Dating girls with thongs in ny

by  |  31-May-2015 06:24

Turns out calling her ­“Naked Lady” in Spanish was a little too blunt.In exchange, Chris would receive 30 percent of my earnings. Wednesday, at the corner of West 44th Street and Broadway, I take a deep breath and open my robe. I figure if she can be half-naked in Times Square, then I can, too. I take one photo posing with my arm around his waist and another with me flashing my booty to the camera. I’m surprised by how many families and kids are thrilled to see me, reacting as if I’m a cheeky Minnie Mouse. Older wives nudge their smiling husbands in our direction. This is not how I expected to feel standing in a thong for seven hours in 85-degree heat in Times Square. Zoned-out commuters are clearly annoyed about having to fight the crowds on the way to the subway. Turns out, the hardest part of the day isn’t being naked. The girls don’t trust me at first, but after about three hours they warm up, giving me advice and encouragement. Saira introduced me to Chris, who has been a painted lady “manager” for four years.

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That evening I purchased my outfit: white wedge flip-flops (Payless, $24.99) and a blue thong (Victoria’s Secret, $10.50), got a bikini wax and gave myself a red ­mani-pedi. I always wanted to end up on Broadway, but not like this. “The weird thing is that this doesn’t feel that weird,” I say to my fellow painted lady, Amanda. Like any other gig in New York City, it’s the constant hustle. A swarm of NYPD officers appears at 8 p.m., handing out red cards that read “Tipping street performers is optional” in five languages. Saira tells me that one or two painted ladies give others a bad name by shaking their booties, pretending to kiss people and being pushy.

Plenty of people look at me with disdain when I ask if they want a photo, but are happy to take free pictures from a distance. Another puts his arm around my waist and says, “You’ve got nice tits.” That feels gross. Chris points out an undercover cop standing near us — after years of doing this, he knows them all. The costumed characters mob clueless tourists, demanding tips in a way I never witness the other painted ladies — at least six of us — do.

Painted ladies are the least crazy thing on the block. We go to a nearby bank because it’s well lit and there are cameras, and Chris counts out the $286 I made. After walking a mile in their headdresses, I realize the fight against the painted ladies is deeply sexist.

I’m such a newbie I forgot to count the cash before I gave it to David, so I can only assume that’s everything I made. I’m exhausted after seven hours, my head pounding from the headdress and legs aching from the constant walking. The Naked Cowboy strolls around Times Square wearing only his ­Y-fronts, placing the hands of female tourists on his butt for a photo (I took one myself on my first trip to the city nine years ago), and he’s regarded as a charming, quintessential New York experience.

A little girl in a hot pink T-shirt looks up at me as if staring at a princess. His cousin, David, would mind my bag, take photos and be ready to pounce if anyone tried to touch me inappropriately. I look up and see Miley Cyrus on a video screen, marching in a raunchy, high-cut leotard. Within seconds, some tall, male tourists from Eastern Europe appear. (It must have been beginner’s luck, since $20 is the biggest tip I received all day.) Chris explains to me that it isn’t legal for topless women to demand a set price, but optional tipping is allowed. ,” the girls say I should reply, “Just a nice tip is appreciated.” If they don’t ask for a price — and don’t reach for a wallet afterward — then “Thanks, a tip is appreciated” usually works to get people to hand over some dough. ” And the woman says, “We just wanted to tell you how beautiful you look.” Three New Yorker couples in their 60s, dressed nicely for a fancy dinner, stop me to ask about the recent controversy. Lots of women stop to offer encouragement — “Just want to say we support you! ” I’ve never had more compliments in my entire life. Wrapped in our robes, I feel more naked than when I was standing topless. A group of teenage boys clamor around me for a photo, and one of them casually brushes his hand across my breast. These guys keep getting criticized as being pimps — with police questioning the girls last week if they were being forced to perform — but honestly they just feel like personal bodyguards.

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