Dear My Hollywood Girl:
I still can’t tear myself away from these photos. You mentioned it, but I didn’t believe it was true until I saw for myself; your transformation into sexy fucking hot slithering smoking sex the moment you put on those shoes and walked me through your routine.
Taking off those chunky Frankenstein-chic boots fresh from our laundromat meeting and slipping on those red stripperhero-powered stilettos turned on whatever had been turned off inside me and all the arrows flipped into the red.
So fucking cute and sparkly you always are despite the fact you’ve never let me kiss you, and not for my lack of trying. You’d think that might even be a turn off for me; the straight up friendship with no drunken makeouts…but it’s not. You are so cute and sparkly (I’ll say it more times if you let me) that I hang in there just waiting for the grinding, tongue-kiss payoff.
I understand and respect you aren’t about the girlongirl like I am. But patience is a virtue and I am virtuous like a motherfucker.
But your cuteness/sparkle went away in the magician-like moment when those shoes came on and you showed me how you walked with your hips leading and slid yourself up against that lucky wall and lazily dropped your head back so your hair fell and then you looked at me with sleepy sexy eyes over your shoulder you were so workin’ it.
Like you knew I wanted you.
Like you wanted me.
Like I had a chance.
And after you spent that lucky wall with the writhing of your flesh, you crawled across that fortunate floor, hunting me with your eyes, shimmying up my legs and onto my lap. And even though it was fully clothed with no music playing and a dog in the room lap dance, it was hot. If I had a dick, it would’ve been trigonometry hard. I can’t imagine what that would’ve been like had there been music, had there been drinks, had I been a man, a paying customer…and maybe that’s why I keep coming back to these pictures.
You keep it up Hollywood Girl. I will call you from time to time and you will call me and maybe we will go do your laundry again and you can show me another routine and you can wear those stripper shoes and maybe the dog can stay out of the room this time and you can throw me a bone and lower the lights and put flame to a few candles and your lips to mine….or more.
Please.
Your Orange County Girl
Copyright 2009
Author's Bio: xTx is pleased and thankful to have been published in places like Thieves Jargon, Cherry Bleeds, decomP, Dogzplot, Zygote, Rumble and others. I blog at http://notimetosayit.blogspot.com. If you’d like to visit and tell me I’m awesome, that would be the shit, yo.
