I got used to it, and some days it was even fun. Unfortunately, for all the trouble of having fat guys sweat on me, socially inept men awkwardly flirt...with me, and slimy guys leering at me until it's their turn to get a lap dance, the money wasn't as good as either of us hoped it would be. Jon's temper flared more often: he blamed me for our problems, saying I spent too much, or didn't make myself sexy enough to make good money for us at the club. The economy was getting just as bad where we. I've allowed more time for my toilette than usual: a warm scented bath instead of the customary shower (which has the added benefit of perfuming the air), massaging my legs and arms with a generous amount of perfumed creme, a light dusting of scented talcum here and there along my skin (and over the cotton bed sheets), and a final spritz of Sung into the air which I let settle in my hair, on my shoulders, my back and my breasts. Not enough fragrance to create my own atmosphere, just enough to. More

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