(It's another one of those "I'm not going to meet all my deadlines! AAAAIIIIIAAHHH!" weeks. So I'm rerunning this gem from 2012.)
It's true, gentle reader. In my former life, I worked as a bunny.
It's not something I like to brag about. I was young and I needed the money. I was eighteen years old, all blonde and curvy, and if there was ever a time when I was fit to wear a bunny suit, that was it.
Sure, my parents were a little embarrassed. They weren't telling anyone what I was doing for a living. But they also instilled in me a very strong work ethic, and they knew that no matter what I set my mind to do, I would do it to the best of my ability. And that's what I did, during my month as a bunny.
It wasn't easy. Most of my customers just wanted to look, so I never bothered to speak. Sometimes, I had to hop and shake my tail a little bit, and one time I pulled my hamstring and landed in some strange guy's lap. He just gave me a wink and a hug and offered me some candy. I can't tell you how many perverts I met in a day, practically undressing me with their eyes.
It was uncomfortable, I'll admit. The ears and cuffs were itchy. Nobody cared about my dreams of college or being a writer, or being one of those people with a shred of self dignity. All they cared about was my big blue eyes and whether or not I was willing to give them a little lap dance.
It was hot, and humiliating, but I won't lie—the money was sweet. And really, if I could make some lonely boy smile, no matter how degrading it might be, I suppose it was worth it.
My days as a bunny are long gone, but I still look back on that time with a wistful smile. I do miss the other girls who worked there alongside me. And let me tell you, my calves were never in better shape. But it was a job that couldn't last, and I had to move on to bigger and better things.
There's only one picture in existence of me in my bunny suit. It's a blurry shot of my sister and me, goofing off during my down time. It's time I make peace with that less-than-upstanding time in my life, I suppose. So fine. Here you go. Ogle away, you perverts.
It's true, gentle reader. In my former life, I worked as a bunny.
It's not something I like to brag about. I was young and I needed the money. I was eighteen years old, all blonde and curvy, and if there was ever a time when I was fit to wear a bunny suit, that was it.
Sure, my parents were a little embarrassed. They weren't telling anyone what I was doing for a living. But they also instilled in me a very strong work ethic, and they knew that no matter what I set my mind to do, I would do it to the best of my ability. And that's what I did, during my month as a bunny.
It wasn't easy. Most of my customers just wanted to look, so I never bothered to speak. Sometimes, I had to hop and shake my tail a little bit, and one time I pulled my hamstring and landed in some strange guy's lap. He just gave me a wink and a hug and offered me some candy. I can't tell you how many perverts I met in a day, practically undressing me with their eyes.
It was uncomfortable, I'll admit. The ears and cuffs were itchy. Nobody cared about my dreams of college or being a writer, or being one of those people with a shred of self dignity. All they cared about was my big blue eyes and whether or not I was willing to give them a little lap dance.
It was hot, and humiliating, but I won't lie—the money was sweet. And really, if I could make some lonely boy smile, no matter how degrading it might be, I suppose it was worth it.
My days as a bunny are long gone, but I still look back on that time with a wistful smile. I do miss the other girls who worked there alongside me. And let me tell you, my calves were never in better shape. But it was a job that couldn't last, and I had to move on to bigger and better things.
There's only one picture in existence of me in my bunny suit. It's a blurry shot of my sister and me, goofing off during my down time. It's time I make peace with that less-than-upstanding time in my life, I suppose. So fine. Here you go. Ogle away, you perverts.
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