You Spin Me Right Round Baby Right Round
...Like a dreidel, baby, right round, round round.
Happy Chanukah! Goyim and the Chosen alike.
Once I saw a burlesque show where the dancer did her thing to the 'dreidel song' intercut with Dead or Alives biggy. She pulled gelt out of her panties and threw them into the audience, she was pretty hot from memory, my soft chockie coin attested the fact.
Made me think about becoming a burlesque dancer.
I believe that somewhere inside of me is a burlesque dancer wanting to get out ( yes, and just the one...thank you very much. I know my thighs are bigger than they should be, bugger off, leave me alone).
I bought some pasties a few weeks ago. They still sit in my naughty drawer beside my bed, waiting for their the perfect moment.
Their drawer mates are a set of handcuffs and some nipple clamps... Actually thats not true, I don't own nipple clamps, in reality the rest of the drawer is filled with an assortment of unsexy stuff.
Random AC adapter to something I have never owned, a stick of crazy glue, a remote control with no batteries, a crochet needle and a lone clove cigarette in a beat up packet.
A few months ago I bought a sexy black dress and some matching shoes, high heels with an ankle strap, grrrr.
I took them home and went about playing dress up. I stood in front of the mirror trying out a variety of 'sexy' looks. You know, one eyebrow up, bit of a pout, eyes glazed over with that "I'm not on muscle relaxants, I am just hot" look.
I was admiring my thin ankles in my new shoes and the outrageous amount of cleavage that sat under my chin ( more a comment about my chin than my breasts).
It was time to try out a hip swinging walk in my new shoes and dress, I gave myself a smile in the mirror and turned on my 2 inch heel imagining myself on a NYC street, looking over my shoulder at some poor individual stricken with lust for me.
In real time I turned on my heel, my ankle gave out, soon followed by my knee, I collapsed in heap at the foot of my bed feeling like a complete twat.
Somewhere along the line reality and fantasy clashed.
That happens a lot to me.
Now I am going to try and harvest sexiness in beat up army boots and some Hot Topic pants. My sexy look (if I have one) will come and go depending on how much you have had to drink. My sexy walk may or may not be a stagger along the cobblestones of the west village. My burlesque career extends to me removing my bra under my t-shirt and sliding it out of one of the armholes.
However my thin ankles and cleavage actually exist, so if the above retardations don't turn you off... d'ya wanna go out on a date?
Happy Chanukah! Goyim and the Chosen alike.
Once I saw a burlesque show where the dancer did her thing to the 'dreidel song' intercut with Dead or Alives biggy. She pulled gelt out of her panties and threw them into the audience, she was pretty hot from memory, my soft chockie coin attested the fact.
Made me think about becoming a burlesque dancer.
I believe that somewhere inside of me is a burlesque dancer wanting to get out ( yes, and just the one...thank you very much. I know my thighs are bigger than they should be, bugger off, leave me alone).
I bought some pasties a few weeks ago. They still sit in my naughty drawer beside my bed, waiting for their the perfect moment.
Their drawer mates are a set of handcuffs and some nipple clamps... Actually thats not true, I don't own nipple clamps, in reality the rest of the drawer is filled with an assortment of unsexy stuff.
Random AC adapter to something I have never owned, a stick of crazy glue, a remote control with no batteries, a crochet needle and a lone clove cigarette in a beat up packet.
A few months ago I bought a sexy black dress and some matching shoes, high heels with an ankle strap, grrrr.
I took them home and went about playing dress up. I stood in front of the mirror trying out a variety of 'sexy' looks. You know, one eyebrow up, bit of a pout, eyes glazed over with that "I'm not on muscle relaxants, I am just hot" look.
I was admiring my thin ankles in my new shoes and the outrageous amount of cleavage that sat under my chin ( more a comment about my chin than my breasts).
It was time to try out a hip swinging walk in my new shoes and dress, I gave myself a smile in the mirror and turned on my 2 inch heel imagining myself on a NYC street, looking over my shoulder at some poor individual stricken with lust for me.
In real time I turned on my heel, my ankle gave out, soon followed by my knee, I collapsed in heap at the foot of my bed feeling like a complete twat.
Somewhere along the line reality and fantasy clashed.
That happens a lot to me.
Now I am going to try and harvest sexiness in beat up army boots and some Hot Topic pants. My sexy look (if I have one) will come and go depending on how much you have had to drink. My sexy walk may or may not be a stagger along the cobblestones of the west village. My burlesque career extends to me removing my bra under my t-shirt and sliding it out of one of the armholes.
However my thin ankles and cleavage actually exist, so if the above retardations don't turn you off... d'ya wanna go out on a date?
posted by D. at Tuesday, December 07, 2004
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