testimonial

I got an e-mail from Mr. B the other day, a sort of thank-you note. Since the beginning of his strip-club adventures in November, he informed me, he has lost thirty pounds and started dating a real-live human female. You will recall that this is the man who used to have panic attacks around women and hadn’t been laid in eight years.

“During the dark years, when I had limited to no social connections with humans, I gained about 100 pounds largely because I had substituted food pleasure for companionship pleasure,” he wrote. “Bringing me down was loneliness; bringing me back up were cheeseburgers and fries. When I discovered in late November that I was capable of social relationships with women, and that I enjoyed them, I was able to reverse that transference. The club provided me with a low-stress, rejection-free environment in which to make that discovery. And the sexy nakedness was what kept me coming back to work on it.”

I would be a real cunt if I found this anything less than charming – the happiest possible ending to the boy-meets-stripper story. Better living through strippers, indeed. Even my darling, wicked Joel has as of very recent date renounced my company forever, claiming a new and improved world-view.

And guys think it’s just a line when I tell them my ass is magical and will change them forever.

OK, I am a little bummed that nobody’s rosy new dawn includes good old me, but what can you do? I’m like a doctor. People come to see me when they’re sick. I get them at their nastiest and messiest and then they get their acts together and move on. Wishing for a customer to keep visiting me is wishing for them to be lonely and questing and chronically blue-balled forever. (Except for those rare few who are completely fulfilled by looking at me in my panties for an hour or two every once in a while, but Zen souls like these are few and far between. Oh, how I miss the Plumber.)

So fly away free, little birdies, etc. On the other hand, I hope all this spreading of love and peace is accruing for me karmically, because it is decidedly not accruing in my bank account, and I would really like to do some fun things like pay C’s next tuition installment and go back to school myself in the fall and buy a computer – this one’s fucked again – and fund my next project (it’s a big’un) and go to Sinai in April with Pam and Nafis.

Still, being a bodhisattva who induces enlightenment through her mere (naked, writhing) presence is it’s own reward, I guess.

Namaste.