Suddenly I was the bimbo again.I was in the wings as the music started torn as to what I should do. I did not want to dance, to strip and debase mysel... for an audience of men. I was not some sort of plaything, after all. I was a woman. Then I glimpsed myself in a nearby mirror. No, I was not a woman, I was a bimbo. Then I stepped into the lights and was overcome by humiliation and sadness. This was not me. I was not a stripper. Then I tripped over myself and looked down at my feet. But I could. ‘Very nice,’ he said, strumming it. What else could a half-decent guy say to a nice-looking piece of guitar supermarket output owned by a sweet smiling babe with tits crafted – well, apparently as he’d not seen them bared – as his favorite Steinberger or Jet Earlewood guitars? Fortunately, Alfie plays anything – even tightly strained wires on a farm fence. So he finished a trial piece and then started teaching, showing Frankie finger placement for a few elementary cords. She wasn’t hopeless,. More

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