mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- real thing Let's get a big round of applause for waking up after the sun is down, people. It's nine-thirty p.m, and my hair is still dripping from my shower, I'm drinking my first cup of coffee and smoking my first cigarette. Talk about a late start. This woman I work with, Brenda, brought me two pairs of pasties last week. She was an exotic dancer in the sixties and seventies- When she told me that, I immediately started asking all sorts of questions, about how she danced and what she wore. I've always been interested in the way that eroticism evolves- How, for example, one hundred years ago, women were still in ankle-length dresses and any outward expression of sexuality was taboo, and then, in the sixties, dancers wore pasties and skimpy panties and now, they don't wear anything at all, including pubic hair. Everything keeps getting more hardcore and less imaginative. I went to a nude club one time, and the women there didn't really try to be sexy or appealing- They were just... Naked. Bare-assed, spread-legged, shaved-bald naked. And I found that so unappealing. There's a scene in one of Chuck Palahniuk's book where the two main characters are in a nude bar and one of them says, as a dancer is gyrating her bare crotch in front of him, that she looks less like a woman and more like a card slot on an ATM machine, but made out of flesh. How the hell did I get here? All I wanted to do was tell y'all that I got some pasties, that's all. 9:20 p.m. - 2003-08-13 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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