Normal Nurse or Nude Waitress?

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I. Introduction.

Those of you who have read my submissions know they are not fantasy stories about wild sex orgies or sleeping with all your relatives. Instead I write about unusual events that actually happen to me. I am a 40 something year old strawberry blonde “girl next door” type with natural 36C cup breasts who runs about 12 miles a week, and who passes for about eight years younger. I am a professional head nurse in a large teaching hospital with a six figure salary.

In the past I have written about things such as how a drunken photo session I did for an “amateur photographer” led to my bare breasted torso being hung like a deer head trophy on his web site along with a whole section of pictures explaining how he talked this dumb MILF (me) into going from innocent swimsuit poses all the way to smiling and spreading herself wide and pink in a series of thoroughly humiliating poses. In that piece I was describing from my point of view how he was able to “bag” me for his trophy wall.

In the past I have written about how guys have talkedme into doing things but by writing these pieces I began to realize how much I really enjoyed being the center of attention even it involved being somewhat “used” or humiliated. So I decided that there was no reason to wait around to be talked into these situations but rather I should actually see if I could get a job as some form of nude entertainer. So this time around I am writing about how I decided to answer an ad to be a nude waitress at a bachelor party and not only ended up getting the job—but taking it.

II. Looking for Work.

Becoming a part-time nude entertainer for an occasional thrill presents a lot of problems you never think about until you decide to try it. First off you need to protect your job. That means you can’t just join an agency or advertise. The problem with keeping a very low profile, however, is no one knows you are “available.” Secondly, you face the issue of being recognized. How do you avoid ending up performing for a group that includes someone you know or work with? People who hire strippers don’t like to give you a lot of names and details about each guest! Thirdly it’s a young person’s game so a 40+ year old gal like me has a hard time getting work even if I could advertise especially when I refuse to include oral sex or intercourse as part of the “package.”

I won’t bore you with all the failed plans and ideas I tried in order to find a “job.” What I finally discovered was a non-profit community web site that features “normal” jobs, events and activities in cities around the world. These seemingly innocent listings also include, however, an “erotic services” category and personal ads. Those two sections of each site allowed me to check into opportunities in cities that were several hours away. I searched on phrases such as “bachelor party,” “stripper,” “nude” and “exotic” and sure enough ads came up for men looking for “party girls” for bachelor parties and birthday parties. Some ads specifically wanted amateurs. I began to focus on New York City because I used to live there and am familiar with the area, but now it is a world apart from where I live– yet within driving distance.

Then I encountered another problem, the ads wanted me to respond with pictures. Where the heck was I supposed to get suggestive pictures of myself? Then it came to me, —I had the pictures from that web site that I got talked into posing for when I was bagged and mounted as a trophy MILF. So I edited those pictures to take out most of my face and began replying to the ads.

A lot of people never responded to my inquiries. Others got back to me politely saying I wasn’t right and others said they’d hire me if I would provide sex. Still other guys just sounded too creepy and many didn’t seem to be able to speak (or at least write) in English. There were also lots of guys that didn’t want to say more than three or four words in every email. Replies like “send more pics” or “hmm interesting” just rubbed me the wrong way. I felt they should spend some time writing at least a few sentences in reply if they were serious.

Finally I hit on a few situations that seemed to fit the bill. One in particular seemed to work. It was a party of about 10 to 12 guys in about their mid-thirties at a brownstone in a fancy section of Brooklyn. It was the organizer’s home so I knew he could get in trouble if someone did something wrong. Equally as important, based on the address I knew he was rich so he had something to lose if he got in trouble. Anyway the guy sounded human. He told me that he had just booked a two-girl act as the main entertainment but was interested in me as a waitress. He also said he could provide a room at a local Best Western hotel in Brooklyn as part of my compensation package if I got the job.

This was not exactly my “fantasy job” because I wasn’t going to be the center of attention, but I had not had much luck with other ads and these dikmen escort guys were a bit older so at least I wasn’t old enough to be their mother. After some thought, I decided to submit my “application” consisting of the most demeaning pictures of me from the MILF trophy website. As I expected, these pictures got a positive response. I was one of three girls supposedly being considered for the job and the negotiations began in earnest.

III. Negotiation for My “Services”.

As a first step, the party organizer wanted to know what I would do and what I would not do. He asked me to give him a firm set of rules. I was to agree to tolerate any behavior that was not against my “rules.” He mentioned that to make up for my age, my best shot at the job was to give him a more “liberal” set of rules than the other applicants. Also the money he would offer would depend on how “liberal” my rules were.

Anxious to get the job, I thought hard about limiting what I would object to. Obviously oral sex and intercourse were out, so there was Rule

. My Rule

required the most negotiation. I finally had to agree to allow “touching” (groping) of me if I wanted the job. So I agreed to allow touching provided it was not rough enough to make me cry or leave any lasting marks. Otherwise the guests were free to touch, feel, grope, squeeze and even spank me if my rear end presented itself to them. Rule
was that I was not to be required to do anything to any of the guys. No “hand jobs” or contact of any kind with them would be required of me. Finally for Rule I would not be forced to lick, eat or drink anything –especially no toilet stuff of any kind. That did it. I was sure I covered all the bases. I agreed that these were my only rules.

I did not hear from the party organizer for about two days after I submitted my rules. I was toying with the idea of “liberalizing” them in order to get the job, but before I caved in I received an email back from him.

I cannot believe that I actually held my breath before I opened his email. I never realized until then how much I really wanted this job. It was good news. I had the job for $150 and a room at the hotel. The job description was simple. I would arrive early and work for about three hours. I was to start out in a skimpy top and shorts which I would “lose” as the party progressed. I had to greet the guests, take any coats and ask them what they wanted to drink. I had to take drink orders during the party and pick up empties and clean any spills. The men were free to feel the “merchandise” and order me around. I was basically to allow them to do anything to me unless it violated any of my rules. I thought for about 10 seconds and then emailed back to accept.

For days after that I was totally preoccupied with this party. It was all I could think about. I selected a red running bra for a top and a pair of cut off jeans for my bottoms. I cut the jeans down even further at a sharp angle so more of my “assets” would show. I bought some real high heel shoes from a “specialty” web site and practiced walking in them. I was ready

IV The Transformation

When the day of the party finally arrived I packed little more than my waitress outfit, a bottle of Chianti and some “respectable” clothes (for my return trip). I had a drive of several hours in which I had to evolve into a different person. I could not walk into that party as myself. If I was going to enjoy myself I had to lose the professional nurse and become a slut. I had to become Lindy (a name I took from a nearby pen).

I started out by wearing a skin tight top that dipped way down to show cleavage with a skimpy push up bra to accent it. I had to wear a jacket due to the early spring temperatures but it was wide open. I had a short skirt with no underwear. I bought a large pack of bubble gum and started chewing it. When I stopped for gas I would chew gum while I talked– just like a real slut I jiggled and flounced to tease every guy in sight.

When I arrived in Brooklyn I found parking near the hotel. When I checked in about seven that night I called the clerk “honey” and leaned over the counter so my boobs (they weren’t breasts to me any longer) were laid out on the counter.

The party wasn’t until 9:30 but I did not want to eat for fear it would show around my belly. In my room I uncorked my Chianti, put on my outfit and practiced acting sexy in front of the mirror while thinking of suggestive lines I could use when I gave the guys their drinks using my wine glass as if I were serving it to someone. I practiced lifting my bra top and shaking my “boobs.” I looked at my rear as I walked away and practiced adding more wiggle. These guys would be eating out of my hand.

I normally don’t drink very much so by the time I drained the last drop from the bottle of Chianti I had really turned into “Lindy.” I even moved the coffee table over in front of the mirror and practiced emek escort dancing topless on it. Everything B.L. (before Lindy) was forgotten. By 9:20 when I was getting ready to leave I didn’t even bother to change. I was slutty and drunk enough to wear my waitress outfit outside with just the jacket over it. I flounced through the lobby cracking my gum with my make-up purse slung over my shoulder looking for all the world like a hooker. I grabbed a cab and gave the driver the address. There was no turning back now!

V. No Turning Back

The cab stopped in front of a gorgeous brownstone. It was a very upper class street. I winked at the driver as I gave him the fare and exited the cab in front of a tasteful black metal gate with a brass lock. I rang the buzzer and a nice sounding voice asked who I was. I replied in a high pitched voice, “It’s Lindy, ya know, yar waitress” adding a crack of gum for emphasis and smiling a dumb blonde smile while looking up and waving into the security camera. I wasn’t acting. This really was me now. The buzzer rang and I went through the gate and up a short set of stairs. The polished wooden door opened just as I started to knock on it.

“Come in, Come in,” the party organizer told me. He was pretty good looking except he was balding in an unusual way and tried to cover it by combing his regular hair over the oddly placed bald spots. The entry way was circular with a cherry table in the center adorned with a huge vase of fresh flowers. The floor was marble or granite or something incredibly rich looking. The organizer guy was talking really fast, “A limo is picking up seven of the guys and the groom at a restaurant in a few minutes,” he informed me, ” The rest are waiting for a cab. The entertainers will be here at 10. I need to cover a few things with you quickly.” He turned and motioned for me to follow.

The interior of his home was right out of a movie set or a magazine. The organizer guy sat down behind a desk and motioned for me to sit in the chair in front of him. I leaned way over the desk so my boobs were touching it and settled my head in my palms just like I had done in the hotel, cracking my gum as I listened. He spoke efficiently in a real business tone. “OK you understand that things are going to be pretty wild tonight, right? He reached across the desk and tugged on my top, “I want that off after the first hour and the bottoms off by the second hour—agreed?” I nodded and added in my new slut voice, “Yea Suur.” Then I lifted my top and wiggled my boobs while giggling “You like ’em?” All I got from him was a “Sure, very nice.”

“Ok look, these guys have already been drinking and they are going to be rude, gross and grabby. They are going to say horrible things about you and ask you to do some pretty humiliating things, but they know the rules. Are you ready for all that?”

“Yea suuur, ” I responded, “Let ’em have their fun. I’m ready.” I barely finished before the organizer was talking again even faster. “Here’s a list of the drinks the guests can choose from. Keep this in your pocket until you know it by heart. OK? Its just some beers, malt stuff and some other premixed hard drinks in bottles. You get them in the fridge or the cooler in the kitchen. Got it? OK, now I’m going over your rules with you one more time and if it’s not written here then it’s fair game—understood? If you have anything you want to add to the rules before we start you have to tell me now.”

He then read the rules to me while I nodded and chewed on my gum. After he finished he made me sign two copies. He also signed them and gave me one and kept the other. He waived his copy under my nose, “If it’s not in here then you’ve got to do anything you’re told. That’s what you’re being paid for. You’ll get the money when you’re done but only if you do as you are told. Got it? Oh by the way… if you show some initiative there is more money in it for you. Understood?

“What’s initiaturve?” I asked with a dumb blonde expression. The party guy rolled his eyes and said “You know –-you have to think of some wild stuff to do on your own, –you know—without being told.” As he was finishing his sentence the buzzer started ringing over and over. He got up and began walking toward the door while I was folding my copy of the rules into a small square on his desk. He doubled back and pulled me up from the chair by the back of my top and tossed me toward the door. “Come on you’re supposed to answer the door –remember?” “Oh Yea, right!” I mumbled back to him as if this were a great revelation

As we walked toward the door the buzzer kept sounding. He turned back to me and scolded “And from now on it’s ‘yes sir’ –not ‘yea suorea’ or whatever it is you’re trying to say’ –understood?” My response of “Yes sir,” was lost in the now continuous howl of the buzzer.

VI. Show Time!

The organizer guy buzzed everyone in and opened the door. A group of loud drunken men in their late eryaman escort 30’s poured into the room like a river of humanity that had burst a dam. Everyone was tripping over each other and talking at the same time and very few heard me asking for their coats. One muscular and fairly good looking guy named Terry asked me my name. “It’s Lindy,” I squeaked extending my hand. He grabbed my right boob instead and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Lindy, I’m Terry”, he slobbered. Then all of a sudden he exclaimed, “Hey they’re real!”

“They sure are!” I replied lifting my top and shaking my boobs for him, but he had already turned to talk to someone else and paid no attention. “Damn.,” I thought,. “This is going tot be a long night.”

“Get their drink orders” the organizer guy barked to me as the river of loud drunken men flowed out of the entry area, through a picture perfect parlor stuffed with antiques and into what looked to be an oversized den or library that was larger than my living room. I was trying to keep up with the fast moving flow of humanity while juggling the coats that had been tossed in my face, but I kept getting pushed backward in the bottleneck of the narrow doorways. No one seemed to care that I was there. The conversation focused on the “main attraction” which consisted of a “girl on girl” act scheduled for 10. I obediently hung up coats and filled drink orders but the slow leak in my ego had now become a full blown deflation. I might as well have been a waitress at a fast food joint. I hadn’t traveled almost 400 miles just to work as a real waitress. It was time to have a stiff drink myself.

The buzzer soon sounded again and this time it was the “cab group” of guests and the “girl on girl” entertainment all of whom had arrived at the same time. The men in the den must have had a sixth sense for lesbians, because within thirty seconds of the girls’ arrival everyone at the party was in the entry area. When I say girls –I mean girls. These two were barely legal and strikingly beautiful. Their designer clothes made my outfit look pathetic. The guys pushed and stumbled over each other to escort the stars of the show into the den while I was left to bring up the rear. By the time I reached the room the “show” had already begun. These gals were not much for small talk! I started to ask some of the men if they needed refills but I was waived away. Everyone was hypnotized by the girls —including the girls! They only seemed to be looking at each other. I never saw either of them look at any of the guys.

It did not take long before all of the girls’ designer clothes were on the floor and so were they. They were rolling, licking and rubbing each other and genuinely seemed to be enjoying what they were doing. I have nothing against lesbians but it just does not turn me on so I asked the organizer guy if I could have a bathroom break. He grunted and waived his hand which I took as permission to go.

I figured no one would miss me, so I stopped at the kitchen for a couple of expensive mixed drinks and then headed to the bathroom. After losing some of the Chianti in his luxurious commode, I took some time to fix my makeup and then rehearse some moves in front of his huge three-sided mirror. I sighed and headed back to the den. By the time I got back the two girls had sandwiched the groom and were giving him some feigned attention. They pecked his cheek while opening his zipper. They then proceeded to stroke him (rather mechanically in my opinion) until he climaxed to thunderous applause. The girls smiled a fake smile and half heartedly clapped their hands along with everyone else for a while. Then to everyone’s surprise they got dressed. It was only about 10:20! The guests were not happy and the organizer guy was clearly upset.

The girls headed back to the entry area followed by the organizer guy. The girls were so vocal about wanting a tip that you could hear them in the den. He was equally vocal about them staying the rest of the hour and “working on” some of the other guests. I assumed from his tone that these girls were not following their agreed upon “rules” and that they had already been paid in advance. The discussion ended with an exchange of swearing, the shattering of glass (I guessed it was that gorgeous vase) and a door slamming.

“What a fucking rip off.” was all the downcast organizing guy had to say as he returned to the den and slumped into his leather chair in a sullen huff. That sentiment was echoed over and over again by everyone else in the room in increasingly obscene terms until all of a sudden Terry, the guy who had asked my name earlier, piped in “Hey we still have the dumb blonde right? Come on guys this party ain’t over until we make the dumb blonde sing.”

With that rallying cry, the attention turned back to me. “Come here you dumb slut” Terry ordered while motioning to me. As I walked over to him he shouted with triumphant satisfaction, “See, she knows her name!” He then began poking me with his finger just below my neck as he spoke for emphasis, ” Look Blondie, ” he ordered, “From now on your name is ‘I’m a Dumb Slut’ –understood?” I just nodded. “OK,” he said, “Then let’s try it.— Hi, my name is Terry,” what’s your name?”

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