Wheels!
So some major things have happened in the last two weeks!
First and foremost, you are reading the words of America’s newest car-owner!!! Yes, it’s true. In case you didn’t know, I have never, ever owned my own car. When I lived back home I used to use the family car a bunch, and I’ve always kept my driver’s license valid, but I’ve never had a car to call my own. In fact, in the last three or four years I’ve probably only driven, like… five or six times (mostly to drive friends home in their cars when they’ve been more drunk than me, or whatever). And you know, it’s never been that big of an inconvenience. The city I live in is a “college town” so everything has always been within walking distance. Plus, there’s always public transportation—we have great bus service here!
Yet, it’s always been a bummer to have to rely on other ppl for rides when I do need them. Like when I started dancing. I don’t know how much money I spent on cabs, but it was a lot. Or like with my new job… it’s not exactly close by, and even though I often take the bus, that requires at least a thirty minute walk from the nearest stop. So I’ve always had to beg for rides, you know? And now I don’t have to anymore!!!
The title for the new car was signed over to me yesterday afternoon. I am so excited. I want to frame it, hang it on my wall like a diploma or something. The guy who sold it to me was really cool—he’s used to tutor a friend of mine, which is how I met him. Anyway, the car is used, but it’s in great condition. It’s not too old (2002), and doesn’t have too many miles on it (21k). The only thing I don’t like about it is its color—silver. I don’t know… I don’t feel like a silver girl. But whatever! The price was right, and it has a sunroof!
He’s been really cool about the payment arrangements, too. I gave him half the money for it down, and I’m going to pay him the rest over the next year. It’s cool, because since I bought it directly from him I didn’t have to get a loan or anything. All he did was have me sign a contract he wrote up and prove I had insurance on it (btw, car insurance is a total rip-off… anyway). I’m going to be sure to pay him on time every month from now until next September because he really is a nice guy who has been really, really accommodating. He’s a 60-something retiree who used to own a bookstore downtown (years and years ago) and for him it’s like… well, I think he’s really happy to sell me my first car. He even said that if any problem with it arises at all, I need to call him right away. Awesome!
So, you’re wondering how I got the money for the down payment, aren’t you? Well I’m glad you asked because that leads me into the second big thing that’s happened to me in the last couple weeks.
I had about 00 saved up when I quit dancing. My plan had been to add to those savings, even though I’d be making less with my new job. But… well, it’s hard! Bills never stop. Rent, utilities, cell-phone… argh. Seriously, it’s been all I can do to keep from touching those meager savings, let alone add to them. Two weeks ago I had just shy of 00 saved—that’s less than 0 added to my account since quitting dancing. Sucks.
Don’t get me wrong! Having 00 in the bank is like, unheard of for me, and it’s been so nice to know I have that “buffer” in case something goes wrong. But those savings were supposed to be for either college or a car. A while ago I decided a car was needed first, for the job situation especially (the job I now have is okay, but like, when I was looking for a job outside of dancing, I found a lot of great ones but they were too far away… I had to settle for the “reasonably close” one… but with a car I could find something better, you know?).
So. Okay. Basically, two of my old regulars (I had about four) from outside of the club kept in touch with me after I quit dancing.
Wait—I should explain what that means! Okay. So, when I was really getting stupid at the club (and yes, what I did was really stupid), I basically started giving handjobs to customers during private dances. This wasn’t totally abnormal. A lot of girls did this. It was easy—especially when I was exhausted (as I often was at the end of a long night). All I had to do was sit there, straddling them, reach my hand down their pants as I did, and ask for a bigger tip (usually ). If they didn’t want it, they said so. If they did, they’d promise the moon. And it was easy because, well—I didn’t have to see anything, or say anything, or even move much! All I had to do was breath loudly and stroke them. And it rarely, if ever, did it take very long, before they came (in their own pants!). And then I’d get this big tip. It was sort of addicting, because it was so, so easy! But… well… it made me feel cheap and stupid, but that’s a whole other story.
Eventually, as you who’ve read my online diary/blog for a while know, I went beyond that. Eventually I became a full-fledged prostitute. I admit it. Because it got to the point that at the end of every night I’d have someone to meet up with after the club closed, sometimes at a motel, sometimes just in the parking lot, sometimes at their home—wherever. And then, yes, I would have sex with them for money. It was dumb of me to do, and I am ashamed of it. You have no idea how ashamed I am of it. But again it was just easy, and it seemed normal almost, and… sigh.
The regulars I’m talking about here are the four guys who fucked me outside of the club, for cash, who I actually gave my phone number to. They weren’t just one-nighters. See, two of those guys I even went out with on “real” dates on a fairly regular basis! Of course, I always got paid, so I guess they were never “real” dates. But I did sort of get to know them. And I did kind of like them. All four of these regulars would call me, and we’d sometimes just chat normally. But if we met up with each other it was because they were paying for my company. Even when one of them paid for me to go to a concert with him. He paid for the tickets, and dinner, and everything. Even with him, though, at the end of the night, he had to give me money for me to fuck him. I always felt bad about that but… that’s just how it was, you know? It was a weird situation. I was in a weird place. I was behaving like a total whore.
Anyway. Two of those regulars stayed in touch with me after I quit dancing. One of them is really annoying (he just called last night; he calls practically every night, though I haven’t talked to him in weeks). The other is nicer, cooler. He’s always been straight with me. When he calls he asks if I want to meet, he offers a certain amount, and I usually say no. In fact, I’ve said no every single time since I stopped dancing. Because that’s not me anymore, you know?
But then he called me about a week and a half ago. He didn’t want to meet. He wanted me to perform. He told me that he was looking for a dancer for a private show, because his friend was getting married and he was the best man. I heard all of this on the voicemail message he left me, and I seriously considered not calling him back.
Let me make this clear: I have not danced or done anything whorish since I quit the club! And I’ve been proud of that. But he also mentioned that he’d pay 0 for four hours of me just dancing. I never made anything CLOSE to that just dancing back when I was at the club. And he said there’d be tips, too.
So, yeah, I did it. It seemed like such easy money. 0 for four hours? Tell me you wouldn’t do it yourself!!!
It happened last weekend. I took a cab to the hotel they were staying at, and got there around 9:30pm. I was late, but once I knocked on the door I realized they didn’t care. They were all drinking heavily. And there was a lot of them, too.
I didn’t even see the “regular” who hired me until I’d been there an hour. There were a lot of guys there. I mean… a lot. A lot a lot. VERY many! You have no idea how nervous I was. In fact, before I even got there I took two Vicadins (don’t ask me how I got them) just to calm myself down. I was terrified at first, given the circumstances—I hadn’t danced in a while, obviously, plus I had no idea what was going to happen. But I needn’t have worried, as it turned out. It ended up being a pretty cool time!
They were all cool, first of all. None of them were vultures or stare-mongers. They all seemed happy I was there. I was the center of attention, and I got everything I wanted—beers, cigarettes, even the music I wanted to hear. They were all the same age as the regular who’d hired me (mid-30’s) and it was almost like they wanted to make ME feel comfortable. It was surreal, but it was cool.
When I did start dancing, it was only after the regular gave me the 0 he’d promised. There was no place to really perform comfortably, so I chose to use the king-sized bed, since it let me be above everyone and bounce safely from time to time.
The dancing itself was actually stupid. It wasn’t like at the club, where I always performed in front of strangers. I’d gotten to know these guys a little in the 90-minutes or so that preceded my performance, after all. So it was more personal… almost like doing a strip-tease for friends (which I have done before) except I was getting paid to do it, and I felt obligated to give the soon-to-be-married guy a good show.
I don’t know how it happened, but eventually I was doing shots from the crotches of the guys who’d taken up seats around the bed. Basically they held the shot-glasses to their crotches (pants on of course!) and I’d use my mouth only to throw them back. Suffice to say I was hammered before long. And, obviously, I was totally nude at this point. I didn’t mind the grabbing and groping, either—I had expected that, plus I was totally hammered.
I get really stupid when I drink. I mean, really stupid. And this was all… I don’t know. It’s like, some of my long-time friends on this site wonder why I became a stripper, or how I could become a prostitute (b/c that’s basically what I became). But, like, when I get crazy and stupid and all? And I’m drunk or high? And when money is involved? I’m the first to admit: I can get really dumb.
And I got dumb that night.
The guys were throwing out money at this point, btw. Some1 would shove a in my direction, I’d crawl over to him on all fours, do his shot, maybe rub him a bit, then move to the next proffered bill. It was insane—it was like there was money everywhere. I kept the cash in my left hand and used my right to… well, be dirty. Everything devolved into me being so whorish, that it’d be worthy of a Red Light District movie. Seriously.
Yet there was no sex. No cocks hanging in my face, no cum spurting onto me, nothing like that! In fact, I don’t remember any of the guys ever pulling their dicks out or even grabbing my puss even once! All I did was crawl around, do the shots, straddle the body, shove my tits in their face… that’s all. Yes, there was constant groping from all sides, always. But no one crossed the line. No one tried to fuck me, not once!
Inevitably, I got sick. But that only happened after most of the guys had moved back to the TV, where four guys were playing videogames. Some stayed near me always, probably hoping to get more, but I was seriously sick, and it had gotten late. I’d given lapdances to everyone at this point so I felt I was done. I realized later that I’d actually only performed three hours instead of four, but no one seemed to mind.
A cab brought me home. It wasn’t until the next morning (afternoon, actually) that I counted all my tips.
I earned 00 on top of the 0 I’d been paid to show up. And I didn’t have to make even one guy cum. Not even one. Yes, I got totally nude, and yes, I danced like a whore. And yes, I’m not going to lie to you—the descriptions of these events are sort of streamlined. A lot more did happen. The “grabbing and groping” I mentioned is the tip of the iceburgh. But seriously, I never blew any of those guys; I didn’t fuck any of those guys; I didn’t do anything stupid with any of those guys!!! I swear.
All I did was give the groom-to-be the best party of his life. And it was, by all accounts. My regular has been text-messaging me all week asking if I can do more private shows. And I really don’t see why not! I mean, I got a LOT of money to do this one show. And yes, these guys have more money than most ppl (the regular who set it up doesn’t even have a job—he’s independently wealthy). But if I could do this kind of thing, even just once a month, for even half what I made last weekend? That would still be a HUGE supplement to my current income.
But yeah, the car! That influx of cash made it possible for me to put the down payment down on this car. So now I have wheels… the sky’s the limit!!!
-shannon-
First and foremost, you are reading the words of America’s newest car-owner!!! Yes, it’s true. In case you didn’t know, I have never, ever owned my own car. When I lived back home I used to use the family car a bunch, and I’ve always kept my driver’s license valid, but I’ve never had a car to call my own. In fact, in the last three or four years I’ve probably only driven, like… five or six times (mostly to drive friends home in their cars when they’ve been more drunk than me, or whatever). And you know, it’s never been that big of an inconvenience. The city I live in is a “college town” so everything has always been within walking distance. Plus, there’s always public transportation—we have great bus service here!
Yet, it’s always been a bummer to have to rely on other ppl for rides when I do need them. Like when I started dancing. I don’t know how much money I spent on cabs, but it was a lot. Or like with my new job… it’s not exactly close by, and even though I often take the bus, that requires at least a thirty minute walk from the nearest stop. So I’ve always had to beg for rides, you know? And now I don’t have to anymore!!!
The title for the new car was signed over to me yesterday afternoon. I am so excited. I want to frame it, hang it on my wall like a diploma or something. The guy who sold it to me was really cool—he’s used to tutor a friend of mine, which is how I met him. Anyway, the car is used, but it’s in great condition. It’s not too old (2002), and doesn’t have too many miles on it (21k). The only thing I don’t like about it is its color—silver. I don’t know… I don’t feel like a silver girl. But whatever! The price was right, and it has a sunroof!
He’s been really cool about the payment arrangements, too. I gave him half the money for it down, and I’m going to pay him the rest over the next year. It’s cool, because since I bought it directly from him I didn’t have to get a loan or anything. All he did was have me sign a contract he wrote up and prove I had insurance on it (btw, car insurance is a total rip-off… anyway). I’m going to be sure to pay him on time every month from now until next September because he really is a nice guy who has been really, really accommodating. He’s a 60-something retiree who used to own a bookstore downtown (years and years ago) and for him it’s like… well, I think he’s really happy to sell me my first car. He even said that if any problem with it arises at all, I need to call him right away. Awesome!
So, you’re wondering how I got the money for the down payment, aren’t you? Well I’m glad you asked because that leads me into the second big thing that’s happened to me in the last couple weeks.
I had about 00 saved up when I quit dancing. My plan had been to add to those savings, even though I’d be making less with my new job. But… well, it’s hard! Bills never stop. Rent, utilities, cell-phone… argh. Seriously, it’s been all I can do to keep from touching those meager savings, let alone add to them. Two weeks ago I had just shy of 00 saved—that’s less than 0 added to my account since quitting dancing. Sucks.
Don’t get me wrong! Having 00 in the bank is like, unheard of for me, and it’s been so nice to know I have that “buffer” in case something goes wrong. But those savings were supposed to be for either college or a car. A while ago I decided a car was needed first, for the job situation especially (the job I now have is okay, but like, when I was looking for a job outside of dancing, I found a lot of great ones but they were too far away… I had to settle for the “reasonably close” one… but with a car I could find something better, you know?).
So. Okay. Basically, two of my old regulars (I had about four) from outside of the club kept in touch with me after I quit dancing.
Wait—I should explain what that means! Okay. So, when I was really getting stupid at the club (and yes, what I did was really stupid), I basically started giving handjobs to customers during private dances. This wasn’t totally abnormal. A lot of girls did this. It was easy—especially when I was exhausted (as I often was at the end of a long night). All I had to do was sit there, straddling them, reach my hand down their pants as I did, and ask for a bigger tip (usually ). If they didn’t want it, they said so. If they did, they’d promise the moon. And it was easy because, well—I didn’t have to see anything, or say anything, or even move much! All I had to do was breath loudly and stroke them. And it rarely, if ever, did it take very long, before they came (in their own pants!). And then I’d get this big tip. It was sort of addicting, because it was so, so easy! But… well… it made me feel cheap and stupid, but that’s a whole other story.
Eventually, as you who’ve read my online diary/blog for a while know, I went beyond that. Eventually I became a full-fledged prostitute. I admit it. Because it got to the point that at the end of every night I’d have someone to meet up with after the club closed, sometimes at a motel, sometimes just in the parking lot, sometimes at their home—wherever. And then, yes, I would have sex with them for money. It was dumb of me to do, and I am ashamed of it. You have no idea how ashamed I am of it. But again it was just easy, and it seemed normal almost, and… sigh.
The regulars I’m talking about here are the four guys who fucked me outside of the club, for cash, who I actually gave my phone number to. They weren’t just one-nighters. See, two of those guys I even went out with on “real” dates on a fairly regular basis! Of course, I always got paid, so I guess they were never “real” dates. But I did sort of get to know them. And I did kind of like them. All four of these regulars would call me, and we’d sometimes just chat normally. But if we met up with each other it was because they were paying for my company. Even when one of them paid for me to go to a concert with him. He paid for the tickets, and dinner, and everything. Even with him, though, at the end of the night, he had to give me money for me to fuck him. I always felt bad about that but… that’s just how it was, you know? It was a weird situation. I was in a weird place. I was behaving like a total whore.
Anyway. Two of those regulars stayed in touch with me after I quit dancing. One of them is really annoying (he just called last night; he calls practically every night, though I haven’t talked to him in weeks). The other is nicer, cooler. He’s always been straight with me. When he calls he asks if I want to meet, he offers a certain amount, and I usually say no. In fact, I’ve said no every single time since I stopped dancing. Because that’s not me anymore, you know?
But then he called me about a week and a half ago. He didn’t want to meet. He wanted me to perform. He told me that he was looking for a dancer for a private show, because his friend was getting married and he was the best man. I heard all of this on the voicemail message he left me, and I seriously considered not calling him back.
Let me make this clear: I have not danced or done anything whorish since I quit the club! And I’ve been proud of that. But he also mentioned that he’d pay 0 for four hours of me just dancing. I never made anything CLOSE to that just dancing back when I was at the club. And he said there’d be tips, too.
So, yeah, I did it. It seemed like such easy money. 0 for four hours? Tell me you wouldn’t do it yourself!!!
It happened last weekend. I took a cab to the hotel they were staying at, and got there around 9:30pm. I was late, but once I knocked on the door I realized they didn’t care. They were all drinking heavily. And there was a lot of them, too.
I didn’t even see the “regular” who hired me until I’d been there an hour. There were a lot of guys there. I mean… a lot. A lot a lot. VERY many! You have no idea how nervous I was. In fact, before I even got there I took two Vicadins (don’t ask me how I got them) just to calm myself down. I was terrified at first, given the circumstances—I hadn’t danced in a while, obviously, plus I had no idea what was going to happen. But I needn’t have worried, as it turned out. It ended up being a pretty cool time!
They were all cool, first of all. None of them were vultures or stare-mongers. They all seemed happy I was there. I was the center of attention, and I got everything I wanted—beers, cigarettes, even the music I wanted to hear. They were all the same age as the regular who’d hired me (mid-30’s) and it was almost like they wanted to make ME feel comfortable. It was surreal, but it was cool.
When I did start dancing, it was only after the regular gave me the 0 he’d promised. There was no place to really perform comfortably, so I chose to use the king-sized bed, since it let me be above everyone and bounce safely from time to time.
The dancing itself was actually stupid. It wasn’t like at the club, where I always performed in front of strangers. I’d gotten to know these guys a little in the 90-minutes or so that preceded my performance, after all. So it was more personal… almost like doing a strip-tease for friends (which I have done before) except I was getting paid to do it, and I felt obligated to give the soon-to-be-married guy a good show.
I don’t know how it happened, but eventually I was doing shots from the crotches of the guys who’d taken up seats around the bed. Basically they held the shot-glasses to their crotches (pants on of course!) and I’d use my mouth only to throw them back. Suffice to say I was hammered before long. And, obviously, I was totally nude at this point. I didn’t mind the grabbing and groping, either—I had expected that, plus I was totally hammered.
I get really stupid when I drink. I mean, really stupid. And this was all… I don’t know. It’s like, some of my long-time friends on this site wonder why I became a stripper, or how I could become a prostitute (b/c that’s basically what I became). But, like, when I get crazy and stupid and all? And I’m drunk or high? And when money is involved? I’m the first to admit: I can get really dumb.
And I got dumb that night.
The guys were throwing out money at this point, btw. Some1 would shove a in my direction, I’d crawl over to him on all fours, do his shot, maybe rub him a bit, then move to the next proffered bill. It was insane—it was like there was money everywhere. I kept the cash in my left hand and used my right to… well, be dirty. Everything devolved into me being so whorish, that it’d be worthy of a Red Light District movie. Seriously.
Yet there was no sex. No cocks hanging in my face, no cum spurting onto me, nothing like that! In fact, I don’t remember any of the guys ever pulling their dicks out or even grabbing my puss even once! All I did was crawl around, do the shots, straddle the body, shove my tits in their face… that’s all. Yes, there was constant groping from all sides, always. But no one crossed the line. No one tried to fuck me, not once!
Inevitably, I got sick. But that only happened after most of the guys had moved back to the TV, where four guys were playing videogames. Some stayed near me always, probably hoping to get more, but I was seriously sick, and it had gotten late. I’d given lapdances to everyone at this point so I felt I was done. I realized later that I’d actually only performed three hours instead of four, but no one seemed to mind.
A cab brought me home. It wasn’t until the next morning (afternoon, actually) that I counted all my tips.
I earned 00 on top of the 0 I’d been paid to show up. And I didn’t have to make even one guy cum. Not even one. Yes, I got totally nude, and yes, I danced like a whore. And yes, I’m not going to lie to you—the descriptions of these events are sort of streamlined. A lot more did happen. The “grabbing and groping” I mentioned is the tip of the iceburgh. But seriously, I never blew any of those guys; I didn’t fuck any of those guys; I didn’t do anything stupid with any of those guys!!! I swear.
All I did was give the groom-to-be the best party of his life. And it was, by all accounts. My regular has been text-messaging me all week asking if I can do more private shows. And I really don’t see why not! I mean, I got a LOT of money to do this one show. And yes, these guys have more money than most ppl (the regular who set it up doesn’t even have a job—he’s independently wealthy). But if I could do this kind of thing, even just once a month, for even half what I made last weekend? That would still be a HUGE supplement to my current income.
But yeah, the car! That influx of cash made it possible for me to put the down payment down on this car. So now I have wheels… the sky’s the limit!!!
-shannon-
Labels: stuff about me
posted by Shannon at 4:30 PM
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