Drunken bamboozled men crowded around the stage, their taste buds being tickled at the thought of a woman taking off her clothing and fulfilling their deepest fantasies. The smell of a dirty floor dipped in tequila and served with a side of beer rapes your tense nostrils. The inebriated faces stare loosely, as the lady of the night slides down the pole in glittering and shimmering garments that mask her scared bare skeletal skin, the primal mans face begins to distort as he howls out to the thought of her full moon, cat calls, whistles and lewd gestures rain down on her like acid stained rain. The pack of profanities glare with hungry eyes, they are ready for the show, she on the other hand, needs the money.
The music begins, the sound bellows and surrounds the dancer, pushing her perfect body up against the pole, playing her like a puppet, moving her around like a soulless, missing mannequin, she begins to dance. The madam looks on at her selected item, as she ascends the glamorous, cold piece of metal, gracefully moving her frame to the beats of the music. The exotic ballerina performs her artistry, long, slow sensual movements, she is gripped in the deep dark vocals of the voices of the speaker, she guides her body to the emotion of the song, making it real, making it heartfelt. She and her acquaintance called the pole, help each other through the motions, becoming one. Her ensemble radiates, it glows as the spotlight shades on and off of her, making her seem like a mystified illusion. The shining sparkles fade as the courtesan prances and flits across the floor as is she was dancing on hot coals, burning money into her feet with every frisky twinkle of the hips.
Like soft velvet falling from the Queens chariots, her clothes seem to disrobe themselves, the bra that protected her fragility is now tied to the chair, the atmosphere in the room elevates as the many hungry, desperate wolves pine to rub the skin of the beauty, but, she would rather a skin eating bacteria engulf her before one of their porky fingers poked her vulnerability. The tension of egos has inflamed the ambience, like marking territory they all believe she is theirs for the taking, all they need is an engorged wallet. The highly aroused crowd watch as the half dressed scarlet ballerina displays her soft skin, as she darts with elegance and grace across the famed stage. She is alone in a room of horny misguided ghosts tanked on substance. The music changes pitch and range and she adjusts to the emotion ringing from the sound system.
The superficial glances and winks at the hounds makes them reach springtime in their trousers which are now laced with stains from the alcohol soaring through their excited veins. She whirls and twirls, sheepishly gyrating to the rhythmic sound explosions, the remaining lacy pink underwear, waves like a white flag admitting surrender, she has surrendered to the crowd at the madam’s accord, they fall to the ground like her morals and ethics. A huge boisterous applause and jeers boycott the once silent pack of under sexed beasts, the are elated she lost her dignity and show her their appreciation but tossing notes onto the stage, paper for sadness and the need to survive.
The final performance as she cools her body with hardened ice blocks, a cool glaciate feeling attends to her exposed emotional wounds, she has completed her immorality act, the body opera is over, and like that visionary red curtain falls, so does her glossed, seductive lips, her plastic grin fades. The music that moulded her physic to the mood of the beats has now been cancelled out by men being men and showing their dominance. The men are ecstatic they have seen what they paid for, they leased and hired out her body for a ten minute jumping castle in their boxer briefs, without ever giving a thought, maybe that is a someone's young daughter or a single mother making ends meet, if they remain blind to the truth, they wont have to feel guilty about making her jump and beg like a eager jack russell begging for a ball.
They make her non human, so they can remain human and return to their reality and back to their wife and families, while she packs up her clothes, counts her money and leaves the luminous flickering 501 club. She has to dance to survive, she lives from hand to mouth and in run down flats all the while raising a child, she has courage and has the strength to face the new day, what do they have, a missing poster in the hallway of their home.
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