Single for a Reason

Life has been busy lately, especially with stripping. It's the busy season for my area, which is April through May.

I'll share something that happened in April.

I performed at a bachelorette party full of ladies that worked in a cosmetic surgery center together. That meant every lady their had an incredible boob job, and diving in between those perky fun breasts for cash has never been funner, although I met more push resistance from the silicone than usual.

The show went well, as the ladies seemed satisfied with my act, and they tipped me handsomely for it. Afterwards, two of the single girls from the crowd invited me out with them to the clubs. I graciously accepted since the club was within walking distance of the resort hotel where they were staying.

It turned out to be a short outing for me. 

One of the single girls (we'll call her Amanda)--a short blonde with breast implants that resembled two balloons ready to burst out the front of her dress--decided she wanted to go home early to let her dogs out. Amanda was staggering about and could not stand up straight without swaying. Her coworkers and friends rejected the idea of her driving, but she insisted that she was fine.

Several coworkers offered to drive her, but Amanda refused, stating that she did not want to leave her car behind. Amanda and her friends were at an awkward stalemate.

I cut in, offering to take Amanda home while getting a cab back to the resort. The other girls didn't mind this idea, especially when I offered to call when Amanda got home safely and I was on my way back. After bantering back and forth with her friends, Amanda finally relented to my idea.

I really didn't want to take her home, but I wasn't fond of the possibility of her killing herself and some other innocent bystanders. Thus, I drove her home.

On the way, we engaged in strained small talk, at least on my end. We had very little in common. I had to dig through the depths of my social repertoire, which was molded from years of performances and public speaking, to hold a decent conversation with this girl. Maybe she was shy, or just drunk, but she had little interesting to say about anything. 

She did lament about her single status, though. "I just moved here and the dating pool sucks in this area. I went on a few dates from Tinder and those didn't pan out well."

When we arrived at her house, Amanda used her phone to get an Uber taxi cab for me. She invited me inside while I waited for the cab to arrive.

As we entered her house, she said, "I never bring guys here that I had just met..."

I nodded, figuring that she had brought several guys before me home, but somehow wanted to make herself sound more reserved and conservative than her current actions dictated. 

 

"Let me introduce you to my roommate. I think he's on the back patio." 

We wandered to the back patio where a guy was sitting on a lawn chair and smoking hookah. He stood up and greeted Amanda with a peck on the lips, indicating that they've been much more than mere roommates on several occasions. Then he turned and greeted me in a jovial voice. We talked, and he was pleasant enough. He was much easier to talk to than Amanda.

Before I could get settled in, my Uber cab arrived. Amanda offered to walk me out to the front and gave me a hug. I felt her silicone breasts push against me like a pair of water balloons.

The uber driver, a middle-aged lady, commented how we made a cute couple. I thanked Amanda for getting the cab and hugged her once more before departing.

On the way back, the uber driver said, "Did you just meet her? You look great together."

"We met a few hours ago. I just drove her home because she was a little too tipsy."

"Oh, I love stories like these! I could tell that girl was really into you. I could see it in her eyes."

"Really?" I said in wonder, because I didn't notice such a look from Amanda.

"Ooohhh, yeah. Honey, I've been doing this for a while. I can tell. That girl had doe eyes for ya... So are you going to see her again?"

"Probably not."

"Oh, why not?" the cab driver asked in dismay.

"She's not my type," I answered.