Dating a male stripper

Once they tired of the bullshit and drama, or she found someone else, they were relegated to "friends." They could’ve bought a fucking sailboat with all the money they blew on young Cinnamon, and now they hang on to some last vestige of hope, thinking that she may just get drunk enough some night and let them put their spit on the slit.

And I would like to remind all readers that it's a slippery slope to allow jealousy to dictate a relationship.

Don’t put her in the precarious position of trying to guess your name.

If you get to that point, FYI, you’re now one of her "friends," and you can wrap up the sexual fantasies you have of her by beating off right on her pillow after you throw the cat some Meow Mix. Unlimited credit, baby." DO kiss her on the cheek when she shows up at your place for the nice dinner you’re going to cook her, and knock her fishnets off with your ability to handle the cuisine and wine.

Try to sound upbeat: "Hi Cinnamon, this is Greg, I was just walking through Tiffany’s, looking at a 0 sterling-silver ashtray and thought of you." (She smokes. A necessity would be getting her condo key so you can go feed her cat. Clasp your hands behind your head and lean back into your chair after you make the Amex toss, as if to say, "See that?

" She’ll make it quite clear that she has many suitors, which excites her to no end, and puts you in a bottle of bourbon all alone by 9pm that night. DON’T go see her at her job unless it’s absolutely necessary. Or better yet, whip out the Corporate Amex and toss it on the table like you’re folding a bad poker hand.

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You’re one of 18 guys she’s juggling right now, and one of a hundred who witness her naked glory every night. She’s ripping 2-5K a week tax-free, and you shouldn’t expect her to pay for anything. Guys fawn all over her every single night and offer her stacks of crisp Benjamins in an effort to get their knobs slobbered on in the parking lot behind the club (something she’ll claim she’s never done, but the other girls at the club have — right — she’s done it at least once). If you get emotionally involved with this girl, you’re in for a hurricane of pain. Pull the battery or she’s going to get some call at midnight, when you’ve got the Miles Davis playing lightly in the background, and the candles illuminating the room in a soft glow and you think you’re about to "storm the beach." This call will undoubtedly be from one of her "friends" who is going to an after-hours party at some country bar and all of the sudden she’ll squeal with delight and jot down the address on her hand and say to you, "Let’s go Two-Stepping at the Country Bunker with John and Kevin! They’re a bad lot to hang out with, because there’s so much freedom and money in Stripperville.

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