Birthday Suit Strut

 Somewhere on Vimeo there's a video of me prancing around downtown San Francisco fully naked to Andrea True Connection's "More, More, More". That was the second time I went about that city with nothing on at all. Nothing but cheers! Even the policeman just kept driving though I did a stripper spin on a lightpost in front of a nail salon called, "Hand Job", I'm not kidding! Haha!
  This was my 29th birthday, and after living for what seems like at least 60 years of rebellion and mischief and struggle and sacrifice, I'm very happy to say that I feel like I'm entering a new phase of life where I can delight in adventures I choose to live from a place of excitement rather than necessity. I will be creating and giving from a peaceful, safe place and as I tell my many, many tales I would like you to know, it was all worth it. I've been through more than I could share publically, and it used to make me feel so old. However, this birthday, I think I lost like 10 years! Im not fighting for survival, there's no more do or die (and possibly still die if I do), no putting myself in dangerous situations. I finally put all that behind me, and my life goals are ever closer! A wedding venue that supports the rescue, a hospice care home overlooking the ocean, a tea to end the Premarin Industry, An end to Meter Maids and the uselessness of their ticketing, a new educational curriculum with a focus on emotional intelligence, and whatever else I dream up. My problems are fun now! They used to be crushing... like this one..

  I set up a gig with some guy who ran some part of playstation? Hard to remember now, but the theme was, "You're My Candy Girl" and it sounded super sweet. What happened was, I drove to San Francisco for my first shoot of the day. I often booked two to four photoshoots a day because I always wanted big money for ther production of this that and the other invention. "The Buggy" (a bug catching box on a stick with a pulley operated lid for those of us who don't want to get too close and don't want to squish the buggyboos, "Clear Passage" (essential oil and caffeine nostril filters), Titea (the tea that will end Premarin and diabetes), and many other projects. So he had me pose with candy necklaces stretched all over my body and ring pops on every finger, and candy freaking everywhere it would stick. He got very comfortable with me and started posing my limbs for me like I was a doll. Then he wants to tie me up with candy ropes, ok. It happens and im posing as best I can with extremely restricted movement. Then a giant jaw breaker strapped into my mouth, and I have never been able to breathe from my nose very well.. I'm getting faint and he brings out a 2 foot long lollipop and asks if he can put it inside me. Of course it was coming to this! Ugh.. sugar up the pussy is never good for you. I can't say anything back and he can tell im hesitating. He says, "I told you this was pay of the shoot, candy everywhere. I paid for explicit nude photo content." I give in, and I can't put it in myself, since I'm basically hog tied with candy, and in a very unflattering position I might add! He pushes the giant lollipop inside me and my eyes pop open in pain and I fall back. "Sorry!" He says, then repositions me and starts taking pictures. "Oh no! Its melting! Gross.. This isn't looking good, we should stop" Eventually it ends and he unties and ungags me and i see that the rainbow lollipop has melted into a green and brown sugar slime dripping down my legs. Not a good look, and the sugar shit burns! I used a whole package of wet wipes trying to get it out, and then, on to the next shoot! I was to model fetish lingerie for some French designer. I type in his address on my phone GPS, and start my route. There's a particularly confusing triple intersection and I grab the phone to look at exactly which way im meant to go. At that exact moment, a police officer right beside me flips on his siren. I look up, he points at me. I fling my phone into my dashboard. It's too late... I plea and beg and tell him it's just GPS and I was at a stoplight. He's a sassy bitch and says, "I guess I didn't get the memo on exceptions for pretty girls texting and driving!" But my days of running from and manipulating police officers are over. I don't make any retorts though I am aching to explain how this nonsense ticket costs more than I just made sticking a giant melty lollipop up my pussy you stupid son of a dick! Anyways, I take the ticket straight faced and never pay it, so that's that. Many years later the San Francisco County Court takes $1200 from my bank account. I vow to keep all my money on PayPal and Venmo forever on and never ever pay any parking or traffic tickets because I will not perpetuate the madness! The end.
   Yes so on to the next appointment of the day! A giant width wise but mini height wise Moroccan Walrus gets me at his apartment door. Inside he explains that every treasure kn the walls and even the couch I sit on is worth more than I've ever made in my life. I hate him. He is clearly insecure about being a horny, death breath Walrus that is desirable to no one, so he tries to use money to make me "want him". He goes to his closet of "fine custom Italian silk and linen suits" and pulls out a large box of his designs. All of his "clubwear dresses" are actually just fetish lingerie. Latex, straps, crotchless, assless.. But this is a $300 appointment so I play along and go, "Oh Yeah! I would TOTALLY wear this clubbing!" With incredibly obvious to me sarcastic enthusiasm that he takes very seriously. He is jiggling with delight, "Try it on! TRY IT ON!" He's already sweating. "Don't you want to set up your camera?" I remind him politely. His hand dives into his pocket and he whips out a flip phone.. "Ready!" He winks. I turn around rolling my eyes like they're tumbling down a hill. I undress right there and put on the first "gown". Its tiny! It's all pleather straps and silver buckles and I can feel by the way all my soft feminine curves are being squished like play dough by all these "dresses" that im not going to like these pictures. But since they are on his flip camera phone, I imagine they will not go far. He wants me to bend over in every garment. He says that is a "Hard Dick" poses, and that my usual art nude stances are "Soft Dick". He says he can help me with my career, I could be something really special under his tutelage. He goes on naming names of girls I've never heard of. I feign amazement. He sighs and in a very obvious sales trick says, "Well, I wasn't going to offer you this, because I didn't think you would be as beautiful as you are, Suzette.. but.. I must have you! I will write you a check for $1000 if you join me naked on my bed.." I don't even need to pause, "No thank you." He goes on about house he has held many a young girl become a successful young woman, and that it's a cruel world out there. This i know, and I am not afraid of that, in fact I will run face first into that to avoid fucking a Spittley Moroccan Walrus.Then I show him my actual dress designs on my @daintyrascal Instagram. He is shook. Like I literally watched a shockwave ripple through his walrus body. Then he shouts, "AH HA! This is why I brought you here! You are not a model, you are a famous designer! I will make you bigger than Chanel!" I'm doubtful, but intrigued. He says he will talk to his investors right away and we will have finding for an international launch by the end of the month. I do actually have patterns graded for 6 sizes each on 13 unique pieces, and the fabric.. Perhaps this is moment when it all happens for me!? Though I should know better, I let myself get a little bit hopeful. He says we will begin right away and he needs to know everything about me. He starts looking through there pictures of my model friends in my dresses and shouts, "Soft dick!" about one of my beautiful friends, "Soft Dick, delete that!" He points to a girl with fake boobs in one of my dresses, "HARD DICK! Get me her contact info! She'll be in the catalogue!" He continues to judge everyone with natural and soft bodies as "soft dick" including several photos of me with different hair colors that he didn't recognize me in, and the girls with fake boobs and toned bodies as "Hard Dick". I explain to him that using models with body types that require surgery is not a good marketing campaign and the exact opposite reason for me creating the "Naked Dress" in the first place. "I started wearing sheer dresses with nothing underneath because I was told by an insecure man that I was physically deformed, and since I never watched porn, or looked at other women naked, I didn't know how perfectly normal I was." He literally hisses and his walrus whiskers catch his spittle like dew drops. "Yeah, yeah, yeah but I can't sell that! SEX SELLS! Nobody wants to have sex with that!" Ironically he points at a picture of a chubbier me with blue hair in a sheer dress. I laugh out loud and he laughs with me thinking that I think he is funny, but I think he is stupid funny, not clever funny. This makes it much funnier and we are both laughing so hard I can't breathe and my eyes water. Just an hour ago he was willing to pay top dollar to do me. I even pat him on the back smiling like he has made such a good joke. He doesn't miss the opportunity to congratulate himself, "See, I am a charming French man, you will come to your senses and you will desire me.." he whispers the last bit "seductively" directly into my face with his stinking spitty mouth. I know not to laugh at that one, so I bite the inside of my cheek to stay serious faced and shrug my shoulders, "We'll see.." I say. I am hearing Lana del Rey sing "I'm gonna take you for all that your worth" in her head. One way or another this guy is gonna pay up.
  I remind him our time is up and i have another appointment soon, so i must go. He writes me a check, and gives me a tattered fur wrap that he insists is "extremely valuable". It is not, it is shredded and the fur is brittle. We set up a time to start calling investors a few days later. The next morning he calls me at 730am saying, "My Sweet Suzette, we have our first investors check for $10,000! Come over now! I have REAL croissants!" And he hangs up before I can reply. Did I mention I have a terrible weakness for croissants? I get up, get made up and drive 1 hour to his apartment. 

I'll finish this story next time. I must go work!