On The Pole
I’m not feeling sexy when I walk into where we all change. The place stinks of pussy – AND I MEAN STINKS. Already I both hate it and love it, because right now I am in that strange mid-ground where I don’t feel special and I don’t feel normal. Fortunately this only lasts for as long as I take my coat off and put my bag down. Then, I am transformed.
The club I work in only exists in the dark. It’s a red darkness, so that the only way to really see someone’s features is without clothes. That’s why all the men stand their like black, solid figures. Like the walking dead.
I take my coat off and I feel sexy.
Five minutes later I stink of pussy, too.
I’m in just my knickers and a bra that pushes everything up. My hair is long down my back and a million miles away from the stranger who came in through the doors. I like these minutes, standing barefoot, doing myself up. But not as much as when I put my feet in those high-heeled shoes and walk towards the door.
Through the gap in the curtain I can see domme . A regular customer who got his name because he spoke softly, as if the first letter were lower-case. I hope I get to dance for him tonight, but as I push myself through those curtains and the cheering begins, I really don’t care anymore.
That’s when I put my hands on the pole, push my ass out and the screaming begins.
Now, I smell pussy and money.
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