Much like a bra, my coworkers and customers ended up being very supportive of my new breasts. Several strippers even requested my doctor’s information. Of course, the locker room was full of the obligatory breast comparisons. The house mom (whose breast are enhanced) and a handful of other strippers gave them a squeeze. I got to squeeze a few too, for the side-by-side comparison. I actually met a woman with peanut-oil implants, which is a thing I’ve never even heard of. I guess she got them done overseas 25 years ago, before I was even a fetus. They feel surprisingly nice, but are so old that the square edges of the bags are clearly visible. Silicone, saline, and peanut butter. What a strange world. Her tits are probably delicious when drizzled on a salad.
Peanut butter tits led to some interesting words of wisdom. Being that she has been dancing for more than 25 years, I supposed I should respect the house mom’s authority. She told me that I would probably lose my regular customers, but gain better regular customers. She told me that the breast men are better customers because they’re happy just to see tits. They won’t make you put your legs behind your head or any of that nonsense. I haven’t put my legs behind my head at work before, but I’m glad I won’t ever have to worry about it now.
Thankfully, the reaction to my new additions was overall positive if there was any reaction at all. It took a few people a few looks to realize I even had new boobs. “Did you do something with your hair? You look great,” one bouncer told me. Later that night he figured it out. “Oh, you got boobs.” Men are very perceptive.