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You’re so graceful.” He leaned toward me. Unfortunately, the waitress was nowhere to be seen, and I had yet to receive my check. There’s nothing in the world I hate more than having to explain myself, so I began to plot my exit. I waited for him to laugh or express incredulity. “Were you at my show tonight?” I asked, trying to determine the real reason for his rapt attention. I continued to bite and chew and swallow as he gazed at me from less than a foot away. “That’s a beautiful name,” he murmured from his perch on the stool next to mine. Keep this up, and you’ll be married in no time. Stone smiled at me and waited expectantly. “Your name is Stone Street,” I repeated dumbly while congratulating myself on being such a brilliant conversationalist.
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“Hello,” he said with his perfectly shaped mouth. It was considerably less pleasant when some stranger tried to grope my ass onstage.
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It was a good feeling when the money was flowing. If being a burlesque dancer had taught me one thing, it was what it felt like to be objectified. I felt somewhat guilty for looking at him as a sex object. Even distorted, the man was a thing of beauty. For good measure, I checked out his reflection in the shining surface of the polished metal napkin holder. I could see his face out of the corner of my eye. The man to my right was achingly handsome. However, contrary to what some people may think, there are plenty of men willing to sleep with a woman who is pleasingly plump, especially if they have seen my act. I know that my softer body and plentiful curves don’t appeal to everyone. I ordered the usual.īy the time my waitress delivered a burger and fries to my spot at the counter, I had attracted an admirer. I don’t drink, so I was stone cold sober as I sat there amid the drunks who had filtered out of the nearby bars. One night after I finished my shift, I squeezed into my jeans and headed to my favorite 24-hour diner. It was a dichotomy that I didn’t even understand myself. When I was off-duty, I was actually quite shy and insecure about my body. I often wondered whether the brunette beauty who served as my inspiration ever enjoyed the pleasures of a greasy cheeseburger smothered in fried onions and ketchup. I liked to think of myself as the full-figured Dita Von Teese while I was working. Unfortunately, too many men had trouble differentiating between my job and my personality. We burlesque dancers prefer to leave some things to the imagination. No other job afforded me the opportunity to don skimpy clothes and shake my ample assets for a stream of admirers with an endless supply of dollar bills. Working as a burlesque dancer had its charms. I have to admit that my occupation created some of the problem. The men whom I’d bedded never seemed to be interested in more than a one-night stand. I was experienced enough, but I lacked skill. Principal among their faults was their propensity to screw me once and then disappear. There was only one problem with the men I typically attracted. My hearty appetite displayed itself prominently in my thick thighs and heavy breasts, my tight size 18 jeans and the nearly endless stream of chubby chasers anxious to get their hands on me. I joked back that there is no reason why I can’t have both, although perhaps not at the same time. My friends always asked me which I liked better. If prompted to choose between cheeseburgers and a good roll in the hay, I would be hard pressed to decide. I hate to admit it, but there are two things that are always on my mind: food and sex.