Strippers don’t exist

An exhausting number of men want my number, want to add me on Facebook, take me out blah blah. But I know all they really want is to shag me, whether they know it or not.  One stupid Londoner this evening was relentless in his pestering.  They think they know you but they haven’t a clue really. If this guy saw me on the street in my jeans, converse, pink raincoat and minimal make up he wouldn’t look twice. The ‘perfect’ fantasy girl I am in the club doesn’t exist.  And thank god for that too!


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