Jon Rolston’s visit to the Blog: Part Duex – Our Story

Loretta came to me in April. She wanted a consultation for aggressive cosmetic surgery, so I met with her on a Tuesday afternoon. Loretta was a stripper, and didn’t work Monday nights. She was my two o’clock.

When she came into my office I fumbled with my pen. Sure, I’ve seen a lot of people naked, I’m in the flesh business myself. But with Loretta, it wasn’t just the skin, or the fatty tissue beneath it that gave it such beautiful roundness, or the white angora sweater she wore that exposed her golden tan (and very taught) belly, it was her eyes. She had such captivating eyes I unconsciously flicked my pen across my desk and slammed my left hand down on it before it skittered onto the floor.

“Come in,” I said, trying to frown and shuffle papers. The eye is my favorite muscle in the human body, and I married my wife because of hers. I thought about my wife’s eyes for a moment, set the papers back down, and offered Loretta a seat.

We exchanged pleasantries, then dove right in. I had reviewed Loretta’s intake form that morning. Loretta wanted to be given the face of a Triceratops. This is the dinosaur that looks like a scaly rhinoceros with three horns protruding from its head. I’d googled it to be sure. The late Cretaceous Period, approximately 65 million years ago, skulls and partial skeletons found in Canada and Western United States. Here we were in Sacramento. 65 million years later.

“Doctor, I’ve brought some photos. A friend at the club did them on his computer.” She passes a floppy plastic folder across the desk to me. Inside were photos, digitally altered, of Loretta doing what I believe is called “pole work”, with those long strong legs wrapped around a brass pole, supporting her as she hung upside down, bringing her breasts up high on her chest, her thin neck tapering into the bony protective plates of a female Triceratops.

“This just might work,” I thought to myself. God. It was madness. Of course it couldn’t work. The weight of three horns, cartilaginous scales, the bone necessary to sculpt a protruding jaw-line, it would weigh sixty pounds, at least. She’d never
work the pole again. Not without bulking up those hamstrings.

“Loretta, nothing like this has ever been done. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but I need to know why you want to do it before we talk any more about it.” I had shut the folder, but my hand rested on top of it. I wasn’t ready to give it back.

“It’s a feminist thing. You wouldn’t understand,” she said.

“I took Intro to Women’s Studies. Try me.”

“In my line of work, I’m just a body. Sure, some guys appreciate the athleticism of my finer pole work, and some guys kind of get that it isn’t easy to do a cartwheel in six inch heels, but in the end, I’m a stripper. They want to see me naked. That’s
enough for them.”

“And turning into a triceratops…?”

“It will force people to think about who I am, not just look at my tits.” She said.

I absentmindedly opened the folder back up and looked at her tits. Real money makers. Good thing god doesn’t make patents. I could use these to go on. “Knock it off, Rolston,” I said to myself. “This woman is serious. Do you help her or not?”

“So you plan to continue stripping?” I asked her.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think yes, it would be great to walk onstage in a cute outfit, like a Game Warden or something, and Bobby, the DJ, he’s the one who scanned those images of me and “Cera”, (that’s what I call triceratops) and he could
play some T. Rex or something, and I’d do my thing and watch the men at the tables face’s… they’d freak out! It would be so great! But sometimes I think it would be a nice way to get me to change my lifestyle. There’s a lot of drugs and alcohol abuse
in this business, not to mention problems with sex. I think this procedure would be what I need to break a cycle. If people aren’t responding to my pretty face, it will force me to not rely on my looks anymore either. I’m really into breaking down all this body image dependency.”

A question popped into my head.

“Why a triceratops?” I asked. Loretta had been waving her hands all around and now they had fallen silent, one on each arm of the chair she sat in. She gripped the armrests and smiled.

“The horns. They’re horny.” She was still smiling. “They have three of them. Three is a very powerful number. It represents wholeness. I don’t know.” Her smile faded and she tilted her head and her eyes became vacant. She was picturing something in
her head.

“Loretta, I know this will sound weird, but I want you to meet my wife. She is a paleontologist. A specialist in the Mesozoic period. The Age of Reptiles. I think you can help each other. What do you say?”

End of Chapter One.

Jon and I would like to open this story up to you. We really couldn’t come up with a good ending so… write one and either e-mail it to me, marc@ineedtostopsoon.com, or post it in the comments section of this posting.

Thanks and good luck.