I do not understand, nor have I ever understood, the appeal of a lapdance. I know how to give what I’ve been told is an excellent lapdance, but I don’t really see how one case of blue balls is much better than another.
Failure to understand the appeal of my merchandise was part of what made my first night in a real strip club somewhat difficult. It reminded me of when I was ten years old and trying to sell Girl Scout cookies.
Despite the fact that Girl Scout cookies basically sell themselves, I always came in in the bottom few sellers for the troop. Part of this may have had to do with the fact that I only ever really liked Samoas, Tagalongs, and the weird fake peanut butter filling of the Do-Si-Dos and felt the need to vocally warn people about the horrors of the boring cookies like Trefoils and the underwhelming qualities of whatever nonsense they were trying to pass off as a healthier option that year. I’ve always been too honest to be really good at selling things.
Anyway, it took me almost forty-five minutes to sell my first lapdance.
