I’ve seen your number so many times…

The music starts, skillfully picked to tease their appetite in the dark. Hands are clapping in the crowd even before the spotlight turns on to bathe you with its artificial light. You suddenly appear, all covered in glitters and shimmers, and the room goes crazy! People whistle, and cheer, waiting for your silhouette to ondulate like a cobra on the stage. You wait for the right beat, holding the pause, giving your best profile to the building roar of the hungry audience.

Long legs, round eye-pleasing buttocks… Tight waist, firm inviting breats. You pull your arms above your head, and follow the slow lingering melody with a perfectly choreographed roll of the hips. You gracefully twist and bend, your long silky hair brushing softly on your bare back, shoulders and chest.

The crowd wants more, and more you give. You are confident, and don’t hesitate to make long seducing eye contact with front row howling wolves. You prey for the highest bidder, hands up in the air, waving their insane offerings your way.

You are good. You incarnate fantasy like no other. You make other women turn green with envy, and every men wish they got to get a taste of you. There is electricity in the air as you continue to languorously sway around.

As the music slowly comes to an end, you crawl around the stage like a tigress, to claim your due. Hypnotized fingers slipping fifty dollars bills around the stringy sides of your almost absent garment. You greet every tip with a sexily fluttered wink.

The last notes die in the air, and you bow to the applauding room. Slowly walking backwards to exit the stage, you enjoy the tickle of the paper on your hips. You are content, knowing you’ll soon numb the painful feeling of having nothing to offer for a paycheck but your vulnerable nakedness.

I watch you pass me by backstage, hands full of money, but still broke and broken.

The room fills with fake smoke, and soft light announce the next gig. Screams resonate on the club’s walls like thunder on a stormy night.

I step and stand in the foggy air, leaving more to the imagination than the eye can see. My nude body painted black from head to toes offers no reflection under the dimmed spotlight. My imperfect silhouette swirls like a blurry figure in the mist, and soon forces the crowd to silence.

The music is purposely awkward, and guides my moves in the thick cloud. Intrigued, people lean closer to the stage to get a glimpse of a nipple or the curves of my lower back as I twist and clear the air for a second, only to back up in my curtain of smoke again. To the audience’s eye, I am just a twirling shadow refusing them clear focus on a lusty sight.

Knowing my time is almost over, I reach the center of the stage again. Kneeling down, the fog dissipates, and finally reveals my bare crouched body. I wait for the final notes to grasp the black satin cloth on the floor with both hands.

As get up again, the ankle-long cape denies anyone a clear view of my full nudity. I close my eyes, and the lights suddenly shine as bright as the sun, making my fiery red lip gloss sparkle before the crowd.

The eerie atmosphere breaks all at once, and an explosive acclamation follows.

I bow and leave the stage, not even bothering to stretch a hand to collect spectators’ high held money.

Walking to my dressing room, I hear whispers among the other girls. I can only imagine their comments, but just as I pass the door, I catch a phrase among all the murmurs…

That’s why they come to see Scarlett…

Via today’s Word of the Day Challenge: Gloss