More nothing from him.
I crossed my arms on my chest (andstill, he didn’tlook in that direction).
I got paid for men to look at my tits, it was my way oflife.
But never did Iwanta man to notice my tits asmuch as I wanted Mo to notice them.
“Right.I’ll start,” I offered.“I’m Charlotte McAlister.Notma’am.Neverma’am.Lottie to family and friends.Whichmeans Lottie to you.Lottie Mac to the world.Queen of the Corvette calendarand headliner at Smithie’s strip club.You got a problem with me stripping?”
One head shake.
“You think I’m downtrodden and promoting the objectificationof women?”I asked.
He looked around the room briefly.
This answered part one of my question.
He looked to me.
“Yes.”
That answered part two.
But wait.
Whoa.
“Really?”I asked.
His mouth said nothing.
His face repeated, “Yes.”
“I’m not, you know.I can do what I want with my body,including using it to make money,” I stated.
“True,” he muttered.
“And I’m a woman.”I jerked my head his way.“You are verymuch not.So I think that’s my call to make.”
“Where does it go from there?”he asked.
“Where does what go from there?”I asked back.
“You take your clothes off for money.And then where does itgo from there?”
I felt my eyes get squinty.“Where do you think it goes?”
A shrug of his massive shoulders which I was pretty surewafted a breeze through the room.
I still got what he was saying.
“So me stripping means I’m in some way responsible for aman’s bad behavior,” I translated the shoulder shrug verbally.“Because, youknow, me stripping means men can think of women on the whole as nothing but sexobjects, if they want them to or not, and further on from that, they cantreatthem as sex objects, whether we want to be treated that way or not.”
Mo didn’t confirm.
His look did.
“That’s bullshit,” I told him.
