Look, just stop, okay? Yeah, yeah, go ahead and pretend like you weren’t doing anything. Ugh. Here I am up here stripping–as I should be as I am a stripper and this establishment is a strip club!–and all the time that I’m up here I can just feel you dressing me with your eyes. Ewww.
Stop playing innocent! You can’t hide it. I’m up here wriggling and writhing with nothing on, doing my darndest to try to incite lust in the men around me–again, my job!–and all you can think about is how I would look in a nice pantsuit. Or a nice sweater set. Or a pair of loose fitting flannel pajamas.
I’m trying to play with the warped sexual instincts of men by thrusting my body rhythmically to the music of bad 80s hair bands. But it’s a little difficult to summon the necessary concentration and focus for that when I can feel your eyes moving to the back of the stage where they pick up my discarded school girl outfit and gently and respectfully place it back onto my naked body, disgustingly restoring to me some amount of dignity.
But all of that is just the start of the problem. The truly diabolical part of all of this isn’t what’s going on with your eyes; it’s what’s going on in your mind. I can just see you sitting there, practically drooling as you fantasize about sitting across from me in a coffee shop talking about what we did and didn’t like movie Cold Moutain and how we’d both agree that the acting was phenomenal all-around but the movie, even considering that it took place during the Civil War, was a little heavy on all of the death and that we’d also agree that narrated letters always come off as a little cheesy. And frankly, all that just makes my skin crawl.
So you and your friends just finish your cokes and take a hike. You’re making it pretty difficult for the people around you to mentally cheat on their wives and girlfriends as their eyes have degrading sex with me.
And don’t bother waiting outside so you can tell me how you’re my daughter’s second grade teacher and that I would know that if I would ever come to the parent-teacher conference and that Haley has been struggling with her homework and that you want to help her do as well as possible and that you have a friend who might even be willing to give me a job in a different line of work that would allow me to be home in the evenings with Haley and that all you’d like is a few minutes of my time to talk.
Don’t even bother, you creep. You’ll never get anywhere near me because the club bouncer walks me to my car. Because at that point people are supposed to be trying to rape me.