Sarah F: Opinion on the beginning of my story about a teenage stripper?
PRETTY ON THE INSIDE
I was aware of my underwear being slightly dirty and slightly too loose. I wondered if I could pin it discreetly in the back to keep it up and if it would look weird. I was self conscious of the pink and white patterns, patches of feminine polka dots, plaid, and stripes, that loosely patched together to form this lingerie. No. Not lingerie. Lingerie was a word too sophisticated for what I was wearing. It implied beautiful, sexy girls in lace, who could speak French and kiss well. Long legs and lipstick. I, on the other hand, speak a half-assed Spanish and and am slightly stubby. I have had few boyfriends and lipstick only adds attention to my yellow teeth. I was not wearing any lingerie. No. The patterns that loomed and wove themselves self between my legs instead brought another word to mind. Panties. Panties evoked images of sluts who strip to pay rent and sleep with married men. And I was, indead, wearing panties. They were too thin in some places, too thick in others. Worn from wear. They looked childish, girly, young on my adolescent legs. Vulnerable. I wondered how many people were paying to see me to look exactly like that. Creeps in the audience, disgusted and pleased at the same time to the pleasant surprise of their own b0ner to a teenager. A virtual child. I might have hated my job, but I was can’t deny that I’m good at it. I felt my panties sag in the back and pulled them up a bit, my shaky fingers slipping on the silky fabric, struggling to make them stay in the desired position. Not sagging around my @ss, high on my hips. My mom bought them for me about a year and a half ago, expecting them to only be worn under jeans, only to be worn when my cuter underwear was in the wash. She never intended it to be worn like this. But here I was. In panties. Behind the curtain, a small veil shielding me from perverts, distancing me only feet away from their penises and grime. I was so many worlds closer to them then I wanted to be. The curtain was lifted, and I was greeted with yells and bright light. Slut. Whore. Strip. The abuse was my applause. It meant I was doing it right. I shook my skinny, teenage hips a little and tried to vacate my mind, lend it to their vacuum souls. My panties came off with a smile.
Answers and Views:
Answer by Always wish me luck ♥ 🙂
I just wonder why did you write the beginning of a story about teenage stripper ? I don’t like the theme at all..sorry.
You’re a good writer. I found it interesting.Answer by yumyum ♥☮★
That was a bit disturbing to read, but you’re a really good writer. I think that you should keep writing 🙂
xxAnswer by Beverly
Ur a good writer!
Interesting theme 🙂
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