And now, another Nurse Betty slice of life.
The shift is over and one of the fellow dancers has acquired a man for the evening, not a client, a man to love on much younger than she. She needs a ride to where he's parked, and I offer to drive, and the girl is just ebullient. "I haven't been laid in two months, and Ohmygod he's so hot and so young! Betty, I'm so-o nervous"
"Don't be nervous, it's just sex, it's the most natural thing in the world"
"I wonder if I smell okay."
She proceeds to shift her weight, lose her hand down her trousers. I try not to let this unnerve me, until she, not trusting her own judgement, asks me to take a whiff of her finger to evaluate its pungence. She holds her palm right under my nose.
I'm not entirely certain how to react to this. How flattering that she trusts me so much, but still... surely Miss Manners has written something on the subject.
"It smells like..." Don't say catfish, don't say catfish "A woman. Smells great."
"Are you sure?" She isn't certain. She proceeds to dig for gold once more. Really working out the treasures of her reproductive canal to be ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that the finger she holds under my nostrils is ABSOLUTELY SATURATED, ABSOLUTELY RADIOACTIVE with the UNMISTAKEABLE SMELL of fat. pink. juicy. stripper pussy.
Yes, I am absolutely certain that you smell absolutely wonderful. Now please, of please, for the love of little apples, promise me that you will wash your hands before you eat anything.
I dropped her off and she and the boy ran off for a night of wacky hijinks. His friends and I talked atheism in the parking lot for about twenty minutes and then parted as friends.
I just wonder, at what point in ones life does a person become so comfortable with their bodies that they think nothing of offering their scent to another girl? Perhaps I am simply a prude. Yeah, that's it.
I'm gonna go cry myself to sleep now. Tears of blood.



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