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Surviving a taco-riffic debut

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Justice

My vagina made its world premiere on a Las Vegas stage over the weekend when I began working at an all-nude strip club. I got the itch to change scenery again and my good friend was working at an all-nude place. I get fidgety with my performance clothing anyway, so it was a nice change to not wear three pairs of panties at the same time. Gracefully removing your panties onstage can be challenging. I think I’m going to have to rig something with Velcro.

It was nerve-wracking, exposing my vagina on stage in front of an audience. No single patron in the entire club knew what a momentous event this was. The spotlight was on my taco, and to all those men it was just another taco. I stood there wobbling around on my clear plastic shoes and the song began. It was time for my vertical smile to put its best foot forward. I grabbed on to the sides of my panties and bent over with my legs straight. The red thong was caught around my ankle straps and I’m trying to gracefully shake them off. With this little piece of material keeping my ankles from parting, it’s like being in a grade school prank of getting your shoelaces tied together. I am about to tumble over the low railing. I resort to crouching like a frog. It’s as erotic as taking a shit in the woods. I should have been trying to remove a clown suit or something. I called for backup.

My friend was sitting by the stage and sees this slow train wreck. I lay down on my back and my lovely assistant pulls my panties off of my shoes. I imagine it like freeing a dolphin that was caught in a tuna net, only it’s the tuna that is getting freed. I’m also wearing fishnets.

And there it is, bald like a Mexican gangster and exposed for everyone who paid a cover charge. The next step is to decide how to present my body for the remainder of a song. I am accustomed to squeezing my breasts or otherwise drawing attention to that part of my body because I never have to take off my bottoms. I am under the impression that people who go to all nude strip clubs are there because they’re more interested in seeing snatch than boobs. While my lower regions are just smooth and lovely, I feel like I attract the men that have a boob fetish. My boobs are big. Like in many all nude clubs, the strippers are “juniors” or teens that don’t have the option to go to 21-and-over clubs. They’re new to stripping and, for the most part, haven’t gotten breast implants yet which seems to happen eventually for many strippers. So, there I am with the biggest boobs in the place. If my vagina had been amputated, I don’t think that my customers would have noticed.

One guy paid me just to hug him and press my breasts into him. I had been warned that the guy was extremely cheap and wasn’t buying dances. He was a skinny guy from Greece, and he smelled. Bad. I hate it when they smell bad. Anyway, I felt like I may have had the market cornered on the breast sales. I did very well for my first night.

There is more to the story about switching to all nude. On January 13th it would have been exactly two months since I began working sober. I was so close. Late Friday night, a friend had vodka in a water bottle and I drank some. There is nothing like locker room libations to knock you off the wagon. Several shots of whiskey and other stuff later, I felt like a complete failure. I feel even worse knowing that everyone saw it coming. At all- nude clubs, no alcohol is served and it is even illegal to have alcohol on the premises. I think of it as perhaps putting myself into a sort of a naked rehab. You know when you go to rehab they take away all your alcohol and street clothes? It’s kind of like that.

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