Deceitful

Dedicated to all the good girls who dream of being bad.

“Well now really when we go back into falling in love. And say, it's crazy. Falling. You see? We don't say "rising into love". There is in it the idea of the fall. And it goes back, as a matter of fact, to extremely fundamental things. That there is always a curious tie at some point between the fall and the creation. Taking this ghastly risk is the condition of there being life. You see, for all life is an act of faith and an act of gamble. The moment you take a step, you do so on an act of faith because you don't really know that the floor's not going to give under your feet. The moment you take a journey, what an act of faith. The moment that you enter into any kind of human undertaking in relationship, what an act of faith. See, you've given yourself up. But this is the most powerful thing that can be done: surrender. See. And love is an act of surrender to another person. Total abandonment. I give myself to you. Take me. Do anything you like with me. See. So, that's quite mad because you see, it's letting things get out of control. All sensible people keep things in control. “

- Alan Watts

Agastopia

There was once a small, fluffy kitten, grey as the stormy clouds above, with eyes the colour of mint. She spent her life in an animal shelter, locked away from the world outside. The cage was cold and empty, but the worst thing was that it was lonely. Because of lack of affection and love when she was young, she grew up distrustful of other animals and the people who came to visit her.

The kitten did not like the humans in particular. Whenever they saw her, they attempted to grab her and she didn't know why. They rarely succeeded. She hissed at them, so some gave up early and left her alone. Those who persisted and grabbed her anyway ended up with hands, scratched to the blood.

Over time less and less people tried to hold her. At first, she was glad to have some piece, but as months passed, she started to crave the attention she got before. Still, even though she was lonely, her behaviour remained the same when people approached her. It was pure instinct which she couldn't fight.

Then one day, a miracle happened. The human who visited the shelter brought with them a big, white dog, almost as fluffy as her. The large animal resembled a wolf with his great white teeth and sharp claws. For a reason unknown to her, the human let the dog pick an animal. And the dog stopped in front of her cage.

The caretaker seemed apprehensive about opening the kitten's cage as she's gotten the reputation of a wild, untameable creature, and true to her nature, she hissed at the dog. The miracle was that the dog didn't give up and leave, even when she'd try to scratch him with her paw. He'd back away a few centimetres, and come back towards her.

That day was the first day she saw the world beyond the cage. And boy, did her life change.

I snap from my thoughts when the music changes to a more upbeat song, and come back to reality. The audience of old men below me drinks and watches me closely. The coloured lights stop on me every now and then, blinding me. Along with the blasting music, my senses are suddenly overwhelmed.

Shit. I'm at work. I must've slipped away because of the lack of sleep the night before.

I wrap my ankle around the bottom of the pole and press my bare ass to the cold metal, grinding against it.

The loud music helps quiet my thoughts a little, but it cannot stop them completely, and I'm glad. It's become a way of escape for me. I can feel many pairs of eyes on me, making me nervous and putting me at unease.

I let my head fall back softly, letting it circle from one shoulder to the other, and glide the hair of my wig against my body.

The crowd is really large tonight, but I don't mind it anymore, because it means I get more money. In the beginning, I wanted there to be as few people as possible, and then I realized my job is the same no matter the number of people watching me. Might as well get the most out of it.

Today I get to dance in the VIP section. It means the watchers have a lot more money, so it means I have to try my best. Maybe one of them will pay to have me in a private room. It doesn't happen often though, so I don't get my hopes up.

Turning around, I let my breasts move against the pole as I lock my eyes with a random watcher and bite my lip.

Besides the music, the fact that nobody I know has ever or will ever see me dance increases my confidence to the roof. It's not that I'm embarrassed of my job, not really, but I'm not proud of it. Fact is that this is the only way I could survive, so I'm thankful for it. Another plus is that Daniel, my boss, doesn't make us dance completely naked if we don't want to. If we're happy with the amount of money we make, he lets us dance in little lingerie outfits.

I lock my knee on the pole as I climb on it, then release the grip I have with my hands, and swirl around it, slowly falling to the ground.

I look at the watchers again, trying to catch another pair of eyes. The reason is simple: an eye contact is the most intimate form of interaction you can have with someone you're not speaking to. Make an eye contact with someone and you immediately feel at least a little connected to them. Or as it is in my current situation, make an eye contact with someone and they might pay you to dance for them in a private room.

Money.

Make more money. That's all there is to it. It's that simple and that complicated. And no matter my personal views on money, I need it. I need it more than anything.

Lavender.

My eyes whip to the left, an automatic reaction to hearing your name, even if nobody has called you by that name in a year. People here know me by Marissa, and the watchers know me by Poison Ivy.

I brush it off and continue swinging my hips. This must be some sort of sensory deprivation shit or something. Maybe the lyrics of the unfamiliar song the speakers are slamming sound like my name. Or maybe I'm just going crazy. Each theory is completely possible.

The song takes a few more minutes, and then I walk off the stage and head for the locker room to take my fifteen minute break. The breaks here are quite frequent because dancers need to drink to keep hydrated and because the girls on the stage need to switch to keep it interesting. The crowd boos, probably thinking my shift is over. I send them a wink as I walk away. I may not be the best person in the world, but ain't nobody better than me at dancing.

I try to steer away from the 's' word. It does nothing but put me in a bad mood.

»Marrisa, your outfit looks so pretty today, you literally look like an angel.« Sasha, known as Jasmine to the watchers, greets me as I enter the locker room. I look at her with a serious expression, and we both burst out laughing.

»Angel of death, maybe.«

»Lucifer.« she snorts and I laugh along.

Coincidentally, this club has a rule that the dancers must pick flower-themed names. I could've picked my real name and no one would suspect a thing.

I glance down at the white lace bra and panties, connected with sheer material and small diamonds in a way which makes me look curvier than I really am. This outfit is one of my favourites because it compliments my caramel skin.

"Marissa, a guy wants you in a private room number three. David will be keeping guard in the room next to it." Daniel announces when I come out the toilet. All the girls in the locker room start to whistle. "Lucky ass bitch." I look around at the jealous expressions and smirk. Money. 

"Just one guy?" I ask, confused. Usually there are at least 3 or 4 guys because of the price. In the private room, there's usually never any contact with the watchers. Actually, it's mostly used by the watchers who want to have a private conversation with each other. With one guy, there's potential for trouble, which is why David, one of the bodyguards, will keep watch and stay close-by. I shift on my feet uneasily.

»Yeah. He looks really professional and all. Like, he's wearing a suit.« He lifts his brow suggestively. »Better try your best.« With that, he turns on his heel and leaves. What he really wanted to say is that the guy looks loaded and could tip me well. I sit down in front of a mirror and reapply gloss and fix my brown-haired wig so that I give it more volume, then I readjust my boobs.

»Who wants to bet this is the time our resident prude takes it all off?« Amy shouts out and the girls cheer in reply. I roll my eyes.

»I'm not getting naked, Amy. You know that.«

She lifts an eyebrow and smirks at me in a condescending way, and I picture punching her for a second. »And you know that everyone does it eventually.«

I offer her a big fake smile and prance away, heading for the private room with nervous butterflies in my stomach. I better not screw this up. If I make enough, I might not have to do this for the rest of the week. What a treat that would be.

David's waiting for me in front of the room. »Call me if you need me.«

I nod at the scary giant of a man and open the door. Sensual, slow music hits my ears, and I swing my hips to the beat of one of my favourite songs by the Weeknd, Worth It. I begin my dance as usually, not looking at the watcher for a few seconds to try to calm myself down. Private rooms always make me nervous.

I take a deep breath and look at him, then feel my blood run cold as the room seems to shrink and it feels like all the air leaves the space. The watcher is sitting with one hand leaning on the sofa and the other one by his crotch. He's wearing one of his expensive suits and looking at me in that way I always hated, with his head tilted to the right and his lower lip caught between his teeth. Like he's looking at a juicy piece of meat, not a person.

“Please continue, Lavender.”