Wednesday, 29 February 2012

Sleeping like a stripper

My day to day routine is pretty topsy-turvey, as I work a 9 pm to 5 am shift. I insist on dark bedrooms with blackout blinds and thick curtains, on quiet streets. Even with my best efforts though, I still suffer from insomnia especially when stressed or upset. Followers of me on twitter will know that I have been super upset and broken hearted recently, & that's meant one thing - a thoroughly modern girl about town diet. Like a fading heroine from valley of the dolls, this little girl turned to drink to forget & drugs to sleep.
At first glance, you have to love a sleeping tablet. Often pretty candy colours - duck egg blue Valium anyone? They knock you out, even when you have been staring at the ceiling for hours waiting & willing yourself to nod off. Plus they have a certain sexy doomed cachet to them. I feel very Great Gatsby in my silk lounge PJs, gulping down a tab or two with the dregs of a wine glass.
Problem for us ladies that like to bare their flesh of an evening is that they give you HUGE bruises. I mean proper blue & black whoppers that can't be covered by fake tan or foundation. Something to do with thinning your blood apparently. Going into work I had to wear 80denier stockings & a long sleeved dress, otherwise I looked like an A&E victim. I blamed my bruises on an imaginary pole-dancing class, & have started drinking Horlicks with a good book instead....

Monday, 13 February 2012

Mr. Nasty followed by Mr. Nice

Who knew that two friends could be so different?

Both were army guys, both under 30 ... they served and fought together and were out together - a whole gang of army pals, in fact. Regular readers will know that I have a soft spot for squaddies, sailors, pilots - anything forces based or rocking a uniform. It's a difficult job that polarises many opinions, but it's mans work goddammit, and I am happy to assist in some hot fantasies for them to take back to the front line when they want a nice mental image after a gruelling shift.

I spoke to Mr. Nasty first. I thought he was going to bring me to tears. It had been a killer of a slow night (that's half term and the snow for ya) and I had barely broke even after five hours shivering away with my butt hanging out. He was big, brutish and had a face which had seen a rugby scrum or two.

"Why should I have a dance with you?"

To be fair, I get this all the time, and usually smile like a million watt bulb and reply; "Well, firstly I'm not Eastern European, and then there are two great reasons right HERE" I point to my perky titties, stroke the right, then the left, before bringing my hand up to play with my hair and do that coy, cute look you can find on pages 3,9,18,21 and 42 of Playboy.

He dismissed all three of my very good reasons..."Yeah, but any woman could say that."

He then proceeded to tell me I was boring, that I was meant to be selling it, selling myself, and selling, selling, selling.
"Honey, I'm here to entertain. We are not in a car showroom - we are showgirls!"
"You're selling mate."
"Let's have some fun! It's Saturday night for chrissakes, it's snowing and cold outside...."
"Hmph. I'm used to the cold. I'm a soldier."
"Ohhh I lurve squaddies. I always give them a little bit extra."
"Can I get one for free then?"
"I'm not going to give you a free dance because you are a soldier. I'll give you an extra special one tho..."
"What's extra special mean?"
"More time in a booth with me...."
"Why would I want that? You're boring."
Argh! I counter-attacked with a host of witty remarks, sniper-rifled a few nasty put-downs of my own, before getting up to leave as I wasn't getting anywhere fast. Best to beat a hasty retreat.

But as I got up to leave.... he went "nah, don't go."
"I thought I was boring and wasting your time?"
"nah, I didn't mean it like that" (He soooo bloody did though. He was they type that loved to insult women and make them squirm... I wanted to go because I could feel me getting upset, and thats probably exactly why he wanted me to stay - to make me upset).

So I grabbed a passing sexy hot young thing, and said - "why don't we have a threesome? When was the last time you had a threesome, huh?"

The cheeky mare glanced at his watch and went "Oh, about 14 hours ago actually."

I would just like to re-emphasise the point that this man, whilst he had some funny lines, was essentially a big nasty bully who was ruining an already poo night - no empathy here readers, ok? lolz

Unbelievably, he then said I didn't have confidence in myself, as I tried to get another girl involved, so therefore I wasn't good enough!!!!

Errrr, how exactly did I say I wasn't good enough? Added to the 'you're boring' comment earlier, I was ready to run for the hills. But then surprisingly, Mr. Nasty got up and went "Come on then."

I must admit I most certainly did not give him my usual sexy squaddie special, oh no. I gave him a crappy, short lapdance with dead eyes and a body going through the motions, as I hated taking my clothes off for this cruel man with cruel eyes and cruel words.

I buggered off to the bar quick-sharp afterwards, and started talking to an absolutely lovely little fella who seemed a little shy and shell-shocked by it all. Turns out that Mr. Nice was in the army, and immediately alarm bells started ringing in my head after the demeaning quarter of an hour downstairs. These turned to full on sirens when Mr. Nasty approached. They were friends! He looked at me and immediately I thought the worst, but he just took a sip of his beer and went;

"I'd recommend her mate. Real go-er."

Well slap me silly, seems like even Mr. Nasty can say nice things sometimes.... and with his endorsement ringing in our ears, Mr. Nice and I went off to have fun together for the rest of the night. And I gave him a squaddie special....