Strippers wanna be watched, stared at, lusted over and dreamt about. Strippers watch themselves in the mirror and wish they could throw some ones at their own wiggling ass. Strippers wanna sit at the bar and talk politics in their skimpy suits and be taken seriously. Strippers want elicit sex between shows in the waiting room with the skinny tattooed bus boy as they tell each other in breathless whispers about all the Johns outside wishing wishing wishing …Strippers want a rich mysterious hunk of a man to smoke silently in the corner shadowy and lusting and be taken by surprise on the way to the car. Strippers want those coveted night shifts so the money can roll in. Strippers want you to ask them their names as you stare at them, into them, drool about them in your head and they can reply with ardor in their eyes Nisei, Emily, Lynk, Berlin, Gabi, Roxy … Strippers want to have the sex everyone is dreaming about having as they dance … they want to go home at the end of the night and have chocolate ice cream and a back rub from their real man as they watch Deadwood and try not to think about rent. They wanna stop worrying and just do like Cyndi said …

Strippers want me to write this post in my dungeon as the furnace kicks in and drowns out KBOO upstairs and all i can smell is stale cigarette smoke and last week’s body odor still mingling with last night’s trying to be down, trying to be accepted …

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Sascha Matuszak
Sascha Matuszak

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