House of Estrogen

09 Sep

Starbucks is filled with women.

It is pure luck of the draw that, at this moment in time, Only the Cashier, the Barrista, the guy sitting next to me and me are the only men in the building. Outnumbered 4 to one by Manhattan Beach’s finest moneyed-females.

Some just finished paddle-boarding class, some are on their way to yoga, some are dressed to the nines in smoking hot business attire and are on their way to work.

Estrogen in the house, ya’ll.


I have come to adore strong competent women. Mousy women tend to make my teeth itch.

I once dated a girl that was the most submissive person I ever met. I walked all over her the entire time we were dating. I hated what my personality became when we were together.

I made her walk out of a party she had organized for her best friend just to be a dick and see if I could.

It was a much more immature version of the asshole I am today. I honestly try not to inflict misery on others. I prefer to let them do it to themselves and take my delight in observing.

Kind of a voyeuristic asshole.

And, I like to think we are all ok with that. If hitting my forties has taught me anything, it has been to be comfortable with myself. I do tend to cater to the asshole within.

A stripper just came in. At least, I am fairly certain its a stripper. Imagine a cute 18 year old girl that weighs right around 105 pounds and has honey blond hair down to her butt. Now have a mediocre plastic surgeon but a set of full DD’s on her. Then have an old school chola from the old neighborhood do her makeup.

And there you have it.

There is a shift in the mood.

I think it is only because of the female vibe is so strong today, but the moment the stripper entered, even women facing away from the door turned to look.

The ladies in the building are, as a majority, hot and beautiful, but purely as a side effect of going about their day.

The stripper is playing a different game. She is dressed provocatively with intent, which carries weight in any court in the land. There is also a slutty element to her choice of clothing. Also, and this one hurts her, she is significantly younger than the majority.

Since my divorce, I have rediscovered how nice it is to just watch women. Not in the modern, “belittling and objectifying” way, but in that older, gentler way of just appreciating beauty when you see it.

In an interesting move, two women, alpha females from their manner and bearing, have left their conversations near the back of the room and are now in line behind the stripper. They are not talking and are just sipping what is left of their coffee while standing to close to the stripper.

Unconscious move or deliberate?

Either way, the stripper is a little spooked.

Strippers exist in this weird limbo of approval and disapproval. Men lust after them and desire them. Around men, they are smarter, quicker, in control. In short, better. Around women, they are either pitied or despised and lose any control they had over people and situations. I have seen some strippers bypass that by having no female friends other than strippers.

An odd fact in my life is that I know of 5 girls I went to high school with that became strippers, and 4 others who went into porn. These are fun girls to have as personal friends.

Especially if you are a guy. Or a lesbian. In fact, a number of strippers I have known over the years prefer women, and I can’t blame them. A stripper sees men at their absolute worst. What I like to call horny beast mode. It can really leave a distaste that effects their relationships for the rest of their life.

Back to Starbucks.

The alpha females are crowding the stripper to the point that she sheepishly ordered her latte du jour and moved over to the pick up window.

If they would only escalate this to a hair pulling cat-fight, then end it with an open mouth kiss, I could die a happy man. I know that one is not going to happen, but, dammit, I can dream. Or fantasize. Masturbation is a different subject anyway.

The stripper’s latte is served up by an overly-enthusiastic barrista and she leaves with only a quiet thank you.

As she walked out, I watched her go. I notice the guy next to me watching.

Then he turns his head and winks at me. What he says next throws me into a full body clench and full homo-alert.

“Do you come in here a lot?”

Sigh. Its going to be one of those days.


Posted by on September 9, 2011 in Uncategorized


2 responses to “House of Estrogen

  1. Tranny Hooker

    September 11, 2011 at 1:52 pm

    You horny beast! Not only did I fully enjoy your man-pig post, I’m very impressed that a white boy from Manhattan Beach even knows what a chola is. You really are a man of the world! Keep posting what the rest of us cowards are too P.C. to verbalize!

    • bittermac

      September 11, 2011 at 2:19 pm

      Tyler, I find that hard to believe about you. However, I grew up in a very “Barrio-lite” section of Redondo Beach. Old school Mexican families are awesome neighbors. And about that PC thing? Yeah, never did that one very well. You remain my favorite Tranny Hooker of all time.


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