My time off at home is so sweet, quiet and satisfying that I always try to make every second of it count. I have today and tomorrow to accomplish my own private creative endeavors. After that I'll be immersing myself in the neon bombast of Tryst for my typical Thursday-Friday shifts.
Today I painted the picture frames in my living room white, thinking now and then of a certain customer from yesterday evening... he was so handsome, he looked like an Iranian Eric Bana, and he was remarkably intelligent, too. He lives in the same neighborhood as the club, and says he has a look-alike brother who frequents Tryst also, bonus...
I have to admit part of me hopes he stays away. It's too difficult to deal with mutual attraction on a regular basis when it goes nowhere, even when the name of the game is ostensibly teasing and making some money while one is at it, rather than establishing a connection that's earmarked for eventual intimacy.
Provisional intimacy is actually the big thing at strip clubs. Yesterday evening I approached a customer who was polite but explained:
"I'm waiting for Sharita. We have a relationship (wink)."
From this I could infer he was waiting for her to get off the stage and be his fake girlfriend for 30 minute or an hour. It makes sense to me. I'd ideally like a marriage that functions with similar time constraints. Once a week is all I would need to feel good and related to my spouse. I like my private time, you see.
To the gentleman at hand, I responded:
"Can't hate on that!" I said, smiling. "You have fun, she's an awesome lady."
It must be delicious to have a harmless secret fantasy one indulges weekly. I'm starting to forget the desire for such lustful daydreams or experiences. It's a funny thing-- the longer I make being someone else's fantasy my profession, the fewer fantasies of my own I seem to have.
PS After work last night I stopped to get sushi (no good eating after 7 when one is trying to lose weight :( and sat near a pretty woman in her early 40's. She struck up a conversation with me-- she's an attorney-- big surprise, I meet almost no one in any other field of occupation-- and had quite a lot of insight about dating. Single herself, she exuded a slightly nutty vibe (she mentioned her mother twice in our 20-minute conversation, always red-flag behavior) yet had many bits of friendly advice:
"If you want a boyfriend, God will give you one, just make sure you are personally evolved enough to keep the man you attract, or you'll miss out."
Afterward I headed to the nearest big screen tv I could find in Tribeca and watched the Chicago Bull's heart-breaking playoff loss with a bunch of Celtics fans (booo). I'm thinking of making a Ray Allen voodoo doll-- a Chicago girl such as myself can only take so many unexpected 3-point shots before resorting to the occult begins to seem appealing. That'll stop you, jerk!