#stripperfication

[cottonundiestf]

Choose-Your-Own Bimbofication #5

(Parts 1, 2, 3, & 4)

Picking through the lavish wardrobe, one outfit calls to you. You realize, pulling out the hanger with a skimpy schoolgirl outfit, that these were your clothes.

You shimmied your skimpy plaid skirt up your thick thighs and over your wobbly ass. There was no getting around it; this outfit was slutty. Was that normal for you? Yes; why did you bother questioning it? All your skirts were this length, letting the bottoms of your caked-up cheeks poke out for everyone to see.

Wrapping your big fake tits into a tied-off top exposing your midriff made things settle in your still-waking head. You weren't just slutty on an amateur level; you were working last night! Obviously, this was the outfit you were stripping out of on stage.

Memories of another profession flashed briefly in your mind, but those were just aspirations. Maybe you would pursue another career later in life, but right now, you were just a fresh-faced twenty-year-old using her bombshell body and gifted fake breasts to pay your way through college.

Finally dressed up, dolled up, and ready to explore the rest of this lavish mansion, you head downstairs. Walking at this point is an act of perversion, as your ass is barely contained by your skirt and your titties try to bounce out of your bra with each step you take.

When you get to the bottom of the stairs, you see a side table. It's the kind of piece people might leave a set of keys or today's mail resting. On this table, you recognize three items that you think are yours? You'd have to grab them to take a better look.

There is a US Passport owned by a US citizen. Next to it, a cell phone is open to a long list of contacts; friends, co-workers, family. Finally, there's a diploma sitting proudly; a testament to someone's intelligence.

You get the sense you might not have much time to examine all these items. Confident in what would surely properly identify you, you grab...

What item containing part of your identity do you keep? (45% or higher to keep an item!)

US Passport

Phone Contact List

High School Diploma

Voting ended onMay 31, 2023

[yourlastconfession-blog]

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The Night Starts Here (Stars) "The night starts here. The night starts here. Forget your name. Forget your fear."

The process of Becoming a stripper (also known as stripperfication) is a long one. I don't mean getting the job-- that can be done in a 5 minute interview with a manager if you try hard enough. I mean the process by which you go from your normal, everyday, book reading, tv watching self, into the self that show-stops.The self that glitters and shines. That twists and turns about a pole with no more effort than breathing. The self that invites conversation and flirtation with a glance. The self that is an object of fantasy. 

Or, in less flowery terms, the process of getting ready for work. 

Football players psych themselves up for a game. Actors memorize their lines before a scene. And of course, the football player dons his gear, and the actor his costume. 

"Becoming" a stripper each night is no different. As much we make physical preparations (shower, do our hair/make-up, pick out our outfits etc.) we must also make a number of mental preparations. We must psych ourselves up for the game. 

I listen to this song while I do my make up. It's not a song I would dance to on stage, but the lyrics help get me in the right mindset. The idea of forgetting your name, and your fear, is wicked poignant for me.

Some dancers pick a stage name for safety reasons. Some use one because they need a 'visible' way to separate their dancer persona from their every day persona. Personally, I don't ever actually try to forget my name. I have no need to. But these lyrics remind me that I could, if I wanted. At work, I can be anyone I need to be. And whoever I am at any given moment is subject to change. It is a reminder to be fluid and mutable. It is a reminder that I am not required to act a certain way. If I choose to be the fun, flirtatious, bubbly, girl, I can be. If it suits me better to be the quiet, sultry, woman, I can be. 

And forget your fear-- well that one is just a bit obvious. Have. No. Fucking. Fear. When you dance, you own everything. You need to. You need to exude the kind of confidence kings have. 

So I sit in front of my mirror and I play this song. And I Become.

xoxo, Lilah