You have a fucked up eyebrow

My night had started out pretty lame. I think I had accumulated a grand total of about $70. I was trolling for fresh meat when an older but distinguished looking gentleman pulls me aside. He's there with a friend from Texas, who's in a wheelchair, and he'd like me to dance for his friend. I give a decent, but not extraordinary dance and distinguished men hands me a $20. Dances here are $10 a song, so when I get $20 I usually ask if they need change and hope they say no. He not only says no, he starts inquiring about VIP. Score. He wants me to find another pretty, young, and fully shaven girl for his crippled friend. I acquiesce and look around, but all the girls I would usually go to aren't working. I head up to the dressing room to look for the lucky girl who gets to go to VIP with me. Its slim pickings in the dressing room, but I don't want to take too long so I grab a cute girl who's eating soup and hope I can sell them on her. When I bring her down to their table I can tell they're a little disappointed in my choice. "She's soooo cute!" I coo as I give her boobs a little squeeze. We finally get things worked out and head to VIP.

Turns out cute girl isn't as clean as I would have thought. While she's giving Texas a handjob through his pants, I'm trying to distract the gentleman hoping he won't expect the same from me. Luckily I do a pretty decent job, and he tells me about his son, who's brilliant as evidenced by some politically centered text messages gentleman shows me written by his boy. Of course he goes to a super expensive private school in the area, and I know gentleman must live in one of those mansions only a few minutes from the club. I can soon tell that gentleman's growing restless, as he starts asking me to kiss him (on the mouth), and let him rub my oh-so-smooth pussy.

Then he suddenly looks at me and tilts his head. "You have a fucked up eyebrow," he says nonchalantly. While I know what he's referring to, I wouldn't go as far as to say my eyebrow is fucked up. It's unique and lends character to my otherwise perfect face. He starts to obsess about it. He tells me to go to the dressing room and fetch him some tweezers so he can operate on my wayward brow. As much as I do not want this 60-something year old man near my face with tweezers, I'm so amused by his little eyebrow obsession that I humor him and go on a scavanger hunt for some tweezers. There are none to be found, so I return empty handed, figuring that this will be the end of this little diatribe. I'm wrong. He calls his limo driver and tells him to buy him a pair of tweezers. At 1:00 in the morning. Limo driver obeys, and arrives back with the dainty silver tool in about 20 mintues. Shit. I allow gentleman to pluck maybe 3 or 4 hairs and then look in the mirror. I look the same. "Oh wow! That does look so much better," I say with far too much enthusiam. He looks at me and tells me I should see a professional to get them fixed and thinned a little. I tell him that I'll definitely look into it.

It's the end of hour number two, and he informs me they have to go. Cripple pays cute girl what he owes her, and gentleman pays me what he owes me plus $100. Cute girls whines a little about how she worked a lot harder than I (very true), but Texas doesn't cough up the extra $100.

As I drive home that night I smile. If you had asked me 6 months ago if I thought I would ever be completely naked lying on a leather couch having a man older than my father pluck my eyebrows I would have laughed. Now all I can do is smile.