romantic evening in. After we dropped off the wallet and picked up more weed from Wilfred we planned to go home and carve a Jack-O-Lantern.

"Yeah," he answered, "he wants to smoke though if that's ok."

"I don't really want to," I replied. I'm not a huge fan of Wilfred, and I just wanted to get on with our romantic plans. Model Boy agreed and we pulled into Wilfred's neighborhood. I recognized it from a few years back. It looks like a nice neighborhood, but the houses are cheaply for rent. The perfect place for young, poor adults. The perfect place for a high crime rate and cops on the prowl.

"We normally smoke over there," Model Boy pointed out a park as we drove by.

"Sketchy," I replied.

We pulled up to Wilfred's house and Model Boy hopped out with the wallet. Wilfred came out. I expected Model Boy to hand over the wallet and be done with it, but to my surprise Wilfred hopped on top of the fence and walked along it to the roof of his house. He did this twice.

This is sketchy. I pondered what the fuck he was doing.

Wilfred hopped off of the fence, talked to Model Boy again, and climbed back onto the fence to grab something again.

Oh please let him not be doing a drug deal right now. It's late evening, in a ghetto neighborhood, in the front yard of a sketchy ass house. Oh no do not do this you idiots.

Model Boy headed back to the truck with a stoned Wilfred in tow. Wilfred whipped out a large baggie of weed, "I don't have my scale so we'll have to eyeball it."

I gave Model Boy a death stare as Wilfred dumped the baggie of weed onto the center console of Model Boy's father's truck and slowly inspected several nugs.

The sun dipped below the mountains in the distance. The headlights of the truck were blaring so brightly I could nearly hear them. I reached over and flipped them off, my eyes wide at the idiocy taking place. The light inside the cab of the truck was also on, making it obvious that Wilfred was struggling to measure drugs.

My heart beat loudly in my throat. Fuck this. Fuck this mess. This is sketchy as fuck. The worst neighborhood possible, the worst timing possible, this was the recipe for a perfect storm. I tried to form a game plan for if a cop pulled up. The truck smelled heavily of weed, Wilfred was obviously stoned; no I do not like this. I sat there, terrified, my arm ready to shoot up and flip off the light of the truck cab in case a cop rounded the corne-

FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK. Rounding the corner I made out the shape of a car. The street lights weren't on yet, but I could barely make out the shape of lights on its roof. A cop. A fucking cop.

*click.*

My hand shot up and flipped the lights off in the cab of the truck.

"Fuck you, fuck this. Cop. There's a motherfucking cop you idiots. Are you fucking kidding me? This is the sketchiest fucking ass drug deal of my life. Fucking get the weed of the fucking console," I shouted at Wilfred and Model Boy. Wilfred mumbled in a panic, asking what to do with the weed. "Swallow it, stick it up your ass, I don't give a shit. Are you fucking kidding me?"

The cop turned the corner in front of Wilfred's house, driving much to close to the curb. He looked like he was going to park, his tires nearly touching the sidewalk. He slowed down. Painfully slow. My mind raced. College, a good job, quitting stripping for Model Boy: it was all about to go out the window.

We held our breaths. The cop didn't stop. He hesitated as if he was about to park and turn on his lights, but he pulled back onto the road and turned out of the neighborhood.

There was a collective exhale of relief. I knew we weren't out of the clear. The cop could turn around at any time, expecting us to continue our drug deal, he could catch us red handed.

"Out," I said to Wilfred.

"What?"

"Out. Take the weed and get out. Out. OUT." I raised my voice, which I never do.

"What? Do you still want to buy the w-"

"OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS TRUCK YOU PRIVILEGED LITTLE WHITE BOY FUCK OF A DRUG DEALER!" I grabbed the weed from the center console, pressed it into his palm, reached back and opened the back door of the truck. "Out." I said, more quietly. He sat there, dumbfounded. "FUCKING OUT MOTHERFUCKER. I don't give a shit if I'm being a paranoid bitch of a girlfriend. I am not losing my job over some little fuck who doesn't know how to deal fucking drugs." I grabbed Wilfred, (who is a little more than half my size,) by his collar and arm and threw him out of the truck.

"Bu-" He started to say something.

"No. Fuck you. Drive, Model Boy," Model Boy, pale and shaken put the car in drive. "You can go back and get your fucking weed later but not today and not with fucking me. Drive the fucking truck, go back where the cop came from."

As we rounded the corner we noticed the cop pulling back into the neighborhood, lights on.

"Holy shit we almost got arrested," Model Boy sighed in relief after we exited the opposite side of the neighborhood, home free.

"Yeah, that's why you never trust a privileged white boy as a drug dealer. They have no idea what they're doing. Walking on top of the fence and getting weed out of it in front of his neighbors? Is he retarded? I bet he's never even been to jail."

"Not yet," Model Boy agreed.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you don't employ a privileged white guy with no life experience as your drug dealer. They make stupid mistakes and get you in trouble. Also, that's why you don't let a well-to-do Model Boy choose your drug dealers. I'll take my strippers and felons over Wilfred any day.

Turns out the cop did hang out in front of Wilfred's house for a while, but he gave up and left after twenty or so minutes.

(I don't know how coherent this post is. I'm fucking wasted out of my mind at the moment.)

Word from my Working Girls

2011-10-22T12:28:00.001-07:00

I miss my work. I really do. The girls were ridiculous, every night felt like a party. We planked together on the stripper poles, hid bottles of rum together, complained during the bad nights and rejoiced during the good. Some of these girls taught me everything I knew about stripping, and I mentored countless girls myself. Outside of work we had jell-o wrestling tournaments and smoked blunts floating down a river.

I was thinking about all of this yesterday, and realized stripping is sorority. I left my prissy white girl sorority for one that fit me perfectly. The sorority of stripping.

Man, I miss my sisters.

Yesterday, around midnight, I recieved a text from Marley (480).

480: Felt compelled 2 let you know i randomly had a dream about u the other night lmao & we all miss u muy mucho at work!:) hope ur doin good u crazy bitch!

602: I miss you guys so much! Hope you're being a crazy bitch and making the money over there!!

480: You taught us well:)

Awww!! One of my baby strippers! How sweet was that!?

Oh the irony.

2011-10-04T09:31:00.000-07:00

Ironically, quitting stripping and getting a legitimate job has left me without the time or money to go to college. Awesome.

See, it always bothered me when people would nag me to get my life on track. To some people, stripping looked like a bad life decision. To me, it looked like I could pay my tuition in cash, and work two days a week leaving me free the rest of the time to study. Hence the fucking 3.8 gpa, assholes. Yes, stripping is a little unconventional, but it's the best gig a college student could possibly get! No, I wasn't getting job experience or anything, but I had time and money! Not just ramen noodle money, but money that allowed me to buy new clothes, get my nails done, and have a nice apartment by myself all on top of paying for school and books.

Ugh, this is ridiculously frustrating. The pay cut from stripping to my current job is ridiculous, I'm making 3 g's less a month.

This morning I started researching student loans. I know it's going to suck, but maybe going into debt is the right decision for me right now. ...wait a second. Maybe digging myself deeply into a money hole in a bad economy with an even worse job market is a good idea for me right now? ...

Looks like Twisted might make a comeback for a while. Think of it: I can make enough for one to three credit hours in one night. I can pay for college in cash, and graduate debt free. I'd keep this new job, of course. Jobs are hard to come by and mine is a sweet deal, especially with the promotions to come once I graduate.

Also, I work over forty hours a week with this new job. Including driving, I'm away from home from 7am until 7pm. Then I make dinner, clean, and normally pass out by ten so I can do it all again. On the two or so nights a week I used to work as a stripper I only spent about three hours actually working. The other three to six hours I was normally sitting in the back room, studying. Outside of school my time was almost totally mine. Mine to study and do school work, and I even had time for a social life.

Quitting stripping didn't exactly get my shit together. It kinda fucked my shit up. I had a plan for all of this money. Boobs and a bachelors degree were a pretty sweet deal.

**Yes, my new job comes with tuition reimbursement. But in order to get that reimbursement I need to pay for and complete the classes first. So here we go.

Nanatown

2011-09-28T09:09:00.000-07:00

My mother parties harder than you, me or any other mortal on this earth. That woman both astonishes and horrifies me with how hard she can go. At the end of a party, when most people are passed out, vomiting, or dead, my mom is wandering around with a half full (optimism!) bottle of whiskey in one hand, a joint in the other, completely naked. Or at the end of any given weekday.

*Shudders*

When she gets to this point we call it Nanatown (as we call my mother Nana). Having been to Nanatown before in my life, let me warn you: abandon all hope ye who enter here.

A while ago Model Boy and I went to Nana's where she was already balls deep in a bottle of whiskey (nana juice.) She invited us to sit out by the fire pit with her, and before we could refuse had grabbed us by the hands and dragged us out there. Once there I was thankful that Nana sat in a chair instead of Model Boy's lap, because she has a tendency to do that with my boyfriends.

"Wanna smoke? I needa smoke." Model Boy was confused at first because Nana, as per usual, already had a cigarette hanging from her lips. Before he could pass me a sideways glance Nana pulled out her pipe.

"He doesn't have a screen, so you have to suck him very gently," she rasped, lighting up. Model Boy cast a sideways glance at me, struggling not to laugh.

"Model Boy's actually not been feeling well so we'll take a pass on that one." I assured her. "Oh does he have a fever? You should rub him down all over with rubbing alcohol. It's both soothing and erotic," she put a hand on Model Boy's arm, "but it can't go further than that because you're sick and shouldn't overexert yourself."

Nana began to rub Model Boy's arm.

"Um, Mom.. Roxie just exploded. We need to go clean up the kitchen before it stains the counters." My mom, always worrying about her countertops, took off to the kitchen without considering that Roxie, our family dog, had not exploded and was actually sitting across the yard.

"That was so weird," Model Boy said, astonished. "Ha, that wasn't bad at all for her. At least she kept her shirt on," I answered as Model Boy shuddered.

Walking through the house we noticed Nana had sloshed water all over the front of her white shirt, so we got the view anyway.

Planking

2011-07-24T07:29:00.001-07:00

Last night the girls of the Bush Company decided to give this whole "planking" meme. Personally, I think it's a pretty darn funny trend. I like being a part of a giant inside joke that involves being a silly.

So, after passing around a bottle of rum, we began our planking. But not normal planking. Stripper planking. Nearly naked women in stilettos planking everything in sight, even each other.

This is my favorite shot of the night. Planking, Twisted on top of Marley on top of the bar.

Yes, we planked during our stage routines too.

2011-07-18T13:12:00.000-07:00

I fell back on the pillow, exhausted from an especially long fuck fest. Between work and vacations Model Boy and I hadn't had a go at each other for well over a week. I wiped his especially large load off of my face and threw the towel aside.

Model Boy pulled me into his arms, my head on his chest. In the dark room we lapsed into a comfortable and contented silence. I let out a happy sigh, listening to his heart beat while my finger traced the shape of his jaw.

"You know today is the anniversary of the day I met you," Model Boy whispered into my hair, following his words with a kiss.

I was quiet, marveling at the year behind us, and the years in front of us. A week and a year ago I had given up on finding the right man for me, at least for a few years. Ten failed first dates, each worst than the last. "Fuck it," I had said, "I just need to find me a nice cock to play with." A year ago, Princess wandered into my club with her boyfriend and model boy in tow. They left Model Boy on my side of the club while they went to drink. I fell into his lap, not knowing who he was.

"Hi, I'm Twisted!" I had been planning on teasing him about his silly hair. "Oh, actually I think i'm waiting for you." He replied. I laughed, thinking it was a cheesy pick up line.

I didn't realize how true it really was. Yes, he was waiting for me that night, but we had been waiting for each other our whole lives. We've spent every day together since.

I kissed Model Boy on the chin, he tilted my head up to let his lips meet mine. The silence was easy, he understood how I felt. He'd saved me. Came in as my knight in shining armour. He showed me what I'm really worth, and what love is supposed to feel like.

I felt safe with his arms wrapped around me.

"I'm so glad you found me."

Protestors...ers... ors... RUM!

2011-06-26T03:17:00.000-07:00

Excuse me, but I am so ridiculously drunk right now that I doubt any of this makes sense. Tonight my drink of choice was rum, meaning I feel like a pirate.

Arrrrrr.

For our first order of business, Lil Jon wrote me a song. It's called Twisted, duh. It's awesome, especially if you imagine Twisted as a noun instead of a verb.

Second order of business: there were protesters in front of my club tonight. Actually, they were across the street on the edge of an unlit street. Apparently they wanted to be seen as little as possible. I feel this is the opposite idea for most protests, but to each his own I guess.

After splitting a bottle of rum with Marley, (which I just realized is an exact quote I heard from another girl at my work a year ago. "After Gia and I split a bottle of rum..." holy fuck i've become Claire. ...so I'm a veteran super stripper. Fuck yeah!) we heard rumor of the protestors, and decided ...

fuck. Protestor or protester? Oh interesting! According to my mac's dictionary they are the same thing.

... to wander across the parking lot to visit them. At first the owner of the club, Damien (bamf.), forbade our visit. After telling him I wanted to take pictures for my blog he relented and decided to go with us instead after I assured him I wouldn't start a fight. (I couldn't assure him I wouldn't be an asshole because I knew it was going to happen whether I liked it or not.)

The three of us trekked across the parking lot to the dark corner of picketers. I wore only a thin tube top bra, a studded belt, yoga pants and socks. In my drunken state I could not be persuaded to cross the cracked asphalt in eight inch heels.

For some reason I expected to be greeted with sounds and reactions of distaste from the protestors. Perhaps they reacted that way and I didn't notice. I was surprised that they were actually very lackadaisical. No practiced slogan chanting, no pointed looks, not even conversation. In fact, being among them was downright awkward. Not because I was one of the strippers they were protesting, but because they were just being downright socially awkward.

I read a sign, 'she could be your daughter,' and laughed aloud. "I'm right here!" I said in a state of inebriated joy. The protestors stood staring in a way that reminds me of my mother's goats: blank stares, standing around useless and strange. I hate my mothers goats. Unabashed by the strange goat people, I started commanding them to pose for pictures.

At first they stood, ever goat-like, in silence. "It's for my blog!" I slurred. I didn't specify that it was a relatively unknown blogspot diary I started for fun. The goat people reacted as though they were posing for people magazine, posing as instructed and staring purposefully into the camera. I gleefully wondered aloud to Marley whether or not Christians cared about grammar. The girl who I had designated as camera-man overheard this, and stared at me as if I was the embodiment of sin itself. Which I am, so she can suck it.

After woefully few pictures with the protestors, Damien insisted we head back inside. I'm sure this was because the poor protestors were growing increasingly uncomfortable as Marley and I tried to convince them to motor-boat us during some of the pictures. (You motor boating son-of-a-bitch.)

Reasons Not To Give Twisted Whiskey

2011-06-24T13:33:00.000-07:00

#29
While being held down by a very patient Model Boy to prevent me from reaching my make up purse and the vials of glitter within. "Let me go! I have to throw glitter everywhere so I can be like Ke$ha!!"

Drunk me loves me some Kesha.

Top and Bottom 5 places to cum

2011-06-24T11:31:00.000-07:00

Twisted's Top 5 Places for Cum
5. Lower back.
Not super sexy, but at least it's easy to clean up. Also, I love any opportunity to say "Superman that hoe!"
4. The face.
Effortlessly sexy, and licking up the remains can serve as inspiration for round two!
3. The boobies.
For the same reason as the face.
2. The pussy/ass region.
I don't think I'll ever meet a man who doesn't relish in the sight of his spunk dripping down over a pretty pink pussy.
1. The mouth!
Duh! Easy clean up, and a great visual! I like the taste, but for ladies who don't: learn to deep throat! If the cock is far enough down your throat you won't even taste the cum!

Twisted's Bottom 5 Places for Cum
5. On my freshly cleaned egyptian cotton. Or on my stylish matte finished walls.
Do you realize how hard it is to get cum stains off of matte walls?? Or I just washed those sheets!! You could have cum down my throat and you decided to do it on my pillowcases instead?
4. In my hair.
Don't. You. Dare.
3. The little hollow where my collar bones meet.
I don't particularly mind a cum shot that ends up there. I just tend to miss cleaning up that area for some reason, and I'm left with a puddle of cum right where my necklace dangles.
2. My belly button.
I don't know why, but I hate it! It's so difficult to get out of there.
1. My eyes.
Duh. This just burns! Don't believe me? Try it, but I warned you.

Runner up: Anywhere that ruins my hair or make up. If I am all ready for a big date, you best believe you're cumming on the boobies.

Twisted Tip #7

2011-06-24T11:28:00.000-07:00

(This one is mostly for the men.)

If your lady friend has just spent hours doing her hair and make up before a night out, and you want a little pre-date nookie, do it doggie style. That way your lady won't mess her hair up on the pillows.

The Beginning of the End

2011-06-23T15:06:00.000-07:00

“If they don’t hire me they’re fucking retarded,” I told Model Boy over the phone, having just walked back into my apartment after an interview across town. Call waiting bleeped into my ear, interrupting Model Boy’s reply. “Hold on,” I asked him, “someone’s calling me.”

In January, after a fatal shooting that left me reeling and Model Boy scared for my life, I promised I’d quit dancing. “I felt like the experiment was coming to a close anyway. Time to start a new chapter.” Model Boy was confused by this, but I rarely explain myself so he just accepted that I said I’d quit.

Nearly three years ago I set my first shaky stiletto on the stage. Stripping was an experiment to me. I had an overwhelming need to hit bottom, see what was there, and live in that grungy underworld of sex and drugs. In the following years I had transformed from a shy, meek good girl to a faux-hawk sporting, silicone and glitter encrusted goddess. In this change, I found myself. Sex and power ooze from my very being. I am Twisted, mother fucker, now worship me. Gone was the girl who wasn’t really there. Twisted breathed me back to life. Empowerment is too weak a word for what I’ve finally started to feel.

Three years later, I feel decades older. My knees hurt and swish with fluid. My toes have gone slightly crooked from nine hour dancing shifts in stilettos. My collar bone and spine seem permanently bruised from the pole and dance floor. The years I spent under the dim lights of the strip club seem to have passed in double time, cramming wisdom and experience into my skull while I held on for dear life. There isn’t a place in the world, except maybe war, where you will learn so much about the bare bones of human nature than a strip club. The most desperate people work there, but some of the best people I’ve ever met. I had joined the dark sisterhood of strippers, and my morbid curiosity was quenched. I had hit bottom and it was beautiful. Finally I was satisified.

“I felt like the experiment was coming to a close anyway…” I had said to Model boy. I promised I’d start job hunting at the end of the semester. The shooting had been my excuse to stop dancing, but it wasn’t the reason. I’m logical enough to know the odds of another shooting were fairly slim. Really, I was starting to feel the familiar itch that prompted me to start dancing. It was a yearning for a new adventure.

I struggled to answer the incoming call, as I’ve yet to grasp the concept of call waiting. Finally I figured it out, and after a brief conversation with the caller, I called Model Boy back.

“I GOT THE JOB!” I yelled into the receiver, jumping up and down. I shinnied up the stripper pole erected in the middle of my apartment and triumphantly hung upside down. “They cancelled all of the interviews they had lined up for Thursday, Friday AND Monday to hire me!!” Model Boy congratulated me, his enthusiasm reflecting my own. “That’s five thousand dollars a year for college money!!” I was nearly in tears, I could still afford to finish college.

“So this is it?” Model Boy asked. My stripping had been killing him slowly.

“Yeah, this is the beginning of the end, baby,” I smiled as I let myself drop to the bottom of the pole, stopping inches short of the ground. I somersaulted off of it. “Time to start the next chapter.”

No, this is not the end of the blog. I won’t be stopping stripping immediately as I’ve got some student loans to pay off. But soon, I will bid adieu to the club that had become my home. Maybe I’ll miss it and come back, or stop in for a weekend for some fun money. Maybe I’ll take up go-go dancing, or web cam sex shows. Maybe you’ll think “that’s got to be Twisted” while reading a news article about the rape of an entire bus of college basketball players. No matter what happens, do not worry, beloved readers. Twisted and I are here to stay, and I’ve got thousands of stories I haven’t yet posted and thousands of more stories to gain. I’m not gone, so stand by for some more lusty lunacy.

Reasons Not To Give Twisted Whiskey

2011-06-22T12:13:00.000-07:00

Reason #461:
During Saturday's drunken adventure I took a guy's glasses, jumped on a golf-cart, and commanded the driver to drive. He did not. I then returned the glasses, and said "I do not like you, homosexual," in a Borat voice. I remember none of this.

Reason #81
After a night of partying a wasted me decided to take a cab to my parent's house, over an hour (or $140) away. Once here I played loudly with my two dogs for around twenty minutes. Once finished, I took my pants off, and passed out on the couch in a fetal position wearing only a very skimpy blue and monkey patterned thong* for my very disappointed father to find on Father's Day.

*I call it monkey thong. I have two. One in pink, one in blue.

Quotes from Work

2011-06-18T04:20:00.000-07:00

Black Guy: Why you not all one color?
Twisted: Because of my tan lines?
Black Guy: Yeah, why you not all one color?
Twisted: Because I'm white?
Black Guy: You should be all one color.
Twisted: That's racist.

Twisted: Would you like a dance?
Russian Guy: (With a heavy Russian accent.) No, how much for outside?
Twisted: Outside? Like... you and me...
Russian Guy: Yes.
Twisted: Oh, no thank you. I'm still bitter about the cold war. Which we won.

Guy: I thought I could handle my liquor better?
Twisted: (While stealthily slinking backwards) Yeah?
Guy: Yeah I- *HURL*
(I barely dodged that one.)

Guy 2: How tall are you?
Twisted: 6'8"
Guy 2: Whoa that's crazy! (He totally believed me.)

Twisted: Would you like a dance?
Guy 3: How about for half price?
Twisted: Well... I could give you half of one of my $40 dances...
Guy 3: Alright!
(Dances are normally $20. The guy accepted the "deal.")

Twisted: Would you like a dance?
Guy 4: Uh, maybe a little later...
Twisted: But I might be dead then.
Guy 4: Oh! Ok!
(Then he got the dance...)

Twisted: Would you like a dance?
Guy 5: I don't speak english.
Twisted: Oh...uhm... (With exaggerated hand motions.) Would you like a dance?
Guy 5: Yes please!

Waitress: Somebody just crop dusted the fuck out of this room!
Twisted: Mwahahaha

White guy: Can I get a dance?
Twisted: No thank you. I'm really racist.
White Guy: (Obviously hurt.) Oh... ok...
Twisted: (Stopping him from walking away.) I was kidding!

Twisted: Would you like a dance?
Mexican Guy: No english.
Twisted: Oh... Quieres un baile? No tengo pantelones. Boobies! Me gusta tu cabesa.
Mexican Guy: Si! (Gets a dance.)

Twisted: (Upon noticing Nazi guy, does a Nazi salute.)
Nazi: (Hitting on me) How's it going?
Twisted: Are you a legit Nazi?
Nazi: Well, I guess depending on how you define nazi.
Twisted: You're particularly fond of Aryan looking people, and have a strong distaste for everything else...
Nazi: That's the nicest anyone's ever put it.
Twisted: Heil.

(Upon finishing a dance)
Veronica: (Walking by) Work harder bitch!
Customer: *Gives me a bewildered look*
Twisted: She's my pimp. *whispers* She hits me.
Veronica: (Hits me upside the head from behind the couch. I fall back dramatically.) DANCE!
Customer: *horrified, hurries away.*

The Rise and Fall of Gia

2011-06-13T11:30:00.000-07:00

The other half to Peaches' dream team, Gia's downfall was equally timely.

Gia was absolutely beautiful. An italian beauty with olive skin, a perky ass, and perfect handfuls of breasts with small nipples. Big lips, huge dark eyes, and long flowing black hair that she normally wore in a high ponytail. Though we don't look or act alike, we shared a regular who thought we were the same girl. He called us both Gia.

Gia was a fucking hustler. She strutted the club in a mesh dress and the highest shoes she could find, robbing men blind. She'd work from the moment she got to the club until closing time. With collagen plumped lips she'd coo into a man's ear, walk him to the couch, and sexily pout her way through dance after dance.

Gia, like Peaches, was a fan of the drug and alcohol scene. She, Claire and Peaches would crowd around Sweetie at the beginning of the night to buy pills and get fucked up before they started dancing. I always thought Gia had it together more, but I was wrong.

One night Gia and I were drinking together. "That's number 3!" I said, taking another shot. "Honey," Gia slurred, "I'm already on number 3 and number 6." I was confused, but turns out she meant Xanax number 3 and shot number 6. Her liver must be furious. That night she fell on the dressing room floor, and her head was so heavy that it just lay on the floor while she struggled to lift her body. It was comical, and I laughed while I picked her up.

Another night, after splitting a bottle of rum with Claire, Gia felt goofy and decided to put on a really great show on stage. Wearing tye dye full butted panties, a side pony tail, and flip flops, Gia went on stage and rocked out to Barbie Girl. She did jumping jacks, layed on the stage and waved her legs in the air, and jumped so that her boobs swung in circles. The patrons of the club sat dumbfounded and confused while the strippers screamed and laughed and threw money at Gia on stage.

Unfortunately, the lightheartedness ends there. I'm pretty sure Gia was evil to the core. I only saw glimpses of it, but I could just tell. In October of last year a dancer's deceased boyfriend's brother came into the club. When the dancer, Montana, saw him she ran into the back room in tears. (Montana was one of the sweetest ladies I'll ever meet.) I rushed to take care of her, and even paid all of her tip out so she could go home and feel better. When I left the room Gia slunk up to Montana, and whispered in her ear, "he probably killed himself because of you." Montana never came back to the club after that.

After Gia and Peaches' fight, Gia was fired. I guess that's the rules of our club: if you lose a fight, you're fired. If you win, you can stay. Gia left to work at another cabaret.

Later news came back that she had gotten a DUI. It was so severe that the officer even asked her, "how are you still conscious right now?" She was still conscious thanks to a coke binge earlier that night. She spent a few months in jail and on house arrest. Then went right back to work.

The other night at work Gia came up in conversation.

Paige: What happened to Gia?
Twisted: She's at Jaguar's.
(Jaguar's has a reputation for being cheap and dirty and awful.)
Paige: Ugh, why would she work there?
Twisted: I don't know. I heard she peed on the floor at Christy's and got fired.
Britney: She didn't pee on the floor. She peed on the stage.
Twisted and Paige: What??
Britney: Yeah, she was really fucked up on stage and couldn't hold it. So she just let it go. It took them like fifteen minutes to clean it all up. It covered the stage. The owner called all the other strip clubs in Phoenix to warn them, even here. The only place that would take her is Jaguars.

Oh... so that's what happened to Gia.

The Rise and Fall of Peaches

2011-06-13T10:45:00.000-07:00

Peaches started working at the Bush Company around the same time I did. We both had that sweet glow of innocence that would fade each night we spent twirling around the pole in the strobe lights. Together we'd both grow as strippers, into super strippers, and we'd each handle that power in our own way.

Peaches is downright adorable. If I came to my club as a patron, I would want her immediately. She's curvy, with a huge ass, and big gorgeous legs. Her breasts are small, with little tiny light pink nipples to match. Her hair was dyed a deep burgundy, and she rarely wore makeup. Peaches had a thing for looking like a baby doll, so she'd often wear a pink bow to match her lacy pink bra set.

In the beginning we both had that cute, new girl vibe. A little chubby, no extensions or fake nails, working the floor stone-cold sober. Everything changes though. You hand a girl hundreds of dollars in cash every night and it's hard not to change.

Peaches ascended the ranks of the dancers at my club, and descended into drugs at the same time. Waist length extensions transformed her cute little bob into bombshell locks. Pink and maroon eyeshadow, glitter and false eyelashes replaced her normally naked face. She started coming to work stoned, slinking the aisles for a dance.

Then she started with more drugs and alcohol. Drugs, in all honesty, do help you make more money. Uppers give you drive to work harder and be more personable. Downers and booze make you not care about the things you'll do, and makes asshole customers more tolerable.

Alcohol. Peaches and Gia, our club's dream team for a brief moment, would do a few shots to get buzzed during their shifts. However a few shots makes a tolerance build up pretty quickly when you're doing it every night. Soon enough they were splitting a bottle between them, and then a bottle themselves.

It's not surprising for a stripper to drink a pint of liquor a night. Roxxxie admitted to as much as a pint of vodka a night. I, ringing in at a grand 110 pounds, can easily put away a pint of whiskey without even slurring my words. Bad, I know, but at least we know when we have limits. The more responsible girls will take breaks from drinking. Or stop if it becomes a problem. But younger girls don't know to do that.

Xanax. Xanax intensifies alcohol's effects. Take a pill and a shot to dangerously relax you. After taking this combination girls wander the floor, cuddling with customers during dances, smiling placidly. Xanax and pain killers are popular at my club.

One night, in the dressing room, I pointed at a box full of pills

Twisted: What are those?
Peaches: DON'T FUCKING TOUCH MY DRUGS TWISTED!

Peaches downright growled at me. The dressing room went quiet. Girls, with jaws dropped, stared at Peaches as she took the box and hurried out the door to snort another pill.

Phoenix: What's happened to her?

We all noticed it. Peaches' eyes were sunken in. She was losing weight from the coke she had recently started doing. She was all about the money, and all about the drugs. The sweet girl who had started with me at the Bush was gone.

She often came into work still seeing "the colors." She'd sit in the dressing room, before snorting the night's cocktail of drugs, and look at the colors that were the psychedelic remnants of a night spent raving on acid.

One night Peaches and Gia left to their car for a smoke break. We assumed weed, but she came back angry and jumpy as she had been the other night. Crack.

"The downfall begins," I thought to myself.

One night after a particularly heavy Xanax and alcohol binge Peaches and Gia were both black out drunk. I even had to pick Gia up off of the floor because she "couldn't find her legs." That night ended in a fist fight between the two, in the back room of our club. Gia had grabbed Peaches by the throat, but surprisingly Peaches was a great fighter and took her out easily. Gia was fired, and cleaned out her locker while trying to hide her black eye under her bangs.

Peaches, now the sole member of her own dream team, made so much money in her drug fueled state. Coke, crack, xanax, perks, and booze were constant companions, aiding her in slinking sexily across the club. In her baby doll outfit she'd straddle a man's lap and whisper in his ear. During lap dances she'd talk dirty and make all the right moves. Peaches pulled in thousands a week, and probably didn't remember earning a cent of it.

Conversations with Peaches went from intellectual and charming, to slow and superficial. I heard her bragging about trying heroin and meth, but she didn't got addicted that I know of.

Then, all of a sudden, she wasn't there anymore. Peaches stopped showing up for work. It took a few days for the story to reach the girls at my club. Peaches had tried to rob her neighbor over drugs, at knife point. She was looking at at least a decade in prison.

And thus, was the rise and fall of Peaches.

Gone too soon.

2011-06-09T15:40:00.000-07:00

It started as an ordinary day. I woke up around eight, stretched my sore legs and hopped out of bed a little too fast. I heard a crunch.

"No..." I looked down

"No... No no no..." I scooped up my vibrator from the floor. The tip hung limp, plastic smashed, attached only by a wire.

I dropped to my knees "NOOOO!!!!!"

Old blue was dead.

He was such a good, loyal companion to me. So I'd like to say a few words before laying him to rest.

The Wizard's Eulogy

I remember the day I got you. I was only eighteen, and a group of my sexy lifeguard friends and I decided to go to Castle Boutique. I had recently broken up with The Ex, and Teazy's boyfriend had just been deployed for six months. We were both in need of some good good lovin'. We giggled through the store at the giant dongs and sex swings. We ogled porno tapes. Princess told us that she already had a vibrator, a purple one with rhinestones. Boobs, already owning an arsenal of toys herself, decided to buy a pair of assless fishnet tights. Teazy and I excitedly hurried to the vibrators.

I saw you at once, but viewed the rest of the selection. A naughty part of me considered a porn-star designed rabbit vibrator with rotating pearls and thrusting action, but I resisted for the sake of a tight snatch. Finally I came back to you, shining in the case. You were blue and glittery, with a spoon like tip that was designed to hug tightly to a clitoris. At the counter the clerk loaded you with batteries to make sure you worked, and you did. You revved to life, a vibration I felt in my very soul.

At home I struggled to get to know you, adjusting to the power of two triple A batteries. Once I knew you though, we were an inseparable pair. With your magic wand good looks, I nicknamed you The Wizard, and we made magic.

If only I had put you on the table instead of letting you roll off the bed last night. If only I had stepped more lightly, but I didn't. If only I had said good bye. Alas, if if's and but's were candy and nuts, then every day would be unte donk-fest. Instead of dwelling on my "if's" I will comfort myself in your memory. Fondly I will remember the masturbation marathons. The packs of batteries we went through. The distaste my boyfriend had for our relationship. The times when, in desperation, we stole the batteries from my scientific calculator so we could have a little more fun. Yes, old blue, I will remember you fondly.

You have touched me in so many ways, and the time we spent together was orgasmic.
Good bye, old friend.

Twisted's Top 10: Sexiest Men

2011-06-09T11:26:00.000-07:00

Also known as my top ten reasons to become a rapist.
Ladies and Gentlemen, let's start with number 10!

10. Vladimir Putin

What a bamf. I hear he wrestles tigers in his spare time.

9. Michael Psilakis

Mmm yummy.

8. Gerard Butler

I just know he's packing heat. I know it.

7. Kratos

I don't give a FUCK if he's not real! Fun fact: I was Kratos for Halloween last year.

6. Jim Halpert

No, I don't mean John Krasinski.

5. David Draiman

So what if he's 5'6"? Right?

4. Robert Irvine

Because I have a thing for men in the kitchen, and he was sport enough to tweet me a shirtless pic.

3. Mr. Darsey

Oh I'll bewitch you body and soul... with my tongue...

2. Jason Statham

Oh hey there, Mr. Sex on a stick!

1. Tyler Durden

Mmmm, inner demons...

Runners Up: Obama, Jesus, Alton Brown, Mike Rowe, The Cash Cab Guy

Pleasure Party!

2011-06-06T11:55:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I received a facebook invite from my wife to attend a pleasure party.

I clicked accept, then shot her an email.
Twisted: "Are you sure you're prepared for this?"
Wife: "I'm bracing myself."
Twisted: "Lets get matching anal beads!"

I arrived at Wifey's a little late, knowing she's always late so I was actually early. It was a small party, with a few of our closer family friends:

Chez: My little brother's first girlfriend who I had once seduced at a party. I blame the sibling rivalry. She recently got her clit pierced based on my suggestion. So proud!
Sister-In-Law: My wife's older sister. She is currently about-to-burst pregnant.
Morgan: A neighbor girl who wife and I used to ride horses with.
Kim: The pleasure party sales lady. She's probably around fifty five, platinum blonde and orange hair, and hot pink acrylic nails that double the length of her fingers. Not exactly sex on a stick, but looks can be deceiving, right?

I immediately went to the kitchen to make some drinks for Wife, Chez and I. Chez, being younger than us, is still getting used to alcohol.

Chez: "What does rum make you feel like?"
Twisted: "A pirate. "

Kim ushered us into the living room to begin the pleasure party.

Twisted "I'm really excited for this. It's my first time!" I winked at Kim. I plopped down, took a swig of my drink, "bring on the anal beads!"

"First," Kim began, "We're going to do a quiz."

The Quiz and my answers:
A famous male figure: Obama
A destination: The beach
A part of a male body: Cock.
A part of your body: Titties.
A phrase you're known for saying: OH DADDY!

We read over our quiz answers in a formatted story, with me going last. "Obama and I go on vacation to the beach. He then put his cock on my titties, and he yelled OH DADDY!"

Twisted: "I'm Obama's daddy."

Next, Kim passed around some shaving gel called "Coochie." She told us that it has many uses, and a lot of girls husbands use it on their faces to shave.
Wife: "I have this!"
Twisted: "Oh, let me smell your coochie!"
(I smell her coochie.)

Twisted: "Wait, men use this on their faces?"
Kim: "Yes it makes their skin smell good."
Twisted: "I don't want my man's face smelling like coochie. Especially some other bitch's coochie" (I shoot Wife a meaningful look.)

Kim, looking slightly perturbed, moves on. She pulled out a little tin of "tingling body balm." She had penis pencil toppers to use as applicators, and passed out one to each of us, the tip covered in the balm. She explained the balm caused a tingly warm sensation and could be applied on the lips or nipples if you felt adventurous.

Twisted: "Oh does it have cinnamon oil in it?" I knew that cinnamon oil is normally what causes the tingle in lip glosses.
Wife: "You put cinnamon oil on your nipples?"
Twisted: "What else are you supposed to do with it?"
Kim: "Go ahead and try it"

I immediately put the tiny cock applicator down my shirt to put some on my nipples.

Kim: "Oh you're just going for it!"
Twisted: "Oops my bad, I probably showed you my nipple."
Kim: *Laughs* "Oh don't worry about it"
Twisted: "Did you like it?"
Kim: "Like...it? Oh no I didn't see it!"
Twisted: "Do you want to?"
Wife: "Put your boobs away!"
Twisted: (While rubbing the cock head all over my lips because it felt good, and to get the remaining gloss off of it,) "My nipples feel like fire."

Kim decided it was time to move on, and whipped out her pheromone perfumes.

Kim: "Now we're all going to put it on now, and in a three minutes it's going to change depending on your body's pheromones."
Twisted: "You watch mine end up smelling like slut."
Wife: "What does slut smell like?"
Twisted: "Probably vaseline and asshole."

*Three Minutes Later*
Kim: "Alright ladies, go ahead and smell your wrists"
Wife: "Mine smells fruity"
Twisted: "I was right, mine smells like used condoms."

Mine really did end up smelling like latex. Awesome.

The next presentation was all about men.

Kim: "What do you think a man's number one fear in the bedroom is?"
Twisted: "Surprise fisting!"
Kim: "Well, no."
Twisted: "I think you're wrong with that one, but go on."
Kim: "Men are afraid of not being big enough."
Twisted: "Again, I beg to differ. Wife's baby daddy is black, Morgan's is an italian stallion. We all grew up around horses, so we don't settle for anything less."

The girls in the room nodded in agreement. Kim, again, moved on. This time she had a massage mitten and began to talk us through a sensual massage for our men. She explained the steps of the massage, going through the motions.

Kim: (beginning to gyrate) "at this point he should start moving like this"
Twisted: "Drop it drop it low girl!"
Kim: (ignoring me) "and moaning like this 'blergh' "

Wife looked at me laughing when she made her moan noise.
Wife: "That's when you're doing it wrong!" She whispered

Kim: "Now when you start getting down to his lower back, he might be getting kind of nervous that you might go lower..."
Twisted: "Fuck, my man loves that shit!"
Wife: "Really? Mine too!"

The room broke into agreeing chatting while Kim again lost control of the room.

Kim: "Just be careful during the massage, not to touch his sides."
Twisted: "Why?"
Kim: "Because some men might have a knee jerk reaction and might hit you."
Twisted: "I'm not sure a knee jerk reaction works like that there. Maybe he just likes to keep his pimp hand strong."
Kim: "...at this point, you can whisper to him 'roll over baby' "

Wifey and I cracked up. Maybe it was our maturity level, maybe it was the lady standing in front of us acting out both a man and a woman in bed at the same time.

Morgan: "My man's really hairy. Like REALLY hairy,"
Twisted: "Like a gorilla!"
Morgan: "Yes, like a gorilla! Will that glove still work for him?"
Kim: "Of course, if you use lube, which is our next topic of discussion!"
Twisted: "Fuck yeah! I need a really good lube. Like, hours of rough anal sex without stopping good."
Kim: "Ok... well this one we have here is a great bet."
Twisted: "Put it on me so I can rub myself and see how long it lasts!"

Kim stared at me in shock for a second.
Twisted: "I meant on my arm!"

While I rubbed my lube-y arm we refreshed our drinks, and dug a huge tray of bean dip out of the fridge. Returning to the living room, Kim announced a new product.

Kim: "Now we have a lotion-"
Twisted: "Is it lube??"
Kim: "It can be lube. Now everybody put out your arms"
Twisted: "Don't get it on my bean dip hand." After a squirt of the lotion landed on my arm I asked, "How do we apply this? Like lube?"
Kim: "Yes, I guess like lube."

Wife and I both struggled to jack off our arms to rub in the lotion.

Twisted: "It smells like walgreens and cheap whores."
Wife: "What do cheap whores smell like?"
Twisted: "Walgreens. I guess that was redundant."

Kim pulled out a lavender dildo.
Twisted: "FELATIO DEMONSTRATION!"
Kim: "No, but while we're on the topic I have some tips. Make sure you are enthusiastic. The head of the penis is the most sensitive part of the penis."
Twisted: (in awe) "ohhh"
Kim: "Yes, see you're learning something!"
Twisted: "I am!"

Wife and I left to the kitchen. We came back in the midst of some blow job small talk.

Kim: "I always say as long as it's below the shoulders then it's ok."
Twisted: "Below the shoulders? That's so messy!"
Kim: "Well what else would you do with it?"
Twisted: "Swallow it, or face shots. Every time."
Kim: "Oh I make him pay for that."
Twisted: "Like what, thirty bucks?"
Kim: "I didn't mean like that!"
Twisted: "Well what do you charge?"
Kim: "Like jewelry or gifts"
Twisted: "I don't know if I have any cash."
Kim: "Are you propositioning me?"
Twisted: "Did I totally misinterpret your signals? My bad!"

I was disappointed to find Kim's pleasure party wares didn't include nice anal beads or porn.
Next time I go to a pleasure party, I'm going to make sure it's hosted by a porn star or a fellow nymph.

Twisted's Summer Camp

2011-05-31T10:35:00.000-07:00

This is the first year since I was fifteen that I haven't had a summer job.
Actually, it's the first year of my life where I have a summer to myself.

After last year's grueling summer of life-guarding, teaching water aerobics and coaching that damn near killed me, I tearfully put in my two weeks notice with my boss. I had been working 40 hours a week plus stripping for another 20 so I'd be able to afford my boob job. I've affectionately named that summer the "Summer from Hell," and it damn near killed me. I'm not kidding. I was up at 6 am every day, and most of those days I was running on two hours of sleep. My weight plummeted, my social life passed away, and if I wasn't working I was at home either crying from the exhaustion and insomnia, or passed the fuck out.

Boobs were worth it, but I'm never doing that again.

Now I'm three weeks into the most relaxing summer of my life! My dancing days are coming to a close, so I've been applying to real people jobs, but that doesn't take up too much time. Here's a schedule for Twisted's Summer Camp:

9-11: Wake up, eat breakfast, play on internet, touch self
11-12:30: Gym
1-2: Lunch Time
2-3: Pool time! Read Laura Ingalls books and tan
3-4: Shower, masturbate
4-5: Bake something. Probably blueberry muffins today.
5-6: Arts and crafts time! Play with hot glue gun and paints until thoroughly discouraged. Masturbate.
6: Model Boy gets home!
6:30: Make amazing dinner. Looks like nachos tonight.
7:30-8: Mess around with Model Boy's junk and be a general tease.
8: SEXY TIME!!!!!
Whenever sexy time is done: Watch office, cuddle, eat more nachos, perhaps a few more orgasms.
Sleep.

I'm loving this summer so much.

BONUS: I've been experimenting with baking with protein, and this is one of my very successful outcomes!
Twisted's Super Amazing Protein Muffins:

1 Box Fiber-One blueberry muffins, and all corresponding ingredients
*You can use any type of boxed muffins for this. I'm just a fan of a little extra healthiness.
1 Pint of berries.
*I found these neat little fresh fruit cups packed in water. I'm a huge fan of the blueberry and blackberry ones. I use two in these muffins.
2 Servings Vanilla Protein Powder
*Model Boy and I use vanilla ice cream flavored. So good!
1 additional tablespoon of oil if necessary.

Mix muffins as directed on box. Add berries (drained if necessary), additional oil, and protein powder. Stir this in gently so you don't burst the berries and end up with purple muffins. Don't overmix or the muffins will be tough! Fill lined cupcake pans almost all the way to the top. This way you'll get giant muffins with big fluffy muffin tops.

Yay domestic strippers!

The Gemini

2011-05-26T15:36:00.000-07:00

Pregnant Strippers

2011-05-23T11:42:00.000-07:00

"Going on stage after the pregnant girl always gives me a confidence boost" -Twisted

The bathrooms at my club are filthy. Burnt orange paint peels off the walls and onto the concrete floor in sheets. The remaining paint is scarred with keyed in phrases like "Fuck skanks" and "Jinx was hur." The uneven floor holds puddles of stagnant water from the constantly overflowing toilets. Menstrual blood dots the floor. For a while girls complained that we wanted a nicer bathroom, but between customers and girls who don't care, we can't have nice things.

I skirted around the puddle on the bathroom floor in my stilettos, heading for the sink. My hands were coated with glittery bronzer which stained the water a muddy brown when it rinsed off of my hands.

Only one stall in the bathroom locks, and unsurprisingly it was occupied. Under the door I noticed 3 pairs of stilettos. Cherries on black silk, lucite tied on with an old bikini string, and black strappy ones with gnarled toes hanging over the front. Cherry, Sugar and Honey; proving further that strippers have a sweet tooth. I heard giggling and then the quick sniffing sounds that accompany a line of cocaine.

I left the bathroom to the bar on the nude side to wait for my stage. As I sipped my sugar-free red bull the DJ announced "And now another debut diva, the ravishing Honey! ... Twisted, stand by."

Honey took the stage. I instantly felt better about my night. "Going after the pregnant girl always gives me a confidence boost," I tweeted, which led to a horrified outcry among my female readers.

Oh no ladies, I'm not being a heartless bitch. Prego's themselves can't be more beautiful. They're rocking a big belly, a gorgeous glow, and are creating life. That cannot be outsexied. However, I am not apologizing for my remarks about the pregnant stripper, and this is why:

Honey stumbled to the pole, wiping her nose over and over, paranoid some coke still clung to it. Her 18 year old baby face had been wasted by the piles of coke she had taken to doing when she started dancing. Her stomach was distended with the fetus she didn't plan to keep. At five months the baby is very nearly viable, but something tells me that Honey wasn't planning on keeping it.

When the strobe light flashed you could see angry red lines crossing over her shoulders and arms, from where the drugs made her scratch herself. In real light you could see even more of her fingernail inflicted welts. The base of her baby bump was covered in scabs, which made the abuse she was inflicting on her baby even more stomach turning. Her eyebrows were nearly bald from her pulling out the hairs when high, but she drew them back on with black eyeliner.

At five months Honey's baby bump is anything but inconspicuous. It's obvious it's a baby. Some girls who work into pregnancy take to wearing corsets or dresses to cover it up, but some girls just don't care.

Honey twirled dazedly around the pole. Her floor routine had changed to accommodate her growing stomach. Rolling on a tile floor on top of a baby isn't comfortable, which her movements made obvious.

Most of the time, when a stripper gets pregnant she'll continue working for a few months. Work her ass off every day of her early pregnancy and save religiously so they can take time off when their belly is too big to work, and for some time with their new baby. Some of the time girls work late into pregnancy. I think Trixie stuck around until she was 7 months, brazenly wearing a belly baring bikini, chain smoking cigarettes on breaks. I'm sure she kept her baby though. Abortions are common place in this world. Drugs and alcohol do not a healthy baby make, so girls will just continue to work and abuse substances until the baby is gone, abortion or no. Late term abortions take days to complete, and some girls work even when their cervix is being dilated to rip the fetus out, or after when they're still bleeding out the remnants.

Stella let me feel her baby girl kicking in the womb. She was twenty-two weeks along. That week she had the baby removed, despite that it would have been viable because putting her up for adoption would have been "too sad." I felt the baby kick while I listened to Stella haggling over drugs to use during the abortion. She pondered whether she should snort the pills before the appointment, or in the bathroom at the office. I printed off adoption information for her. All of the girls urged her to reconsider. I'm pro-choice, but at twenty-two weeks aborting a pregnancy is borderline murderous. Even with all of our offered help, Stella wouldn't change her mind. My hand tingled where I had just felt her baby's foot, cold butterflies fluttered in my lower stomach.

Honey's stage came to a close. I passed her on the stairs to the stage, noting a little blood in her nostril. A body ruined by drugs, a fetus discarded without thought, and a girl so broken that she likes it.

I took the stage after Honey. I noticed relief flooding the faces of the men surrounding the stage. Not because I was pretty, but because they didn't have to watch that sad, lost girl gyrating in front of them for another six minutes.

I felt a sick confidence boost, a tarnished silver lining.

It's summer!

2011-05-20T11:45:00.000-07:00

Summer! Meaning I've been laying out in the pool devouring books and enjoying a blessed break from school. Everyone, clap for Twisted, because I have my Associate's Degree now. Woo! Two more years to go!

What are my summer plans besides tanning and sleeping? I'm on the job hunt. Between the shooting at my club months ago and Model Boy, I've been looking for something besides stripping to get me through. Yes, yes I know. I owe you an entire post on my decision to quit stripping. I'm working on it! Until then, don't worry. Even if I'm not stripping I could fill volumes of my stories. There will still be sexy scandalous blogs, don't you worry.

Now. To reward your patience. A nudie.

I thought I'd save the nips for another time. Maybe that'll be my 1,000,000 views award.
Enjoy ;)

Twisted Tip #6

2011-05-20T11:43:00.002-07:00

Out of lube? Give your man some deep-throated, gag inducing head. Really get in there. The resulting sticky saliva beats astroglide 9 times out of 10!

(That other 1 time out of 10 is anal.)

Twisted Tip #5

2011-05-20T11:43:00.001-07:00

Circumcision should never be done alone, under any circumstances.

Poker face

2011-04-17T20:26:00.000-07:00

Stripping is such a game. Sales is a game period, but when it comes to selling an unnecessary service to a person at an exceptionally high price, now that's a real game.

Ante in.
That's the approach.
Feel out your opponent, how many chips in his pot.

He doesn't speak english.
He smells.
He's rude, or without money (same thing in my industry.)
He looks like a serial killer.
Fold.

If I haven't folded yet then I'll continue the game.

Flirt a little,
raise the pot.

Sparkle a little, feign interest.
Raise a little more.

He shows interest back,
I check my cards.

I've already got a perfect pair.
(Couldn't resist that.)

Rub a hand over his chest, whisper in his ear.
Smoldering eye contact, a flashing smile.
Laugh at his jokes.
There's my ace.

He responds positively,
likes my look.
My hand's looking good.

Looks like I've got him. Stakes are getting higher. Time to put it all out there, end the game and show him my cards.

Twisted: Would you like a dance?
Opponent: Oh, um, not right now.

Well fuck. You never know with poker.

Twisted Tip #4

2011-04-13T13:37:00.001-07:00

Never. EVER. Under any circumstances should you fry bacon topless to be sexy. This does not work as well as doing dishes topless.

Your nipples will thank me.

You wouldn't recognize me.

2011-04-13T13:05:00.000-07:00

There's always the guys at the strip club who ask what would happen if they ran into me on the street.

Twisted: "You wouldn't recognize me."

I trade in the glitz and glamour for real life. I go home, wipe the glitter and smudged shadow from my eyes. Peel off fake lashes. Scrub the sparkling bronzer off of my skin. I trade waist length extensions, teased into mind-boggling volume, for a sensible pony-tail.

My black leather bikini, fishnets and leg warmers are shed in leu of skinny jeans or sweat pants. The rhinestone studded, hot pink push up bra I sometimes wear is swapped out for a soft tank top.

The shoes. I've read on blogs that you can always tell if a girl is a stripper by the shoes she wears. I don't know who wrote that, but in my case they're dead wrong. Black vans take the place of my towering 8-inch patent leather stiletto boots.

No, you wouldn't recognize me if we ran into each other on the streets. You probably wouldn't even look twice. The plain, shy looking girl with a pony tail just blends into the background.

Until I smile. Wicked lips curve around white teeth, followed by a raised arching eyebrow. Then the glamour comes back. The vixen gets buried just under the surface until I let her come out.

Tease

2011-04-11T18:28:00.000-07:00

I recently did a photo-shoot for my club's seamstress. I thought I'd share the results with you.

Boob Job 7: Aftermath

2011-04-11T13:11:00.000-07:00

It's been nine months, and I'm in love with the new twins. They're soft, squishy and bouncy, just like boobs should be. When I bounce, they bounce. If I shimmy, they shake.

My boob job took me from a padded 32A to a full 32D, and a gorgeous little hour glass 33-24-33. I'm back to working out, having crazy sex, and doing pole tricks no problem.

Complaints:
-I'm not supposed to do push ups or pull ups anymore. Or any pec-working exercise. I can, but if I develop those muscles too much then they could push the implants apart. However, I'd rather have perfect boobs than do push ups.
-They feel a little weird when I lay on my stomach or if pressure is put on my chest. It pushes them outward, and it just feels weird. Any pressure isn't going to move them permanently though. Once I move or the pressure is gone then they're back to their perfection.

Those are my only complaints. If I had to do the surgery again, I would. I'd do it ten times if I had to. I love these puppies!

For the first couple of months I did lose sensation in my breasts, and it slowly but surely came back. I still have a numb spot near my incision, but I don't really need sensation in that area of my armpit. I'll still be able to breast feed someday.

I hear a lot of men saying they prefer real breasts to implants, but I guarantee you'll never find a pair of real boobs as perfect as these. And if you did, there's a very narrow window during which those breasts will be perfect. These babies are gonna be perfect for a longgg time now. These boobies switched Model Boy from an ass man to a breast man, and i've got a pretty fabulous ass competing with these things.

Yes, I'd do boobies again in a heart beat. I fucking love them!
(If you have any questions about them, feel free to leave them in the comment bar.)

Boob Job Part 6: Healing

2011-04-11T12:54:00.000-07:00

The next morning I went home to my apartment. I set up my bed with pillows on either side of me, under my arms, so I couldn't roll over, and pretty much stayed there for the next three days.

My pain wasn't bad. I was given muscle relaxers and pain killers, and took them on the recommended schedule 3 and 5 days, respectively. The pain after that was just a dull soreness, nothing sharp or terrible. The only time it did hurt was when I tried to move my arms further than my incision and stretched muscles would allow, so I avoided that.

A week after my surgery I looked in the mirror and realized I looked fat! I was horrified! Yes, I gained 5 pounds before the surgery, but 5 pounds isn't that much weight! I stood with a profile view. My stomach stood out further than my breasts. Was this what happens when you have taco bell for the first time in months?? After some frantic googling I learned that after surgery the swelling doesn't just disappear, it migrates downwards until it's expelled. The huge swelling of my boobs had migrated to my belly, making me look like a prego. Luckily this too went away after another week.

Two weeks after my surgery I was back to some gentle fooling around with Model Boy. Obviously I wasn't bouncing around on top of him, but I was still able to have fun. I got my stitches out and was able to lift my arms almost 3/4 of the way. The incision was so small I couldn't believe it! Just over an inch long, and already nearly invisible.

My implants were starting to drop to a more natural position, partially thanks to that damned strap. I was required to wear that elastic strap around the top of my breasts for two weeks, and I hated it. It was tight, itchy, made it hard to breathe, and it rubbed me raw. After those two weeks I wore it at night for the rest of the month. When I was finally able to stop wearing it I considered burning it.

Before surgery I typically slept with my hands behind my head. After my first two weeks of healing I would wake up with my arms up, and hands behind my head like normal. It was a little uncomfortable, but I was pleased my body was doing rehab in my sleep.

A month later I was back at the gym and able to do strenuous, but I wouldn't risk working out my arms until it had been a few months. I couldn't really lift things because my pecs were stretched in front of the implants and were still healing.

About two months after surgery my implants had dropped. They'll continue to drop a little bit more, but right now I'm sporting the "I-can't-tell-if-those-are-fake-or-real" look.

About four months later the implants started to get soft. I can't point out specifically when it started happening, but now they're soft, jiggly, and bounce when I run. Whoever thought implants were hard and bolted on were wrong. They're slightly firmer than real breasts, but other than that you wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

Boob Job Part 5: The first day

2011-04-11T12:37:00.001-07:00

It felt like I had hardly shut my eyes before I woke up in the recovery room of the surgicenter. I was out of it, exhausted. I wanted to fall back asleep, but I was like a kid on Christmas. I wanted to play with my new toys.

My mom said I woke up, put my hands on my boobs, and fell back asleep grinning.

When we finally got home I had my old room set up with a big la-z-boy recliner. After the breast augmentation surgery it's more comfortable to sleep on an incline, and the chair kept me from turning which would be very uncomfortable. (My doctor assured me it would be okay if I did roll over in my sleep, but to try to avoid it.)

I sipped a milkshake and slept for a few more hours.

I woke up that evening and had to pee. This would be my first time standing with these giant things on my chest. The one problem with my armpit-incision and implants under the muscle is that my entire upper body was unavailable. I couldn't use any of my arm or chest muscles. Getting up was a trial. Also, my mom's an asshole and decided not to help me after surgery so I was on my own.

I put my legs in the air in a pike position and slammed them down on the footrest of the recliner to bring it down. So far so good. I did it again and flung myself out of the chair, onto my feet.

Finally on my feet, dizzy from the pain killers, and suddenly top heavy, I almost fell over forward. Those tits felt like they weighed fifty pounds!! Luckily I caught myself on the wall with my forehead, as my arms were uselessly folded over my new boobs.

I stumbled out of the room to the bathroom, getting used to my newly heavy torso. I peed, then stood in front of the mirror to unveil my new babies.

I took off my baggy button up shirt with a good deal of difficulty. Underneath was my sports bra that hooked in the front, and an elastic strap over the top of my boobies, pushing them down to encourage them to drop.

I unsnapped the sports bra and pulled it open to unveil my first glimpse of boobs.

They were rock hard, and so swollen that my skin was shiny. My nipples were puffy from the swelling. They were so high up that they were just inches from my collar bone. Despite all of that, they were beautiful. I had boobs, and I was stoked. I cupped my hands over them, not able to fit one in my hand. I smiled.

Boob Job Part 4: Surgery

2011-04-11T12:27:00.000-07:00

I had two more consults with Dr. Shaw before my surgery. We took pictures for my before and afters, did more measurements, and they told me what to expect.

In the weeks before surgery I went off of all of my medications, weed and alcohol. I started a vitamin regimen and started rubbing cocoa butter on my breasts a couple times a day to help avoid stretch marks. My doctor said nothing's really proven to help avoid stretch marks, but it doesn't hurt to try. I gained five pounds (on purpose) to make the surgery safer and healing easier. I wasn't allowed aspirin within a week of the surgery.

The night before surgery I wasn't allowed to eat past midnight. I felt like a gremlin.

That morning my mother drove me to the surgicenter. I was hooked up to all sorts of IV's and put in a dressing gown. Dr. Shaw came in with a purple marker. He pushed my breasts up and around and marked where the cleavage would be. I remember him pushing them up and marking saying "cleavage, cleavage." It was so exciting I couldn't stop smiling. After he marked me up I looked in the mirror at my sad little breasts, lined up with purple marker where they would soon be filled with silicone.

The nurse asked me if I was ready.

"Fuck yeah I am! Let's do this!"

She pumped a syringe full of something into my IV. I was out.

Boob Job Part 3: Consults

2011-03-22T00:37:00.000-07:00

I believe I saw Dr. Shaw 3 times before my surgery. The first time, our first meeting, he briefed me on his techniques and answered my questions.

His favored approach for implants was partially under the muscle with an incision through the armpit. After all of my research I knew this was already what I wanted, so I was pleased he was so well practiced at it.

I prepared to argue my case for silicone implants, as I was only 20 when I got the implants and the FDA rules silicone out for people under 22. I'll explain why later in "Breast Implants 101", trust me, it's a stupid law.

Jess: Do you plan on using silicone or saline?
Shaw: Silicone. Saline's a waste of our time.
Jess: *Laughs* I had prepared an argument for why you should give me silicone. That was easier than I expected!

I had prepared a two page argument for why I should be allowed silicone. Didn't need it, but better prepared than not.

Dr. Shaw had me take off my top and did measurements on my chest. (I say chest because there was no breast to speak of.) He measured from collar bone to nipple, nipple to nipple, and a few others I don't remember. He pushed my skin to see how it would stretch and where I would end up with cleavage.

After I was measured we discussed sizes and profiles of implants. At my first vague description of what I wanted, (big...but not too big. But not too small...) he pulled a pair of high profile 325cc's out of a box for me to try on in a sports bra. I tried on a couple of other sizes, but I always gravitated back to the initial 325cc's.

When I left the office I didn't want to give back the implants! So I set a date to get them put in permanently.

Boob Job Part 2: The Surgeon

2011-03-22T00:20:00.000-07:00

As I said earlier, my big sister also has a boob job. She went through Dr. Shaw in Scottsdale, AZ. I loved her results, but I did my research. I saw a grand total of ten doctors before finding my man.

The first didn't know cohesive implants were legal in the United States yet. He told me he wouldn't put silicone implants on a person who isn't 22 and didn't think any reputable surgeon would. He then suggested I get 500cc saline implants. I thanked him, and went on my way.

Another doctor, who looked like a brunette Brad Pitt, told me he would make a nipple incision and probably do a nipple reduction while he was in there. I wouldn't be likely to be able to breast feed after that. I lost a $150 consult fee to him, which I wasn't happy about.

One doctor was my dream man. University of Arizona, had a cranio-facial reconstructive surgery internship, when to a great med school. Everything I wanted if I was to be a doctor, he had done. For some reason I didn't really like him.

Finally I came to my sister's doctor. He had highlighted blonde hair, a fake scottsdale tan, and a cocky swagger I couldn't miss. He told me what he suspected I wanted and he was dead on. After learning his methods, and seeing the results on patients besides my sister I realized I had found my man.

Boob Job Part 1: Planning

2011-03-21T23:58:00.000-07:00

They never grew. You know how your mom told you to be patient and they'll grow? Yeah, well mine didn't.
I'm not being greedy. They didn't grow a little bit but not enough. They just didn't grow, period.

I was flat chested.

I wasn't one of those hot flat chested girls either. The ones with the tiny nipples and tiny, but pert mounds, sporting a 30AA bra. No way. I was kinda yucky. In fact, thinking back, I can not believe people paid to see these things. I was wearing a 34 or 36A, which means a big chest and broad shoulders holding up what could almost be described as pecs. If I had a sunken chest with cute nipples I wouldn't have gone as far as surgery. But I didn't not have cute baby nipples. I have substantial pink rounds that scream "I was made to sustain an infant!" These nips needed some breast to bring them to their full glory. Not sad, pointy disappointments. Thank God I have an ass, or I would have been up the river without a paddle. A titty-less titty dancer.

However, I'll say it once and I'll say it again, it does not take nice tits to make you a great dancer.

I started saving when I was 18. A full year before I decided I would dance. My sister got them when I was 16 and still patiently waiting for breasts. When she showed me them I gasped knowing what my boobs would look like when they finally got big as we have identical before and after breasts. At 18 I started saving and planning, knowing I wasn't going to be able to grow my own.

I saved because I did not like the idea of paying off a part of my body. I wanted cash. I knew it was going to be a long time before I could afford boobs on my starving student/lifeguard salary. I figured I'd have the money in full by the time I was 22, the F.D.A. approved age for going silicone.

While I save, I did research. The research very nearly consumed me. I could hardly have a conversation with someone without spouting off something I had learned about implants. I could walk you through that surgery six ways. Transaxillary, periareolar,inframammary, TUBA, over, under, double. I could rattle off lists of what could go wrong, and go on for days with what I learned I could expect.

I saved galleries of breasts on my computer. From porn, playboy, medical photos, facebook and myspace pictures. I had files for what I hated, for botched surgeries, for what I liked. I scoured the web for girls with bodies and breast features like mine to see their results.

I joined forums. Plastic surgery forums, body building, stripper, porn, and any forum I could find that had threads with women with implants.

I read F.D.A. reports on saline and silicone. I researched lupus, breast feeding, platinum poisoning. Incidences of rupture, how long implants can last. I learned why the F.D.A. recommended silicone only for women over 22 and wrote a case to bring to my surgeon to persuade him to go against it.

I learned what to expect for my body type. What physical deformities could result, and what, if anything, could fix errors. Most importantly, I learned what the reconstruction surgery would be like and the results I'd get if I had to have it.

I already have a medical background. Many of you know I was pre-med for my first year of college. During high school I took medical classes and ended up interning under a brilliant cranio-facial reconstructive surgeon. I used my knowledge of anatomy and physiology to better understand the operation.

In February of 2010 I realized that as a dancer, I could afford the surgery and time off at the end of the summer. I finally had my opportunity, and I was going to take it.

Getting Slizzered

2011-03-21T18:58:00.000-07:00

With the coming of 2011 I celebrated my 21st birthday! Yay me! I bought myself a bottle of rum for work around a week later and disaster ensued.

The night itself was already destined to be a shit show. A week had passed since the shooting, and everybody was still recovering. The bouncers were jumpy and pale, few of them talked. The girls were mopey as Adam's funeral had been that day. In the back room girls discussed the details of the shooting.

Gia pulled out a bottle of cherry rum, popped a couple of pills, and we started drinking.

The last thing I remember is challenging Gia to drink an entire glass of straight rum with me. After doing a stage hardly being able to walk, and embarrassing myself in the back room by putting my top on my butt and saying it looks like giant boobs, I got sent home. Model Boy scolded me about how dangerous working black out drunk is and that anything could have happened.

The next week I went back to work. Gia wasn't there. Turns out she, claiming to be the baddest bitch in the club, got in a huge fight with her best friend there and it ended up as a five stripper brawl in the dressing room that moved out to the dance floor. She was fired.

The girls in the club helped me feel less embarrassed about my drunken night by telling me their embarrassing stories.

Peaches: One night I got so drunk and had to pee really bad, but the bathroom was so far away! So I peed in the trash can with my leg up like a dog.

Anita: I was there! I was about to tell on you but I like you!

Suzie: That's not bad. At my old club I peed on the dance floor when I was drunk! Just popped a squat and let it go. I got fired so that's why I'm here now.

Anita: There was a girl here like 5 years ago who got wasted and ran up to the stage where the new girl was dancing, jumped up, molested her, climbed the pole and refused to come down. The bouncers had to beg her to come down and carry her out!

Sweetie: I fell asleep on a guy during a lap dance. He didn't wake me up for like 3 songs!

Black Jack: I got really fucked up on Xannies one night and forgot what I was doing during a dance. I just kept grinding on a guy's leg until I came.

Peaches: I fell off the stage once! And I threw up on a guy!

After hearing all of these stories I felt much better about my drunken night.

The End of The Ex

2011-03-21T17:18:00.000-07:00

Ok, this is almost 8 months later, but I thought I should give some details as to the final end of my relationship with The Ex.

The Ex and I dated for nearly 4 years. Around year 2 he earned the title of The Ex when he cheated on me, again, with a 13 year old.

Icky yucky poo poo, I know.

Yes, I realize I should have just left him when he treated me like crap. Or when he cheated on me the first time. Or the second time. Or when we got in a physical fight. Or when he refused to go to school or get a job so we could have a real life. I never wanted to marry him, but I still wanted him to try for it!

So, around year 2 I decided to have an open relationship with him. He said he was my "moodle." He learned that in a movie. A moodle is a boyfriend that you don't have sex with. He's just there to play and cuddle with, like a poodle.

Spot on.

Throughout 2011 I had been drifting away from Ex, and getting to know myself alone. I'd go a few weeks without him. A week without even talking. I was weaning myself.

Finally, he decided to go out of town for 4 weeks while I was getting my boob job and moving. I decided I'd end it then. So I did.

2 weeks after my surgery I sent him a text.

Jess: Hey, I think we need to break up.
602: Why?
Jess: I just think we're done. You knew it was coming.
602: Yeah. I don't want to.
Jess: I know you don't. But I need to be on my own now and grow.
602: Do you think we'll have a chance later?
Jess: No
602: Oh. Can we still be friends?
Jess: I guess if you want.
602: Ok. I'll miss you.
Jess: I know.

And with that, it was over. I had already met Model Boy, and we started dating a few weeks later. The Ex texted a few times to say hi. I learned he still has no job, isn't going to school and recently got arrested.

I tried my hardest to set him on the right track, but I couldn't do it. I'm glad I've moved on. I really needed to. It was fun growing up with him though, and I wish him the best.

Shooting Up

2011-03-21T16:28:00.000-07:00

Violence and Sex. What a classic combination.
I'm not talking about S&M. I wish.

Strip clubs are magnets for violence. My first club, Curves, had metal detectors at the entrance of the club to keep out weapons. Every strip club gets shot up eventually. It's inevetable.

I just didn't expect it to happen when I was there.

It can happen anywhere. School campuses and hospitals, those catch a reader's ear. Violence in innocent places abhor the masses. Good people dying, that's a news story that people will pay attention to. A rogue shooter wanders a college campus, and ears perk up. A governer is shot, people rally together. A strip club massacre? Employee murders? Well, America expects that. The dregs of society are always tearing themselves apart. It's a dirty business. What do you expect?

On December 26, 2010 a man came into my club. He sat at the bar, ordered a beer and didn't drink it.

9:00 I walk into the club, texting Model Boy complaining that I don't want to work. I bounced my ideas off of him, trying to find an excuse to go home.

10:00 The club was slow. It was the night after Christmas. I checked out with my DJ, wanting to go home and relax.

11:00 I joked around in the back room with the rest of the girls while I pulled off my shoes. I packed my bag, traded my sparkling bikini with sweat pants, and headed out to my car.

Just in time.

The man at the bar sat, seething into his still full beer.

Near midnight Anita stepped up to the stage, probably swaying lazily to an Usher song.

The man left the club to his car

I pulled out of the parking lot.

He came back with a .38.

I fiddled with my radio.

He opened fire.

I sighed, glad to be going home. I called Model Boy and made plans to stay in for a relaxing night.

Anita dove off the stage, Usher still pounding through the speakers. Bass shaking to the beat of the bullets. The DJ's hand snaked up from where he was hiding under his booth to hit the space bar. Usher stopped crooning, his voice replaced by ragged screams.

I sped away from the club, unaware of the bullet I had dodged.

A patron on my side of the club was hit, then another. The man had opened fire, not aiming at anyone in particular.

*BANG* I ran over the railroad tracks that litter my way to work.

*BANG* A bullet tore through a dancer's arm. I had never talked to her. She dances on the topless side of my club, and she hasn't been back.

I flinched, knowing my nearly bald tire was going to go anytime. I made a mental note to get that fixed.

Adam, one of our bouncers, didn't flinch. With the gunman preparing to finish the dancer he had just hit, Adam stepped in front to protect her.

I pulled to a stop at a red light.

The gunman fired four shots, point blank, into Adam's chest.

The car next to me sped away, obnoxiously trying to race. I rolled my eyes, annoyed.

The gunman hissed at the already hit dancer, "you're next."

One more shot. Four people were hurt. The bullet was wasted. A group of military men were smart enough to count the bullets fired. They knew his gun was empty. They tackled him to the ground. The cops were called, and while they waited the military men beat the shit out of the gunman.

I arrived home and Model Boy pulled me into a hug.

Adam began to bleed out as he was rushed to the hospital along with the three other victims.

The girls, who had been huddled together in the back room in a tangle of sequined bikinis and tears, came out.

"Oh my God." Blood soaked the front room's carpets which have since been replaced. Girls in towering stilettos clung to the each other and the cocktail waitresses as the remaining bouncers ushered patrons from the club.

The police eyed the dancers, used to this sort of massacre. They started questioning while news crews arrived.

I curled up on my couch with a beer. My phone buzzed, but I ignored it.

Adam bled out, along with another victim.

The club empty, evidence collected, and news crews somewhat satiated, the cocktail waitresses were given gloves and began scrubbing blood off of the walls.

My phone lit up again. I answered it.

Wife: Are you okay??
Me: Yeah, why?
Wife: Your club is on the news!
Me: Why? What happened?

AWOL

2011-03-19T11:36:00.000-07:00

Twisted is still alive and dancing!
For now.

I've you've been following on my Twitter you'll know of at least some of what's been going on in my life since I disappeared. I owe you a lot of posts, life's been hectic.

What to expect:
-Boob Job (before and after, the whole experience)
-The deadly shooting at my club in December
-My embarrassing drunken escapades and some other girls' stories
-Updates on Model Boy
-My retiring stripping in the upcoming months.

It's been a very busy few months indeed.
Standby, patient readers.

Waking up to Model Boy.

2010-10-25T14:58:00.002-07:00

Yes, I loved my single life. I loved being able to tell a boy to get the fuck out so I could go back to watching The Office. I loved never shaving my legs for anybody, and being able to act like a slob.

But... I am being charmed by Coupledom.

This weekend Model Boy and I fell asleep together in a drunken stupor. In the middle of the night he woke up, looked at me, looked at my bare breasts, back at me, back at the breasts...

Model Boy: Overwhelmed!

And he fell back asleep. Awwww that was adorable.

I'd like to add that I do dig up waking up next to a 6'1" hard body with a hard dick pressing into my stomach and a hand already exploring my barely awake body. That I could get used to.

Twisted Tip #3

2010-10-20T19:22:00.000-07:00

Do dishes naked, or at least topless, to avoid getting dishwater on your clothes.

Twisted Tip #2

2010-10-18T16:23:00.001-07:00

A surprising amount of girls don't swallow. This disappoints me, because it's really not that bad. The taste even kind of grows on you.

Twisted Tip #2: On swallowing.
If the taste of cum isn't your cup of tea, try deep throating your man as far as you can when he cums. That way the spunk doesn't even touch your tongue!

Problem solved.

I've been naughty, Professor. Part 2

2010-10-18T15:18:00.000-07:00

My sexy school girl role play with Model Boy, continued...

With one more long lick he knelt behind me, gave my ass another smack, and placed the head of his cock against the tight opening of my wet pussy.

Model Boy: You want this?
Jess: Yes sir.
Model Boy: Beg for it.
Jess: Please give it to me.
Model Boy: Give what?
Jess: Please give me that cock, Professor.

He slid in the tip, I was quivering with anticipation.

Jess: Please.

His hand wrapped around one of my pig tails, holding my head back as he slid his entire thick length into me. I came immediately, sensitized by excitement, my pussy tightening around his cock. He paused for a second, leaning into me, taking advantage of my orgasm to make me take every inch of him. I could feel his head pressing against my cervix, the twinge of pain deliciously complimenting the waves of pleasure washing over me.

I opened my eyes, noticing I had my face pressed into the mattress. I shuddered with uber-sensitivity as he starting thrusting quickly and shallowly, the head of his dick rubbing against my g-spot each time. It was a tease for me. I longed to be fucked harder, but the sensation was exactly what it took to get me off and he knew it. The torture of wanting more made me get even hotter.

Model Boy: Mmm good girl. You gonna come for me?
Jess: Mmm yeah please make me come.
Model Boy: Yeah I'll make you come.

He growled again, and I lost it. My breathing got ragged as I began to lose control. I pushed my ass up and into him, thrusting back to get some deeper penetration. I turned my head to the side and noticed the mirrors on my wall were reflecting a great view. I watched his big hands clutching my hips as his muscles flexed with every thrust. His lip was curled sexily over clenched teeth.

I came hard, again.

Model Boy: Mmm get up.

I did. He pushed me back on the bed, and slid a finger into my wet pussy, finger fucking me hard. He slid in another one, drumming them against my g-spot. I wiggled my hips against his hand. His other hand pushed my head to the side so he could bite my neck. I felt another orgasm approaching so I wrapped my hand around his wrist, controlling his hand, pushing it in an out of me fast and hard. As I came I heard his hand splashing against me, and I realized I had squirted all over his hand.

Jess: Oh no, sir. I've gotten the sheets all wet.

He kissed me and lay down, I climbed on top. I teased the tip of his cock against my slit while I kissed him, sliding only the tip in and out. He moaned.

Jess: You like that professor?
Model Boy: Oh yeahh

He sighed breathlessly as I slid the rest of his cock inside me. I did one of his favorite moves, where I bounce my ass to fuck him rapidly. Stripper moves come in handy. With my hips doing the work for me I could take my time kissing him, and holding my tits in his face for him to fully appreciate my soft pink nipples with his lips.

I flipped around into reverse cowgirl, and realized my full length mirror would probably give us a spectacular view. I hopped off, set the mirror in front of the bed, and instructed him to sit on the edge of the bed.

I climbed back on top of him, facing the mirror. I massaged his balls with my hand as I slid him back inside of me. I was right, the view was amazing. He watched my long body stretched out on top of him. Every detail of his cock penetrating my pussy was visible. My breasts bounced as I rode him, fast and hard. My muscles ached, but I rode him relentlessly, trying to make him cum harder than he'd ever cum before.

Model Boy: Oh my God, I'm gonna cum.

I hopped off of him and turned around quickly, taking his cock in my mouth and sliding it down my throat. My tongue and my fingers caressed balls and I felt them tighten with orgasm. His cock twitched in my throat as I took all of his heavy load. I struggled to take it all, but I succeeded. When I was sure he was done I pulled back off of his cock with a slurp, not wanting to miss a drop.

He fell back on the bed, spent, with a contented sigh. I curled up next to him, and looked at him over my glasses:

Jess: I think I'll need to go to detention more often, Professor. I didn't learn my lesson.

Twisted Tip #1

2010-10-18T14:54:00.001-07:00

I'm starting a micro-series called Twisted Tips, designed to make your life a little sexier. Hope you enjoy.

Twisted Tip #1
For the ladies:
Hop into the shower with your man wearing nothing but a tight white t-shirt and let him enjoy a steamy, wet and transparent view.

For the gentlemen:
Slowly pull off her sopping wet t-shirt by pulling her arms over her head, but stop at her wrists, letting the shirt assist you in some light bondage. Enjoy the view of some fully exposed, soaking wet breasts and have a nice taste without letting her touch.

This is especially fun in the mornings to leave you smiling during your day.

Gia's Proposal

2010-10-10T16:11:00.000-07:00

Strippers are typically one of three things: single mothers, drug addicts or students.
I'm the student, in that trinity of the strip club, as is Gia.

Gia and I go to the same community college. We even share a teacher, though our class is at different times. Now let me tell you about this teacher.

The first thing Clark said when he walked in the door was "I'm an asshole. Like it or get out."

Like. I love assholes. This is because I'm kind of a bitch. Bitches love assholes, and assholes love us back. I made conversation with Clark one day after class and we've had a great relationship since:

Clark: How are you liking your teachers?
Jess: I got really lucky this semester, they're mostly great.
Clark: How am I doing?
Jess: Well, you can't win them all...
Clark: Oh you've got wit. I like that.

Gia also had a conversation with Clark after her class. It began with her sassing him about a late assignment.

Clark: You've got an attitude, don't you? That gets you in trouble all the time.
Gia: Yeah I do.
Clark: I like the attitude.
Gia: You know that was just a compliment on yourself. You've got an attitude too.
Clark: Glad you caught that.

Clark is 60, but don't let that deter you. He's fit and does not look his age. He's about 6'4", dresses well, and wears vans every day which make me and Gia a little weak in the knees. He speaks several languages, has a law degree and has been divorced twice.

Pause please, while Gia sexily wipes the drool from my lips.

Over a bottle of rum disguised in two Subway cups in the back room of our strip club, Gia and I were recounting the epic hotness of our computer science professor to January.

(January is the owner of the club's hot ass wife. She oozes sex appeal, which is fitting because she lives and breathes fucking.)

Gia: He's like 60
Twisted: But he's really really hot.
Gia: He hits on me all through class
Twisted: Me too! And he ignores everybody else!
Gia: We should double team him.
Twisted: *gasp* best idea of my life.
Gia: We should go get some "tutoring."
Twisted: Ohhh yes we'd blow his mind! He totally asked me to take my test over webcam and topless and I'm pretty sure he was serious.
Gia: He always looks at me when he talks about his divorces.
January: Please, if you double team him, film it. Film it and give it to me. That is my ultimate fantasy.

(Just so you can better imagine us double teaming our teacher, Gia and I are both tall with raven hair. We have a fondness for black eye shadow and we both are very high class looking.)

If this isn't the making of the best real life porno, I don't know what is.

Breaking Up

2010-10-06T16:38:00.001-07:00

I broke up with Boobs (the friend, not the tits) over the weekend.
Why?

Every little thing I did was a disappointment to her. Every time I'd mention my smoking pot she'd sigh and tell me to quit, despite my only smoking during anxiety attacks and after all my homework is done.

Stripping? I couldn't say a word about it. She said that it wasn't a choice she'd make for me, but it's my choice so she supports it, but she never acted that way. If I mentioned my job to a person at a bar she'd shush me. If I started talking about work she'd ignore it.

Yes, I make choices that you wouldn't make. But it's my life and I told you about the choices I've made because I need somebody to talk to about it. If I can't be open about my life what's there left for me to talk about? What I did in chemistry? Or I could just sit and listen to you talk about your PMS or your boyfriend, which is all I do. I like to listen, but I like to be listened to as well.

The final straw:
Boobs: How you feelin?
Jess: Pretty good. I have to work when we get back on Saturday or I won't be able to afford rent, so I'm feeling really nervo-

Boobs walked away when I was mid sentence. No, nothing interesting distracted her. She didn't have something to do at that moment. If that was the case I would understand, but it wasn't. She just got up, and left.

Then I realized, that's not what I want in a friend. I need someone who makes me feel good about myself, not someone who I have to hide my life from. Not someone who makes me feel like shit for choices I made and don't regret. Also, her passive aggressive demeanor really really pisses me off. She's the girl who acts like she's thinking horrible things but never ever says them. At least put some effort into hiding the terrible, judgmental thoughts behind your eyes. Or just say what you're thinking! Please!

So I pulled her to the side, explained what was wrong, and didn't say a word to her for the short remainder of our North Carolina trip for a friend's wedding.

Of course this might not be a permanent break up. She might just be demoted from "bestie" to friend. Either way, that's how it goes. Hope she steps it up.

I've been naughty, Professor. Part 1

2010-09-26T11:00:00.000-07:00

There's something about a school girl that gets every man hot. Maybe it's the short plaid skirt. Maybe it's the innocent white panties that are underneath, or the lack there-of. Some people like it for the idea of the epitome of innocence. Some people like that under that innocent facade there is something very, very naughty.

It was Model Boy's birthday, and I love being my man's every fantasy, so I made his ultimate fantasy come true. This was my first role play, but after that there'll be many more to come.

I instructed him to wait in my bedroom on the bed, clothes on, while I went to change into my outfit and persona.

I pulled a white polo on over my perky, bare breasts. My nipples hardened as the fabric brushed past them. I unbuttoned all but one button, showing some skin while still playing coy. I slid on my favorite black silk tie, leaving it loose around my neck, the black silk contrasted against my pale skin. My favorite skirt was next, pink and black plaid. It was short enough to be a delicious tease, the hem ending where the curve of my thigh met my ass, covering just enough to leave something to the imagination. However, if I bent over there was no question that I was not wearing panties, and that my soft pussy was freshly, and totally shaved. Knee high black socks accentuated my long legs, feet capped in converse, of course.

I tied my short, dark curls back into low pig tails. I don't like high pig tails. I think they look harsh, and I like my look to be soft. Also, low pig tails are more convenient to pull when my man's taking me from behind.

Black rimmed glasses. They made the outfit, framing my big blue eyes. I sauntered into the room, Model Boy sitting on the bed waiting for me. I sat across from him on my ottoman, legs crossed.

Jess: Oh look... I'm the only girl in detention.
Model Boy: Have you been bad?
Jess: Oh yes, professor. I've been very bad.

When Model Boy's turned on he does this low guttural 'mmm' noise that's more growl than moan. It gets me every time.

Model Boy: Mmm
Jess: Do you want to know what I did?
Model Boy: What did you do?

I slowly uncrossed and recrossed my legs, deliberately giving him a view of what was under my skirt. I gave him a naughty smile, stood up and stood in front of him. I took his hand and traced it down my stomach, and up my skirt.

Jess: I forgot to wear panties.
Model Boy: Mmmmm
Jess: Am I in big trouble?
Model Boy: Yes you are.
Jess: What are you going to do to me, Professor?

I bent myself over his lap, leading the way for a spanking. He gave my ass a firm smack. I lifted my skirt.

Jess: That wasn't very hard.

I looked at him, giving him the go ahead to smack me harder. He did. I met his eyes with mine, raised an eyebrow. He smacked harder again.

Jess: oh Professor I'm sorry. I'm not all bad. Do you want to see what I'm good at?
Model Boy: What's that?
Jess: Let me show you.

I knelt in front of him, pulled his pants down, and pulled my shirt off. I didn't hesitate sliding his cock into my mouth and down my throat. After all, I wanted to make up for being naughty. I enthusiastically bobbed my head up and down, soaking his cock with viscous saliva from deep in my throat. He moaned in appreciation of my technique. I slid my lips up and down his shaft, flicking my tongue against the tip then kissing my way back down to gently caress his balls with my entire tongue.

Jess: See, I'm good at some things.
Model Boy: Yes you are, but you were still bad and you still need to be punished.

He stood up, pushing me forward against the bed, still kneeling on the floor. Behind me his big hands gripped my ass, he leaned down and gently bit before giving it another smack. His tongue explored down my ass crack to my pussy and back up to draw rings around my asshole.

I shook "I've never done that before Professor! I thought that was bad!"
"Bad girls get bad things done to them as punishment." I really had never had my asshole eaten out fully. I had fantasized about it. I love some anal stimulation, and I was loving having his tongue take the place of my fingers.

Jess: I think I like being bad...
Model Boy: Just wait, I'm not done teaching you a lesson, bad girl.

Dating and Relationship Attitude

2010-08-28T21:29:00.000-07:00

I don't know if this is interesting enough to make the blog, but I figured I'd write it down anyway to really instill it in myself.

I was miserable with The Ex during the first 2 years of our relationship. He didn't love me, I was just a sex toy. I was crazy about him and would give him anything for a little more affection, and of course for a little more sex. After he cheated I kind of lost it. I became emotionally hardened. Looking back, this hardness is a good thing. It gave me the ability to strip, yes but it also gave me a new perspective in life.

You never know if and when you're going to get hurt. You can be the best significant other you can be, but bad things can still happen. Cheating? Horrifying, but it happens so much and it's unavoidable.

I realize I sound bitter right now, but that's not how I feel at all. I know and accept heartbreak happens and there's nothing anyone can do about it. It might happen to me countless times in my life, but if it does I'm ready for it, and it's just a part of life.

I'm kind of in love with life. Every human experience thrills me, good and bad. (Maybe because I was an avid Anne Rice reader when I was younger.) Pain is a beautiful part of life, as well as love. Even though heartbreak hurts, it eventually heals and makes life that much more full.

My point? I've developed kind of a philosophy. I might get hurt, cheated on, or rejected. I might fall madly in love and find my soul mate. I might find a best friend, or just spend months or years with someone to realize it just isn't right. Whatever happens, I'm going to have a blast and enjoy the ride there. Life isn't fun if you're living it in fear.

So here I go, really living.

Jessie has a Boyfriend!

2010-08-28T20:56:00.000-07:00

After 3 years of dancing to Single Ladies, I am finally in a relationship. With Model Boy. I realize I'm skipping around here, but I'm blogging from my phone at work, so bear with me and I'll catch you up later.

For those of you who are wondering, the sex is a 6 to 6.5, on a scale from 1 to 10 (1 being The Ex, 10 being Psycho.) He's young and fairly inexperienced, so I'll have him at a 9 or 10 in no time. His lack of sexual prowess is probably because he's one of those hot douchey boys who always go for vapid blondes. Hot douches and vapid blondes are rarely good in bed. Fortunately I am a sex fiend stripper with more than a few tricks up my sleeve. I'll keep you updated on his progress, oh best beloved.

This post was meant to be about how he asked me out, so here we go...

Model Boy told me that we were going on a fancy dinner date, but he wouldn't tell me where. All he told me was to be ready at 7.

Seven rolled around and, as usual, I was running late. Model Boy texted me "I'm here" as I was finishing up my hair. I texted back "k, give me a second." He replied, "hurry."

I hate being rushed. That, plus I was stressed from school and I was PMSing hard core. I wanted to say something snippy back, but I was the one running late, not him, so I just said "k" with a kissy face. (I'm very against taking my bad moods out on people, and as you'll see I was glad I didn't.)

I slid on my heels and hurried to the door, which I threw open to find a red rose. I picked it up, a little confused. I was worried it somehow wasn't for me.

I continued down the hallway. Another rose, and another. Down the stairs, the steps lined with more roses. All the way to the gate where Model Boy stood, looking quite dapper in a blue button up shirt and artfully torn jeans. He held the rest of the bouquet.

I ran up to him and he pulled a rose out and handed it to me while we kissed hello.

Model Boy: this one's perfect like you.

Sappy, yes. But after all, I am a girl and I eat that sappy shit up. The perfect rose joined the rest of my dozen red roses and we left to dinner at his favorite Italian place.

I'd like to note that he ordered Veal Marsala. I was impressed that a twenty year old even knew that existed. Dinner was nice, just relaxed talking.

Once home we made out for a while and ended up sitting on the floor between my bathroom and bedroom just talking.

Past relationships came up. When I told him about Ex's cheating and general mistreatment of me he got silent. He was subtly shaking and I noticed all of his veins popping out. He was livid and wanted to know Ex's name, which I didn't tell him for fear of Ex's life.

After all of our stories Model Boy told me he was really nervous.

Jess: why?
Model Boy: I have something important to ask.
Jess: oh? (Of course I knew what he was getting at.)
Model Boy: this has been the best month of my life because of you. Are you going to miss me this weekend when I'm in Vegas?
Jess: (I laughed) of course! I'll miss you like crazy! (We had spend almost every day together since we'd met.)
Model Boy: I really care about you. Before I leave I want to ask you, will you be my girlfriend?
Jess: of course.
Model Boy: I was so nervous you'd say no!

We kissed, and stood up. As we were about to head to the bathroom I saw him make a face at himself in the bathroom mirror.

Jess: what was that?
Model Boy: oh... Uh... Do you watch the office?
Jess: (I can only quote it word for word...) Yeah
Model Boy: I was making the Jim Halpert face.

With that I realized that Model Boy is very right for me.

Take me to the gay bar

2010-08-28T20:42:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago one of my good friends from high school marching band (oh yes, I was a band geek. A damn good one), Hero Trumpet, came out of the closet. I definitely didn't expect this, but looking back I see that it makes sense. Especially the duet we did from Wicked.

Hero Trumpet, his new boyfriend (Greaser), and another fabulous homo (Faboo), decided they wanted to go to a gay bar, so of course I had to go along.

I got in for free by flashing my new titties at the lovely lezzie at the front door. Yes, I had to show off.

What did I learn about gay bars? They are full to the brim of straight girls!! I did not appreciate this and spent the night going up to every little cutie I could find and drunkedly slurring "doyoulikedicksorvadge?" My only success was the little, 5 foot nothin chola named lil' Brila. She literally picked me up, and took me to dance. It was interesting.

When I drink I have a habit of inadvertently finding the hardest, sharpest thing I can find and kicking it. Lucky for me, I didn't even notice it this time. Until Faboo came up to me and said "oh my god Jess you're bleeding everywhere!" I had successfully peeled off quite a few layers of skin from my shin, and indeed I was bleeding everywhere. Enough so that my shoes had filled with blood.

I hurried out of the bar to my car and cleaned up. Thank goodness I'm a stripper and have a habit of carrying baby wipes and alcohol with me everywhere. After about 20 minutes I had staunched the bleeding and was back in the bar.

My night ended with me meeting this ridiculously gorgeous drag queen who looked like one of Kim Kardashian's sisters. (I realize they aren't so terrific looking, but for a guy to look that good is nothing to sneeze at. He/she was beautiful.) His name was Fernando, her name was Gia. She was 6'8".

After meeting Gia, I met this pretty little lezzie who was a little too butch for my taste, but good all the same.

Ra ra ah ah ah...

Bad Romance came blaring through the speakers.

"OH. My. GOD." I yelled. I finished the night sandwiched with my lezzie between Gia and Faboo, grinding to Lady Gaga.

My goodness, I couldn't have finished the night on a more gay note. I loved it.

Model Toy: first date, part 2

2010-08-11T20:49:00.001-07:00

He later told me he was so nervous for our date that he chewed his first dip after quitting for a year.
Ucky! But sweet...

Normally I am intensely pessimistic about dating. I go to the dates knowing that I'll probably be dissatisfied about the person. It's always a matter of when, not if, on the first date I'll be looking for an excuse to leave. I decided to do my best to stop being a nihilist and be positive about the person I'm out with. My goodness gracious, it was not easy but I did it.

We went to sushi, as I said earlier. Neither of us were very talkative, most of the conversation was about the sushi. As sexy as sushi is, it's hit or miss as date food. The rolls were a little too big for my mouth, and a little too loose for my chopsticks, so it appeared I was making an effort to eat as awkwardly as possible. Despite my difficulties, dinner was ok.

Then it was on to watch Princess' Boyfriend's hockey game with Princess. We were 40 minutes early, so Model Boy parked at the rink, and we just sat there talking.

Oh here it comes...
Mmm what's going to happen?
Oh you know what's bound to happen. We are two hot blooded twenty somethings sitting in a parked car with 20 minutes to kill.

He leaned in.
The back of his hand softly stroked my arm.
I turned to face him in my seat and...
my seatbelt locked.

Typically guys are supposed to lean ninety percent of the way in, and the girls do the ten remaining percent. Had this happened the seatbelt would have allowed for a first kiss. Sadly, Model Toy only leaned about fifty percent of the way. I played coy and acted like I didn't know what was going on.

The huge smile plastered across my face probably gave away that I knew exactly what he had meant to do.

We laughed it off and went into the arena to hang out until the game. During the game he explained what was happening to me. Yes, hockey is easy to understand, but boys like to teach and explain things, so I listened and learned. Turns out Model Toy was a hockey player, and a good one. He's looking at playing it again next semester, which I like. Any sport that involves my man beating the crap out of someone else gets me kind of hot. Primal.

Princess said something ridiculous. I don't remember what, but it had to do with poop. Model Toy said something that went over her head, then he winked at me.

That, ladies and gentlemen of the blog, is all it took. Model Boy was as good as in my pants...

Getting to know Model Toy

2010-08-11T20:29:00.001-07:00

Things with Model Toy are getting a little more serious, so here's some background on him so you know exactly who I'm talking about.

Model Toy is 21. You'll remember that every time I go out with a younger guy I kick myself afterwards. I prefer older guys because of their ability to grow a beard, normally higher sexual prowess, and the possibility that they'll have romantic capabilities above that of a 9 year old.

I realize now that a guy can be 40 and still lack all of those things.
I also realize the same goes with girls. Some people just don't gain that mastery in bed and are chronically immature. What's worse is girls can rarely grow beards. My point? Age is just a number. I just threw the beard thing in there to make this post a little more rugged.

Model Toy is set to graduate next year from a private college, for which he has a full ride tennis/academic scholarship. Oh my inner nerd has a wettie already. (That rhymed.)

Model Toy has a job coaching tennis. Coaches are always sexy on paper. His second job is at the mall at one of my favorite stores, which earns him total bonus points.

Model Toy just got signed with a big modeling agency. This agency is currently battling with another agency over Model Toy. One wants to send him to New York, one wants to send him to Milan.

6'1" blonde, green eyes, broad shoulders, narrow hips.
Washboard abs, of course.
Pretty lips. If he was in prison and I was his room-mate I would want to see them wrapped around my dick.
Speaking of dicks, his is on the larger side. Nearing nine inches. He's no Psycho in girth, but he will certainly get the job done. Oh and he's uncircumcised. More on that later.

Another new boy.

2010-08-01T14:28:00.000-07:00

Princess visited me at the club the other night. She brought her boyfriend and a guy friend. Princess and her boy went to the other side of the club to drink, leaving the friend alone for a few minutes.

I didn't know who he was at the time, so if this is the beginning of a relationship then fate wrote a beautiful, if trashy, meeting script.
I, drunk on vodka lemonade that was more vodka than anything else, walked up and hopped onto his lap until Princess came back.

Twisted: Hi. You have silly hair like Edward Cullen.
Him: Yeah haha I get that a lot. You look like Alice.
Twisted: Yeah I get that a lot too. I'm Twisted.
Him: I'm Model Toy(nickname). I think I'm waiting for you.
Twisted: Oh goodness!
Him: I'm Princess' friend
Twisted: OHH! Model Toy! Want a dance?

I danced for him, he fell in love. I let him have my number and we set a date to go out. Well really I told him to take my number. I'm a pushy drunk.

After copious virtual flirting via crackberry, the day of our date came up. He picked me up in his flamboyantly orange mustang. As I slid into the car I realized that Drunky Twisty made a verrry good decision in letting him take me out. He look fiiiine. (Please read that with a ghetto-chick accent.)

Green eyes with a little bit of orange around the pupil, nicely tanned skin, some scruffy 5 o'clock shadow, dark blonde hair, pretty lips and nice teeth.

High fives for me!

We went to sushi. Getting out of the car I realized he's also really tall. I didn't notice this before because at 5'7" plus some towering eight inch heels everyone looks a little short to me.

Mmm tall and handsome? That's two out of three! Close enough for me. All that plus the noticeable outline of his pecs through his tight black t-shirt and arms nearly the size of my waist. Yeah, I'm giving this one a chance.

(Don't judge, I'm sure there'll be a moral in superficiality in one of these Model Toy posts. Eventually.)

Coming Out

2010-07-25T22:09:00.000-07:00

I'm coming out of the stripper closet. For a while there, not even my closest friends knew I strip. Then I realized that part of my depression was that I was struggling to keep a huge part of me a secret.

So I told my best friend, from childhood. She took it well.

Then my lifeguard friend (Princess, hereafter), who also was not bothered. She ended up coming to visit me, which turned out to be an amazing night. I'll get to that in the next post.

Then it was time to tell the bestie, Boobs. I was most nervous about telling her. She's got a protective, motherly side to her and I could tell that she especially felt it towards me. Nerves aside, I had to tell her.

She and Princess came over to my apartment after work to hang out while I dyed my hair. Boobs knew I had news for her, so she was really nervous.

Boobs: Are you pregnant?
Jess: Oh god no.
Boobs: Oh thank goodness. Nothing could be worse than that.
Jess: Exactly.
Boobs: So?
Jess: Um... I'm a stripper. And I have been for like a year now.
Boobs: ...
Jess: Are you ok?
Boobs: ...

Her eyes welled up with tears.
I was not expecting that.

She left shortly after. Later she texted me and told me she accepts but does not agree with my decision. That was definitely not a reaction I expected.

Eclipse Premiere: Threesome

2010-07-25T21:10:00.001-07:00

Last year I had a tonsillectomy. This left me home bound for almost two weeks. What did I do to entertain myself? Got in touch with my inner-tween and read the Twilight series.

I'm team Jacob, in case you wanted to know. Skinny ass pale dudes with silly hair and irregular nipples just don't do it for me.

I realize I may be losing some respect from my readers here, but I bought my tickets 2 months in advance and stood in line for 7 hours for New Moon with my bestie who shall henceforth be known as Boobs. (36DDD).

The plan for Eclipse was to go for coffee in the morning and read the rest of Eclipse, then go to a bar to get drunk at 6 before standing in like for 5 hours.

It sounded like a great plan to me!

Conveniently there is both a movie theater and bar in the same plaza as my apartment, so after coffee we walked over to the bar. Upon arriving at the bar we realized that Boobs' fuck buddy worked there. Between him and the hot bartender we became quite tipsy, and quite audacious. Details are hazy, so bear with me.

The old fuck buddy was cute. Tatted up with a naughty, easy smile. They started to flirt. When he left to clear a table Boobs and I got to talking.

Boobs: I really want him
Twisted: Yeah he's really cute!
Boobs: I know, right?
Twisted: You could just take him home with us and I'll just stay downstairs or sit on the couch and read or something.
Boobs: Or you could help?
Twisted: ... wait. You'd be down for that?
Boobs: Sure!

Oh. My. God.
I didn't think she was serious. I mean, the girl had cried when I came out with a stripper. A threesome didn't seem like her thing.

Old fuck buddy (OFB) came back and started flirting with Boobs again.

Boobs: We need to get going soon. What time do you get off?
OFB: *says the time he gets off* (which I can't remember.)
Twisted: Well you could come home with us when you're off if you want...
Boobs: Do you want to?
OFB: Oh sure.

I think by "oh sure" he meant: oh yes. Oh god yes. Please. Oh my god. God. Yes. Fuck.

We all came to my apartment and took a shot of tequila. I laid on the bed and we all chatted a bit, OFB and Boobs more than I. They started making out, so I moved to the couch and put on some music.

Twisted: Do you want me to go hang out in the club house? It's open for another hour.
Boobs: Oh no, you can stay and help me if you want. Would you be down for that?
OFB: Um...sure (Again, he probably meant: omg FUCK YES.)

Holy shit this is happening.

OFB laid on the bed and pulled his shirt off while Boobs went to turn off some of the lights. I jumped out of my clothes, and pulled off OFB's pants.

Boobs straddled him, and I lay beside him with my head level with his crotch. They made out, and I took OFB's dick into my mouth, massaging it to hardness with my tongue. I watched as his hand travelled down Boobs' body and onto her ass, his finger tips tracing down to her delicate pussy.

This is the first time I had seen a couple together so close up. It was beautiful. His dark, masculine hands moved smoothly as he slid a finger inside of her. Her skin was creamy and soft against his hands. She subtly pushed back against him with a soft sigh.

I looked back down at his cock, continue sliding it in and out of my mouth, tracing my fingertips over his balls. His ball sack tightened with building orgasm. I picked up my pace, bobbing up and down while massaging the underside of his dick with my tongue. He came quietly, and I kept him in my mouth, gently sucking as he came down from the orgasm.

I noticed his hands had moved down to grab onto Boobs' thighs while he came. Curious, I slid my hands up her thighs and lifted myself up to look at her pussy. It looked soft. I leaned forward and gently brushed it with my tongue. It was soft. Soft and almost sweet. I ran my tongue up and down her soft folds, exploring.

Guys, I do not give you enough credit. The clit is hard to find, especially from behind a chick.

I moved back down to lay beside OFB. I grabbed his wrist and moved his hand back up to finger her newly moistened slit. I controlled his motions with my hand.

Twisted: Spank her. (I whispered into OFB's ear.)

He gently slapped her ass.

Twisted: Seriously?

I slapped her ass harder, making a satisfyingly loud crack. She softly moaned again.

Then her phone went off. We were supposed to be in like for the past 4 hours, but instead we had been dicking around (so to speak.) Boobs hopped off of OFB while I ran to pull on some clothes...

And then we went and tried to sit through 2 or so fucking hours of a whiney stoned chick, a skinny weird vampire, and a hairless werewolf. She fell asleep, and I puked.

It was a good night.

Sexy times with Body Builder: 2

2010-07-25T17:38:00.000-07:00

He spent the night after night 1, and left in the morning after a quick blowie.

The next night he came right back over. I had been with some friends at a party so I was quite tipsy. We went to Wal Mart and made a mad dash to the condom aisle. The employees probably thought we were hilarious and disgusting. Our arms were full of lube, condoms and batteries for my vibrator.

When we got home I changed into my school girl outfit as a little surprise for him, pigtails and all.

"Whoa. Yessss" He said when he saw the outfit. He began to undress. He kissed me, he pressed my back against my stripper pole, his pole pressing at me through his jeans. (No, I couldn't resist the double pole joke.)

"Want to see a pole trick?"
"Hell yeah" He stepped back.

I climbed up my pole and flipped upside down, holding on by just my legs.

"Come here." He did. I kissed him spiderman style. I slid down the pole (hands free, be impressed!) so that my face was at belt level. I unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down in one smooth move. He was already rock hard. I grabbed onto his hips and pulled myself forward, sliding him into my mouth.

"Holyy..." He whispered in awe. Not to be cocky, but I'm a fucking goddess.

For girls who have never been able to deep throat, take my advice: try it upside down. The curve of your throat fits a dick so much easier that way.

He realized after a moment that my pussy was at mouth level, and helped himself.

"Want to move to the bed?" I stopped for a second to ask
"Yeah" he sighed and stepped away so I could get off the pole.
"Oh no, I didn't say stop. Get back there." He stepped forward, a little confused and continued eating me out. I wrapped my arms around his waist, holding myself steady to him, and tossed my legs over his shoulder in a mid-air 69.
"Ohhh my god." He carried me to the bed like that, his dick still in my mouth.

He laid down on his back, me on top, and we continued our 69. (Later he told me that was his first 69, and it will be his best.) He came while he was deep in the back of my throat.

We moved to the shower. Conveniently my shower is right in front of my bathroom sink and mirror, so we both got a terrific view and a little narcissistic stimulation. My eyes were glued to the mirror. Water streamed down his thick body. His muscles rippled and flexed with every thrust. His eyes were intent on me, taking in every detail. One of his hands caressed my back and ran down to smack my ass. I was bent over, my delicate body completely different from his. My darkly tanned skin made his hand stand out with a stark contrast. His body was all harsh lines, and mine was soft curves. I smiled, liking the image of us in the mirror.

He spent the night again, and we fell asleep spooning. Me wrapped in his thick arms. I woke up a few hours later to his hands exploring my body, his hard cock pressing into my back.

"Mmmmm not sleepy?" I whispered
"It's hard to stay asleep with you keeping me 'up' " He answered.

He tucked his dick between my legs, teasing me with it. I rubbed it against my clit. I was already soaking wet. He flipped me over and slid on a condom, then slid into me without hesitation.

"Chest on the bed." He told me, and I obliged. "Hands behind your back." He held my wrists together and spanked me hard. I cried out. "Shut up. I don't want to hear you until you cum." I nodded. "Say yes sir."

"Yes sir." I sighed
"Good girl." He smacked my ass again, then let go of my arms to flip me over.

He brushed my hair out of my face and ran his thumb down the curve of my cheekbone, over my lips, and down to my neck. He leaned down to kiss me, his lips lingering on mine as his hand wrapped around my neck. I opened my mouth to gasp, but couldn't. His other hand caressed my clit ring while he thrust.

It felt amazing. My hips bucked under him, I couldn't control it. I started to see stars, get an adrenaline rush. He picked up his pace, thrusting deep and even, his fingers rubbing gentle circles on my clit. I was about to pass out, and he knew it.

"Come for me Jess."
I did. Intensely. Breathing didn't matter. The pain of his thick cock, the dizziness from lack of oxygen, they accentuated the pleasure immensely. He let go of my neck, and I breathed heavily, still coming and getting a rush of consciousness. He slid two fingers inside me to continue my orgasm. He pulled off the condom and pulled my head towards his cock by my hair. I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock just in time to catch his first shot of cum. He pressed my head forward, hard, until he was done.

I fell back on the bed, still shaking. He lay beside me, wrapped me in his arms once more and kissed my forehead.
"I miss you so much when I'm in colorado."
All I could muster was a smile. I kissed his neck, and fell back to sleep.

Sexy times with Body Builder: 1

2010-07-25T15:09:00.000-07:00

As we was leaving, Body Builder's mom yelled out to me from the door.
Mom: "You guys be good! And please give him a bath! He stinks."
Me: "Don't you worry, I'll have him back clean and in one piece! No marriage, no diseases, and no babies."
Mom: "Oh I like this one!"

We went back to my apartment. He brought his swim trunks so we could swim. When we got upstairs he dropped the shorts on the floor and swimming wasn't discussed again. I was surprised he waited until we were inside the apartment.

He pushed me against the wall and we started to kiss. He always pulls away when we kiss to tease me. I had to fight to get closer to his lips, and jumped up to wrap my legs around him so he couldn't get away. He swung me around, still kissing, and pushed my back up against the stripper pole that divides my apartment. I pulled away long enough to pull off my shirt, then pressed my lips to his again.

He set me down so he could pull his jeans down, I pulled his shirt off, still desperately kissing him. I slid down his body, my fingers already wrapped around his fast growing cock.

"Ohhh I missed you" he sighed as I slid him into my mouth. I teased him lightly, gently sliding my lips over the tip of his shaft, barely brushing the tip on his penis. I ran my finger tips over his balls while I took him all the way into my mouth. I felt him jerk, nearly coming. I stopped and stood up.

He kissed me again, and picked me up. He threw me onto my bed, pulling down the red lace panties I had bought especially for the occasion. His tongue traced the outline of my abs. He kissed his way downwards, my back arched. A little further...

He moved back up to kiss me on the lips.
(Wrong lips buddy!)
His hand entangled in my hair, pulling my head back. He nibbled down my neck, back up to my ear. His his tongue caressed it, he bit my earlobe. He kissed back down to my shoulder, biting near my collar bone.

Later I noticed he left a crescent shape bite mark.

His hand slid down my stomach and caressed my inner thigh. My back was arching again, I wanted to be touched.

"Please?" I whispered.
He obliged.

He slid in a finger, first one, then another. He curved them upwards, brushing teasingly across my g-spot. I shuddered. He pressed his forehead and nose to mine...

"You like that?" He whispered back, millimeters from lips.
I sighed back.
His other hand wrapped around my hair, jerking my head back. His fingers moved in and out of me, hard. He wasn't teasing anymore.
"Tell me you like that." He growled
"Ahh..." I closed my eyes tight, my body grinding back at his hand without my trying.
"Say it."
"Ah... I like it. I like it."
"Good girl." His hand changed rhythm again, rubbing hard against my g-spot. I placed my hand on my stomach, and could feel his fingers pushing into me."
"Now cum."

I did.
"Good girl." He pulled his wet fingers out of me, brushed them across my lips. He walked across the room to get a condom.

Magnum. Oh good Lord thank you for blessing me with this streak of big boys since the ex.
Magnum. Oh God that is going to hurt.

I sat up, catching my breath while he slid the condom onto his hard dick. I always got nervous at this part. I'm a small girl, all over. He's a big boy. It's not quite a square peg in a round hole, but it's a big round peg in a little round hole.

He moved his body back over mine. His hand cradled the back of my neck, pulling my face up to his. He pressed his nose to mine, looking into my eyes as he slowly teased me with the tip of his penis. He slid in the tip. My breathing became ragged. He slid in further.

Excitement was building up. I almost for a second cursed that I cum so easily. Almost. I struggled to hold off.

He slid it in halfway. I struggled a little bit under him. It hurt, but I wanted more. My squirming almost made us both cum.

"I didn't tell you to move. Stay still and take it." He pushed himself all the way in in one swift motion. I gasped in pain and pleasure. He pulled all the way back out and then thrust it back in. I could feel him ramming into my cervix with every thrust. His thick cock teased me throughout. When he pushed his cock all the way in his body brushed against my clit ring. It was too much.

I came. He pulled out and gently fingered me through my orgasm so that my movements wouldn't make him come as well. I shook after, my world spinning. He pulled me back to him, kneeling in front of me. He pulled my legs over his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss me.

(I mentally high-fived myself. Those months of yoga payed off.)

As we kissed he pushed his cock back into me, deeper than before. I let out a sharp moan of pain, he laughed.

"Too much baby?" He smiled and leaned back.
"No, just go slow at first for me" I hissed through my teeth.
"Haha, yeah..."

He laughed again, pulled all the way out and slammed back in. I squeaked with pain again, my hands pushing back at his hips trying to get him to be more gentle. He grabbed my hands and held them over my head. He thrust into me as deep as he could and stayed there. One of his hands traced down my body to my clit, he rubbed it with his thumb and leaned down to suck on one of my nipples. He hardly moved, just grinding against me. The pain was starting to fade into intense pleasure.

He barely moved, moving maybe an inch, staying as deep as he could. I could feel my orgasm building up. He could feel me tightening around him. My hand clutched at his back, my nails digging in.

"Gonna cum again for me baby?"
"Yes... keep going." My head was thrown back, I was gently grinding back against him. He stopped moving, realizing that I was going to make myself come.
I ground my hips into his, I hit exactly the right spot. My cunt tightened around his cock, he moaned, I came. The fast tightening of my pussy around him during my orgasm set him off too. He came too, thrusting into me hard. The pleasure far outweighed the pain.

He picked me up so I was straddling him as he knelt.

"Ready?" He whispered into my ear.
"Mmhhmmm" I was impressed I could even muster an answer.

His hands on my ass, he controlled me as I rode him. I felt like a sex doll, on top but not in control. Don't get me wrong, I loved it. He kissed me hard as he guided my movements. My body spasmed as he slid past my hyper-sensitive post-orgasm g-spot. I relaxed, starting to regain control from my orgasm. I began to control our pace.

I used one of my stripper moves, where I can move my ass while keeping the rest of my body still. Almost like "poppin' it."

"whoa." He said. I smiled, liking being in control. His fingertips traced up my spine so he could pull my hair back and kiss my neck.

"Mmmm" I purred at him. I reached down and circled the base of his cock with my fingers, a hand job and sex in one.
"Oh I like that." He gasped.
I leaned back, to give him a better view. His hands caressed my breasts and slid down to my hips. I put both of my hands on the bed behind me to steady myself as he pulled my legs back over his shoulders so I was only touching the bed with my hands. He thrust hard again, making me cry out. He smiled and laid me back on the bed, his body over mine so I was bent in two, my legs almost touching my shoulders.

His hands went to work again on my clit, while one finger caressed my asshole. He knew I loved it. I bit his lip, he moved down and bit my neck again. Another orgasm was building. He sat back up, his hands on my thighs, and used them to slide my body against his. He knew that was my favorite position with him. It made it so he hit my g-spot perfectly.

He watched my face, a sinful grin on his lips.
"Come on. Cum." His fingers dug into my legs, he picked up his pace. I came again, pushing back into him as he pressed his hips hard against me. He thrust as fast and hard as he could, taking advantage of my not noticing the pain. I laid back as the waves of my orgasm washed over me, watching him throw his head back as he came.

He flipped me back over so he could lay down with me on top of him. His spent cock still inside of me. We lay there like that for a few minutes, gently kissing.

I slid off of him to lay beside him. He went to slide off the condom and noticed it was tinged pink. My wetness slid down my thighs and I noticed red on my white sheets.

"God dammit you made me bleed." I slapped his shoulder.
He laughed.

Sweet Suicide...

2010-06-21T15:48:00.000-07:00

I've told you that nearly every stripper has some deep dark reason they strip. I didn't, however, go into detail about mine. Everybody hears about strippers having "daddy issues." I, have mommy issues.

The issues themselves that led to my Twisted side I'll get to later. We're just going to skip around a little bit to August, 2005.

I was fifteen. In the hospital. My dad stood by my bed, ghost white, but composed. I had IV's coming out of my arms, two doctors and a nurse stood opposite my dad, discussing whether or not we should pump my stomach. The nurse was trying to coax me into opening my eyes so I could tell her how many pills I had taken. My dad's hands, they look just like mine, clutched the empty bottle of Tylenol PM.

They were vanilla flavored. It was like they wanted me to take the whole bottle. Cordial, and not poison.

They decided to wait, to monitor me. I was confused that nothing was happening to me but a slow heart rate.

I had slipped into sleep for a few minutes and woke myself up when I pulled my IV out in my sleep. A little blood pooled on my arm from where it had been in the tube. I was staring at it when my mom walked in.

I was shocked. She looked smug. I was hooked up to so many wires. Sticky things all over my chest. My heart rate was low. I couldn't even keep my eyes open, let alone see when I did get them open. There was vomit on my shirt, blood on my arms. She smiled, I remembered that. She told me I could never bring her down. That was the first time she called herself the "Queen of the Castle," and that I was nothing to her. Not even seeing her daughter lose the will to live could bring her down.

I realized I wasn't confused that I hadn't died.
I was disappointed.

Background stories will come later. And updates on body builder etc.

Body Builder's Back!

2010-06-10T14:43:00.000-07:00

He couldn't have come sooner. This dry spell of mine was literally driving me crazy. There's only so much masturbation you can do before you realize that you need more than an orgasm.

For those of you just tuning in, Body Builder and I met in college. Now he lives in Colorado, so Body Builder sex is few and far between.

I was just expecting sex, but he called me after I got off of work to meet him at a restaurant so I could meet his friends. His bff was kind of a douche, so I was kind of a bitch. It's a stripper habit, I guess. But it didn't matter.

Then I met his mom, who was wonderfully blunt. The first thing she said to me was "I'm not wearing a bra, but give me a hug."

I met his sister too. She's 15 (and a half) and a total prissy little bitch. I had to laugh though because her booty shorts, shrunken batman t-shirt meant for 8 year old boys, and hair extension all screamed future stripper.

Then, we went to my apartment...

Some people shouldn't have phones.

2010-06-04T16:39:00.000-07:00

6/1
805: Oh yeah the band's playing in Vegas on Friday and Saturday. You should come.
602: I'd love to, but I have work :(
805: :( send me a pic
602: I already said I don't like to send pics.

6/1 4 hours later
805: *sends me back the two pics I had sent him*
805: These are sexy. Send more.
602: No.

6/1 An hour later
805: You should just come to vegas.

6/2
805: Send me pics!
602: No.

6/2 A few hours later
805: Hey what's up
602: Not much, just workin
805: Cool... you should send me a pic
602: Nope.

6/3
805: What's up?
602: Hangin with a gf, you?
805: Not much, you should send me a pic.

6/3 An hour later
602: Do you have any connections with disturbed?
805: Well not really, but I could.
602: Get me backstage passes for their show. Then you can have pics.

6/3 Fifteen minutes later
805: I emailed their agent.

He's still asking for pics and shit. I'm still really annoyed. I told him what was up, hoping that he'd be straight up with me. But nope.

Band Manager

2010-06-04T16:24:00.001-07:00

His name is Jamie, by the way. It's just easier to type that instead of Band Manager. Oh, and abbreviating Band Manager would be B/M and every time I read that I'd think it means bowel movement. (Yay for retaining medical lingo!)

He added me on facebook the next day. I read his status:
"marc jacob aviators and a v neck"

During the entire U-Fest concert Jamie was bragging about himself as a manager, and telling us about how everyone was a douche except him. Well, except him and Matthew McConaughey.

um...
EARTH TO DOUCHE! That facebook status was about the douchiest thing I've ever read. And Matthew McConaughey? Also a douche.

Some guys just have no idea what they are.

Jamie texted me earlier this week, begging for sexy pics. I ended up complying, because I know he's got connections with Disturbed, and god damn it I want to meet the lead singer. I sent him the one pic, and told him I wasn't comfortable sending pics so I didn't want to send more. He continued begging for more, asking me to visit him in Cali or Vegas or whatever.

Honestly, I'm getting pretty fucking annoyed. I told him straight up how I felt, and that if he just wants a casual thing then we can work something out.

And what did he reply?
"I want to take you around the world with me xo"

Yeah yeah, to all the girls out there it looks really sappy and sweet and shit. But imagine that coming from a skinny, shitfaced, coked out weirdo. Yeah, not so sweet now is it?

U Fest

2010-06-04T16:13:00.001-07:00

I'm a big fan of rock music, and every summer my local radio station hosts big all day concerts. This year's U-Fest featured:
Three Days Grace
Powerman 5000
2 Cents
The Veer Union
Helmet
Janus
Adelita's Way
and a bunch of other bands.

It was awesome. I went with my ridiculously buxom friend, who wore a torn up tank top for maximum cleavage. I wore a bikini.

Early in the day a guy called to us from behind the backstage fence. He wanted us to come back and chill with him, so later we did. Turns out he was the manager of one of the bands. We got to go on the tour bus, backstage for three days grace, and got to chill and have a beer with some of the bands.

It was far more epic than that, but I just can't seem to express it in words.

Of course the guy got us backstage because he wanted some poon, and he took a liking to me. An awkward, awkward liking. First he tried to give me a back massage in the tour bus. Then he tried to make out with me multiple times, which I averted by turning to the side and being all coy like he wanted to kiss my cheek.

Yeah.

While my gal pal was using the restroom, and we were standing in the dark surrounded by portapotties he tried to make out with me again. I told him I was very Christian and didn't do things like that.

Band Manager: Ohh yeah totally, I'm Christian too.
Me: Yeah, I just don't want to get used.
Band Manager: No, I'd never do that. We should try this for real.
Me: I'd like that.

The band manager held my hand for the rest of the concert, which was awkward and uncomfortable.

STUPID STUPID STUPID! I thought he was wasted! He drank so many cran-raspberries and had so many shots of crown! But apparently he was coherent enough to remember what I said. Even worse, he had my number and had no plans to lose it.

Turning tricks...

2010-06-02T15:16:00.001-07:00

Haha fooled you.
Pole tricks, I mean.

I finally caved in and decided that my stage routines need a little bit of razzle dazzle. When I was just a patron of strip clubs I always was more interested in the girls who did pole tricks, rather than the ones who just writhed sexily on the floor. So, to not be a hypocrite, I'm learning pole tricks.

On tax day Fascinations had a 25% off sale. I figured that was the best excuse I had to splurge on a $400 pole. Yes, it was expensive even at $300 but...
1. It gets you in shape like no other
2. It's more fun that a treadmill and sit ups.
3. It'll improve my stages
4. I'm a stripper. I've got $300 to spend frivolously.

So I got the pole, and installed it by myself. Thankfully the high price also means that you don't have to screw into your ceiling. It only barely fit my 9 foot high ceiling, but it supports my weight no problem so I guess it's safe. Hell, it even supported the Ex's weight and he's a good hundred pounds heavier than me.

Do I like it? Hell yes. It's set up in the middle of my studio apartment so I have to walk by it to get to really anything, so I'm on it all the time. Since I bought it I've developed a nice little two pack, and I can see the faint lines of the rest of my six pack developing.

What's the only drawback? Pole tricks fucking hurt! I am bruised to all hell! Turns out to grip the pole you get to use your skin, not your hands. So it pulls on you and stings. In the beginning I could hardly climb the sucker, but you get used to the pain.

Oh, and dudes dig the chicks with a pole in their apartment,

Shoulda put a ring on it

2010-05-31T12:49:00.000-07:00

I love stripper names. I love that you can sum yourself up in a name, a name you make up yourself. Sadly, a lot of girls aren't too creative about it.

Diamond
Gia
Emerald
Sapphire
Star
Sugar
Honey
Sweetie
Candy
Cookie
Taffy
Caramel
Jenny
Missy
Kristi
Krysti
Kristie
Christie
Christi
Electra
Fantasy
Seduction
Exotica

Yeah, maybe some of those sound creative. But trust me, I've seen them all too many times. Diamond is my number one unoriginal offender. There's at least one, maybe two Diamonds per club.

My favorite name I've heard so far? Black Jack. She was this super skinny little emo girl, with long black extensions to her ass and a pink flower in her hair. She had tattoos all over, and if you looked hard enough in all of them you could find spades, clovers, hearts and diamonds.

The tricky part of stripper names is to get a ring to it. Trashy and irritating, I know, but names like Tila Tequila are legendary. Besides legendary, they're also really hard to come up with. So I was trying the other day. Twisted Vodka, Twisted Jess, Jess Twisted. I couldn't think of anything.

Then I was thinking about Pride and Prejudice, my favorite book. Goddess Divine. I love that line so much. A while back I had been thinking about changing my name from Twisted to something more wholesome, like Alice.

Alice Divine.

I don't know if I'll change my name, but if I do I sure like the sound of Alice Divine.

Pervert from day 1.

2010-05-31T12:36:00.000-07:00

No, I was thankfully not sexually abused as a child, as many girls in my profession are. I wasn't even exposed to porn, and my parents were never sexual around the kids.

So, I don't know where I went wrong.

My first sexual fantasy that I can remember happened when I was 5. I imagined that I was kidnapped by a group of people because I was so beautiful, taken to their secret hideaway, put in a sexy sparkly red dress (like Jessica Rabbit), and made to dance for them on stage.

Oh, irony. It's like I was born to be a stripper.

I even imagined myself looking pretty much like I do now: tall, with black curls and black shoes to match. I was a little more buxom, but the boobies will be here in August.

I have to laugh at myself. It looks like I'm everything my little self fantasized.

Agitating Anita, part 4

2010-05-29T13:10:00.001-07:00

So what do we do here?

Well, first I need to figure out how long she's been at this club. She's probably in her late twenties. Maybe she worked there before I did. Why? Because I want to make sure seniority isn't going to be a problem. And I doubt it will. If anything happened, I'm the girl who brings in the most money. I probably wouldn't be let go.

Mind you, this is just in case. I don't really want to get in an actual fight. But if I do I'm covering my ass whether I win or lose. I don't want to lose this job.

Oh I hate working with women almost as much as I dislike working with strippers.

Agitating Anita, part 3

2010-05-29T12:52:00.001-07:00

Anita and I share a wonderful regular. He's only 20, and he doesn't have much money, but he's super nice and the conversation's good. He doesn't hit on me or try to be dirty either. I'm becoming friends with him in real life too.

When he first started going to the club he was head over heels for Anita. But, he told me, she ended up being really flakey. She'd tell him to come visit her on the club, so he'd go and she wouldn't be there. Or he'd text her and she'd say she was on her way and just never show up.

She did this to him 3 times, so he started getting kind of pissed off about it.

And then he met me. After a couple times of him visiting I gave him my number so he could know when I was going to be at the club. Every time I saw that Anita was there I'd text him and let him know, because he still liked her and I wanted to do something nice for her cause I felt like an asshole after all of our mishaps.

Yesterday my regular came to the club, and for the first time Anita was there too. I went to my Regular's table and we chatted for a bit, then I lead him to our spot on the couches across the room.

To get there we had to pass Anita, which I didn't really think was a big deal because I'm really good about sharing my regulars.

We passed Anita, me walking by my regular.

Anita: (she grabbed his hand and pulled him over.) Where are you going? I missed you!
Regular: (he was pretty high) uhh...

I was pissed. The time I had approached the personal trainer when she was talking to his friend was totally different. I wasn't stealing her dance. I wasn't even talking to the same person she was talking to. But she? She pulled my regular over while I was with him. She was trying to get a dance. I took his hand, looked at her, and led him away.

Oh fuck no, stupid bitch. It's on. I'm taller, stronger, faster, prettier, skinnier and smarter. When I walk my thighs don't touch to the point that I have to waddle. Ohhh fuck no.

I never try at my job. I don't really need to. But it was game time, and I know what my regular likes. I kicked it up a notch and blew his mind (dirty pun not intended. I cleanly blew his mind.), dance after dance. I had to stop to go on stage, and he was awestruck. He followed me up to watch, and Anita tried to take him while I was getting on stage.

She walked him to the back couches. My regular told her he was out of money. (He wasn't.) She got pissed, and said she should slap him. He said he had to go to the bathroom and hid until I was done with my set.

I danced for him a few more times, Anita watching. I was smug. My regular said he felt awkward, "I told her I didn't have any money because I don't want to hurt her feelings and say I like you more." We laughed for a while at the looks of venom that Anita was shooting us.

Towards the end of the night, when my regular had gone, I saw Anita almost in tears in the dressing room. I overheard her say to another girl "this is the worst night of my life. The next person to mess with me is getting a curling iron up their ass."

Well, honey, if you need a weapon you probably are doing something wrong. Yes, I'm smiley and quiet. But you don't fuck with a girl named Twisted. I earned that name because I'm crazy as fuck.

Agitating Anita, part 2

2010-05-29T12:43:00.000-07:00

Our second incident is where I realized that this girl certainly does not like me one bit. To the point that she talks shit about me to every patron who will listen, and every girl who walks by.

That irritates me, but I'm skinnier than her and make more money so I ignore it.

My gym had a hot ass personal trainer. I would see him every day working out clients while I did my thing. The only bad thing about his is that he has a thick, bright blonde streak going down the side of his fauxhawk, standing out against his black hair. I think it looks ridiculous. (I have a point her.)

A few months ago, as I was leaving the dressing room, I noticed a group of cute young guys near the DJ booth. I also noticed a bright streak of glowing blonde going through one of the guy's hair. The personal trainer!

I hurried up to him and said hi while Anita was talking to his friend on the other side of the group. Anita jumped up off of the other guy's lap and stormed off cursing up a storm. She went straight to my manager and told on me for "stealing her dance". I find this ironic after last night's happenings, but we'll get to that in the next post.

I apologized profusely. I offered to pay her for the dance she would have lost, but she refused. Then she went in the back and sulked, talking shit to whoever would listen.

The Personal Trainer ended up spending a lot of money on me and we talked all night. He told me that he wouldn't have gotten a dance from her anyway.
And we ended up having a mini-fling. I think it was worth making an enemy.

Where there is money and sex...

2010-05-29T12:24:00.000-07:00

There will also be fights. That's how it will always be. Money and sex start wars, and turn brother against brother.

Or in this case, stripper against stripper. It's every dancer for herself out there. If you want the money you've got to get to the customer fastest and dance your best to make sure he'll be hooked on you, and only you. Some girls work together. Claire and I are notorious for double teaming pairs of men. Some girls work alone. To each her own, really.

All this competition leads to a hostile environment, which I've explained before. Strippers are famous for fighting with each other. I make a point to stay out of that drama. Why? I don't want my ass kicked by a stripper. Also if I win or lose, I don't want to lose my job. So I keep quiet and pleasant. I don't talk shit, and I don't try to sabotage girls.

But no matter how hard I try, I always seem to make an enemy.

Anita has never liked me, even though I've never had a conversation with her in my life. We don't even sit on the same side of the dressing room. I believe it all started with one incident (which I may have talked about before):
A few girls and I were asked to help pass out free admittance passes after a packed basketball game. We were gone til around 10, which was fine with me because before then is the slow time. When I got back to the club there were two girls in front of me for the stage, so I had like 5 minutes to change. I put on my school girl outfit, because I am always the school girl. Always.
I heard my name being called to go on stage, so I hurried out. As I walked up the stairs to take over the stage from Anita I realized she was wearing a school girl outfit too. She saw me, her eyes narrowed, and I saw her mouth "no." She looked pretty pissed.
After my stage I didn't change. She didn't ask me, but I knew she wanted me to. Nonetheless, I had been the uninterrupted school girl for 7 months and I wasn't about to change for the new bitch. Yeah, maybe it's a little bit of a power play on my part. But god damn it I needed to stop being such a pushover, and that was my favorite outfit!
Also, I decided that there wasn't much harm done at all. We look nothing like each other. She's a bigger girl, with big boobs and straight brown hair. I'm tall and skinny and had long blonde curls. We both attract a different demographic.*
Apparently Anita can't see my logic though, so she hasn't liked me ever since.

Oh well. Like Jenay said, "who cares if those hooker bitches don't like you? You're here to make money, not make friends. The only person who matters at the end of the day is whoever you're going to bed with."

*Speaking of demographics, that would be a fun post. Which girls typically attract which type of guy.

Just a vagina.

2010-04-22T18:18:00.000-07:00

It is NOT just a vagina.
God damn it all of you promiscuous girls, it is not just a vagina!

Yes, maybe I'm the wrong person to say this. I work at a full nude ta-ta and hoo-ha bar. Flashing some vadge is how I make a living. But I feel like sex is different. It's something so special.

What has me thinking about intimacy and it's intimateness?
I'm watching Glee.

Glee: (noun) An American musical-comedy-drama that launched in May 2009. It follows several high schoolers struggling to fit in and sing their hearts out.

What about it? Well, the cute, innocent lead boy, Finn, got an offer to loose his virginity, by the skeezy yet utterly hot cheerleader. Of course I am all for kids loosing their "V-card", but the cheerleader? Throwing her vagina around all willy-nilly like it was a communal slot machine? Uck.

It just makes me sad that all of these girls are giving themselves away like they're not special. And, because it's so easy to get, poon is becoming less and less special.

So treasure your treasure box.
And GOD DAMN IT girls, maintain the power of the sugar dish!

I dream of...

2010-04-16T21:53:00.000-07:00

Peaches.

I had a sex dream about peaches.

Ew, gross perverts. Not the fruit. The person. The girl.

Not only was it a sex dream, but it was the most graphic and long lasting sex dream I've ever had.

It felt like it lasted hours. Hours of me and Peaches intertwined on black satin sheets underneath willow trees.

Weird, yes, but it's my recently-realized subconcious fantasy. Not yours.

But I digress, again. Underneath willow trees, with a fucking black riding crop and pink sparkle strap on.

WHAT?! I mean, yes. I've dabbled in girls. And by dabble I do not mean I've spent much sexy time with them alone. I've had my moments, but nothing to inspire a pink strap on. I haven't even watched lezzie porn within the last... month.

Oh, and not only was it a kinky lesbian sex dream. The girl and I took turns pleasing each other. After my turn Peaches sat up, looked at me and said

"You're boring me. Let me show you how it's done."

And she blew my mind.
I need to get a dream interpretation book, stat.

Like clockwork.

2010-04-04T04:32:00.000-07:00

Psycho called.
Wait, let me be specific. Psycho called me eleven times and texted six times between two and 2:30 in the morning.

Why?
Want to take a wild guess? Bingo! Jess is no more.

Like last time?
As you remember, last time Jess and Psycho "broke up," it was Psycho lying for the sake of poon. So, like last time? Yeah... I don't know for sure what's really going on over there. Our conversations for the night are as follows, punctuation and misspellings preserved. Mind you, Psycho is quite drunk:

703: Hey, what are you doing?
703: ???
602: Who is this?*
703: (Psycho's real name, misspelled.) Pick up. I'm gonna call.
602: No, fuck you.* I'm at work.
703: I'm coming up.
703: Right now
602: What? I'm in Phoenix.
703: Im driving up to phx.
602: Why??
703: U wanna fuck
703: To fuck u
703: Wanna fuck?
703: ??

At this point I called him. This is the conversation as best as I could remember.
Twisted: Are you single?
Psycho: Yes.
Twisted: Are you single like you were last time we hooked up?
Psycho: No, I'm single.
Twisted: Are you lying?
Psycho: No.
Twisted: Am I going to see a picture of your cute little girlfriend on your phone background?
Psycho: No. God why don't you believe me?
Twisted: Oh, I don't know. Because you are an almost perpetual liar?
Psycho: So can I come up? Can we fuck?

(Note that Raice is listening in at this point.) Last time I had sex with Psycho it was beyond amazing. Actually, every time I've had sex with Psycho has been amazing. Even that one time when he only lasted like five minutes. That was five minutes of orgasmic bliss.
Ironically, I had just been talking about Psycho to Monique today. We both realized that we loved ridiculously rough sex and she complained she had never found a man who would really fuck her hard enough. I told her about how Psycho always fucked me up. She was impressed.
Still, despite the amazing sex, I had to remember how last time I had sex with Psycho really went. Me kicking him off the bed, him near tears in his truck, a pregnancy scare, getting my hopes up and weeks of depression. I didn't want that again. No way.

Twisted: Are you fucking kidding me? (Livid Twisted has quite a potty mouth.) After what happened last time? No way!
Psycho: You know you want it.
Twisted: Um, no. Not really. You want it.
Psycho: You have no idea how bad I want it.
Twisted: Don't talk dirty to me right now, Psycho. You know how hard it is for me to say no to you.
Psycho: Can I come.
Twisted: *sigh* Yeah, fuck you. But you are not staying the night.
Psycho: Why not?
Twisted: My bed isn't big enough for two, and I don't like you.
Psycho: Where am I supposed to sleep?
Twisted: I don't know. In your truck?
Raice: Twisted, you're my fucking hero.
Twisted: Psycho, how drunk are you?
Psycho: I'm not.
Twisted: Psycho.
Psycho: I'm not that drunk!
Twisted: Ok, so you've been drinking. You shouldn't drive drunk, and you definitely shouldn't drive the hundred miles to Phoenix as drunk as you are.

I got off the phone with Psycho. Shortly after that:

602: I'm doing one more dance. Be patient.
703: Comf down after. (Meaning to drive to Tucson.)
602: Fuck no.
703: Why not
602: I'ma (ghetto, I know.) call you in like two minutes. Ok?
703: I'll do anything u want me to do to u. (Abbreviating three letter words is a turn off for me.)
602: Honey, I know you would.
602: 11 missed calls?? You persistent fuck.
703: You're a good fick (He's wasted.)
602: I know I am. If you want to do anything you'd better get her fast. I'm tired.
703: Meet in casa grande? I'll pay for hotel?
602: Ha, no. I'm not putting any effort into this. It's your idea.

The conversation continued like that for a while. Then it got FUCKING RETARDED again.

703: If I broke up with jess would you date me?
602: No. You said yourself that you wouldn't date me.
703: I think we'd be good together.
602: No.
703: So are you coming up?

After a while of arguing Psycho finally decided that he would stay in Tucson in exchange for some dirty pics that he could get off on in place of the real thing. Yes, I obliged. He was freaking me out. He continued to insist we should date and that he should "be my man." I sent him his pictures about an hour ago and he hasn't replied yet. My guess is he's passed out drunk, dick in hand.

After I sent him the pictures I sent him a few emails, explaining how to get Jess to be less of a bitch, and to express what she's actually thinking without playing the mind games girls tend to play. We'll see what happens. How am I feeling? Annoyed.

Why do I say like clockwork? I told my besties about Psycho. They asked if I thought he'd text me the moment he's single. My answer? "Definitely. Like clockwork."

*I had deleted him out of my phonebook. Lead me not to temptation, you know?
*I really don't like Psycho as more than a fuck toy. In fact, I really don't like him as a person at all.

Fancy meeting you here, Tribal Douche.

2010-03-23T21:17:00.000-07:00

7:08
I started driving the long drive to Paradise Bakery for a nice cup of soup.

7:10
I started realizing that a Chipotle burrito bowl also sounded awesome.

7:15
I decide that Paradise is healthier, and pull up to the restaurant.

7:16
I go up to the door and accidentally pull instead of push. Awkwardly I push the door open and step inside. The table directly to the right of me looks up. An awkward blonde body builder looks up from his sandwich.

7:16:01
I realize it's Tribal Douche

7:16:01:30
Tribal Douche's jaw drops. He starts to say something.

7:16:01:32
I turn on my heel and leave the restaurant.

The burrito was a better decision anyway.