Why is she looking at me?

Can she tell? Can she see through my coat and know what I wear beneath it?

No, it's impossible.

But is it?

Gosh I sure hope it's my imagination.

But there she did it again. Yes I am sure of it now. She's judging me, I just know it.

What makes her so much better? That she can sit smugly in an empty subway car looking down at me.

I'm just as good as she is!

No, not really.

She's a Nun, a woman of the faith.

Still how can she tell I just got off work?

Is the smell of smoke and alcohol that strong?

It must be, she couldn't possibly see my outfit beneath these cloths.

But she knows, I just know it. The way she keeps looking at me from time to time, with that look of lowly pity... and disgust.

Well what the hell does she want from me? Not everyone can be as good as she is! Not every one can be righteous and sinless. I have to pay the bills somehow.

Besides, what's it too her that I do what I do? She doesn't know the hours I put in the gym, toning my body to perfection. She doesn't know how it's like performing before a bunch of salivating men. Its hard work. Why should she care what its all for?

But she does care. She surely pity's me for using my body and not my mind. How loving of her. But that's where her love ends, I'm sure of it.

In her eyes I'm nothing but a snake, a heathen snake. She's seen right through my thick coat, into my soul and seen the stripper inside.

But what does she want me to do about it? Take off my coat? Reveal who I am with out shame? I have no shame. So what if I'm a stripper? A woman who dances nude for paying men. I'm not trying to hid a thing.

Still why do I wear the coat then? If she already knows who I am, why do I try to hid it from her? That's what she must be thinking. She probably laughs at me for hiding what I am.

I do suppose there's no use wearing it any more. She assuredly knows what I wear beneath it. No reason to hide what she must already know, that I'm a stripper.

Fine, I'll remove it. Then maybe she can shut up and stop staring at me.

Did her eyes just grow wide? Yes they did! But I thought she knew. I thought she could tell what I was already wearing. Well now she knows for sure. What other reasons could I have for wearing 5 inch heels, a micro skirt, and skin tight top? No doubt I just confirmed her suspicions of me.

Should I put the coat back on? No, it doesn't matter anymore. I'm a stripper, a shameful, shameful stripper.

Look at her, she thinks even lower of me now. I can see it in her disapproving eyes. She's no longer looking at my face, but at the spectacle I call cloths.

She detests them I can tell. No self-respecting woman would ever be caught wearing these. Only a woman who was a tramp, a slut. A woman whose only worth is as a sexual object for men to slobber over.

That's what I am and she knows it.

But what can I do about it? I am what I am.

Can't she just stop looking and leave me alone. I'll never be as good as her. I'm just a stripper, and that's all I ever will be. I'll even prove it to her. I'll strip right here and show her how I shake my tits and flaunty my hairless pussy!

No no no. This is a woman of faith. Of respect. She would never want to see my sinful displays.

But there is another look in her eyes. It's a look of compassion, of understanding.

Maybe she does want me to take off these cloths. Remove the symbols of my profession. Cast them away in hopes for something better.