Overall, today was disappointing. I miss Fridays, where did they go? They used to be such nice, dependably lucrative shifts. And now I face having to work during the day on Saturday and Sunday, too. Ack. Damn summertime slowdown. I believe I will go to Palazio tomorrow but first I have to make sure I've go some clean regulation thongs and trim myself down.

I don't have to be quite so scrupulous about shaving when working in the nude club. Wait, that sounds wrong. I do shave daily, but I don't shave off as much as I would if I had to make sure that nothing peeked out of a tiny thong. That is why so many strippers are totally bald or have tiny little landing strips; the area that a t-back covers is at most a couple of inches. I know, I have measured some before. Generally, when you are looking at me, the part that is right at my crotch is about two inches wide, and underneath it tapers down to an inch or three-quarters of an inch. Hence the need for more trimming than when I am dancing nude and it doesn't matter if some hairs down below are poking out. I happen to like leaving the hair on my lips alone; there's more to play with that way. Not at work, but in bed. Or when I'm watching TV. I don't mind having to shave more, but I do like the compliments I get at work. Because I am au naturel compared to most of the girls there. Wait, I have a recent picture I can show you:

mikehickeyphotography.com

As Trey and Matt would say, that's my bush. I know, it's so huge it demands comment, doesn't it? I wouldn't think so, but I am routinely complimented on my "natural" appearance. That's the kind of natural that of course requires that I shave more than half of my hair off. I never cease to be amused.

There was a very kind man in the club this afternoon who asked me what I was thinking about when I danced for him. I told him, "I'm thinking about whether or not you're enjoying this, trying to make sure you like what I'm doing," which is the truth. Unless you're somehow inhibiting my enjoyment of myself while I'm dancing by being grabby or stinky, I'm thinking about you, dear customer, much as a massage therapist would. Except dirtier. "I wonder if he's tired of my ass yet. I'd better show him my boobs. Does he like the eye contact or is it intimidating him? Oooh, it looks so good when I arch my back like that, I'd better do that. Is he smiling yet?" That's pretty much what runs through my head, unless I'm doing a hell of a lot of dances in a row. If it's Sunday night and I'm on dance number 47, then yes, I probably am going to think at some point about what's for dinner. Round about the fifth consecutive dance for a single patron is when my mind starts to wander. First I start thinking, "He has to be getting bored with this," and then I start trying to invent new moves.

Anyhow, his question invited one of my own. "What are you thinking about?" I asked. "I'm thinking about you, and how honest you're being," he said. I'm still trying to figure that out. Did he mean how honest I was being as in "Wow, you sure are being honest in this dance," or did he mean, "I'm thinking, hmm, how much of this is stripper shit?" Nonetheless, he gave me some really terrific compliments on my dances.

He should have been thanking Mya, the ultrablonde who danced for me at Palazio, for the inspiration.