First post on my [blog](http://odetodinah.com/born-stripper) Enjoy…tell me what you think.
_____________
We’d been talking for months. We did it all….heavy flirting, constant back and forth texting, long make out sessions, hugs that lasted way longer than they needed to. Maybe they needed to. We did it all except fuck, and I wanted her. Bad. She knew I liked her and I knew she liked me. I could taste the sexual tension between us, like the aftertaste of cheap wine and chocolate bars. Too much sugar. It was one of those nights she stayed over longer than she “meant to”, and was “too drunk” to go home. We rehearsed this so often it was unspoken now, subconscious. She’d stay over and we’d spoon or make out til’ we fell asleep, never going further than that. Innocent.
But that night we were laughing more, joking at one point about how broke we were. How strippers made so much money just dancing. We should be strippers, we concluded half drunk and giggling.
“You couldn’t be a stripper”, she slurred. “Can you even dance?”
“What??!! If there’s on thing I can do it’s dance baby girl,” I bragged with a swift sassy hand motion in the air still hysterical.