Stories

Future Days – Gwen Hilton

They don’t tip and then they ask me to talk, unburden myself. And they think that’s the same. And then they take it further. As if they’ve done something… more. Most guys, well. Yeah. A lot of guys, not you, I’m sorry to put this on you, but it’s true. A lot of guys will tell you it’s okay to talk openly with them. That’s what they want. They want it more than anything else. They think it’s better than anything else. That’s for them. It’s always for them. Why would I? And they think they’ve done something better than you. I’d just like a tip. Just tip me. When I tell them I had a bad day they say my shoulders are slumped. Slumped because I’ve been alone for twenty minutes waiting. Slumped because… because. Because. Why does it matter? Slumped because sometimes I relax while picking a song. They don’t go private, they don’t tip. I talk and talk and then they act like they’ve really done something for me. They think they helped me. They think they made today better. They already got off. Especially if we’re waiting for a show. If my tits are out and I’m talking about my day he’s won. Oh, thank you. Thank you. That’s nice. I’m not trying to beg. No. I know. The lighting is different at this hour. The sun is out. You can really see the veins. Y’know. I’m the girl next door to a lot of people. I live in the suburbs. I have neighbors with houses. I have a… I live well. I wear flannels. Who knows what anyone thinks? I’m not nobody though. I know enough to know that. I had C cups in high school. Day in and day out. These guys come into the room and ask me to talk about me. Like I’m so fucking stupid I don’t realize.