Devious Honey 2: Devious-er Than Ever

I have heard of it before and have even seen it being done. I know it's an art, and I know it takes amazing physical prowess to do it at full tilt. Admittedly, I have done it myself, regardless of how meek or unpolished it was, but it was always as a lark--I didn't think I could learn to do it. And I most definitely never thought my journey would begin while escaping the verbal bile of a drunk man inside the Hollywood branch of the Borders.

Stripping.

Out of breath and slightly panicked, I ironically ended up in fitness. While flattened against the yoga books, my gaze fell upon "The S Factor: Strip Workouts for Every Woman." I smirked, imagining how ridiculous it must be to strip for fitness. But when I opened the book, I was immediately intrigued. "Love every part of yourself!" the book implores. "Learning how to unleash your femininity is the best thing a woman can do for herself!"

It makes sense to me.

I flipped through it with a mock casualness, trying to convince everyone around me that I was so enlightened I already knew how to strip and this was just a review. When I realized that no one was around except for a homosexual man who was having trouble deciding between The Zone Diet and South Beach, I knew it was time to drop the act. I do not know how to look good taking my clothes off...at least, like a stripper does. And I know nothing about pole dancing.

Any normal woman would have thrown her hands up and dismissed the whole thing as a fad. Not me. I flipped to the back section where the pole techniques were illustrated. "That doesn't seem so hard," I mused as I used the gay man's arm as a makeshift pole. "Check me out!" Without warning, my pole decided on Atkins and bolted to the cashier station, but I was unabated. I was going to learn how to strip!

The book starts at the beginning, trying to get women to accept their bodies and get comfy taking it off. They list songs to dance to, talk about how to feel the rhythm, and even include stretching in the mix. Then, the good stuff begins. They illustrate exactly how to remove clothes the hot way, and how to draw it out to maximize the tease. The moves are all laid out so even the most retarded wannabe stripper can figure it out, and at the end of the book they even lay out a step-by-step routine.

This thing was well worth the price of admission.

There is a quiz to figure out what kind of stripper persona you have naturally. Mine is "The Dark Soul," who is deep, moody, complex, intelligent, and powerful. Sure, you can be a handful. But what a handful! And talk about sexy." I happen to agree with this because I scowl a lot when concentrating, and being hot takes concentration. But now the thing that's left is a stripping name. I have to give this wildcat inside a name.

Havana Tuesday? Frankie Champagne? Ginger Jones?

Nothing seems to fit, except for the name stitched onto my hoodie: Devious Honey.

I think it works. Now that I'm a stripper-in-training, I've got my stripper mixes on my iTunes, and I am ready to head to their studio in West Hollywood. Oh sure, you thought it ended here, but stripping knows no limits here in H-town. They have a studio in WeHo where you actually get pole time. You can't strip off your g-string, but you can take everything else off. Or you can leave it on and save it for when it really counts...

I guess I owe the drunk guy in the Borders a thank-you. Hopefully one day I will see him again, as he is stuffing wads of ones down my panties. Oh, a girl and her dreams...

pour some sugar on me. g