The lights are dim. The surrounding ambiance is safe, calming, and lusty. The music that resonates in the walls becomes audible, if only soft to begin with; a slow beat heavy with bass, heavy with a flowing rhythm. The soft bass drum makes my heart pump and flood the blood through my veins. The show is about to begin.
Anticipation has firmly settled itself deep in the walls of my stomach. I wait. The fine hairs begin to rise from the back of my neck, and down my arms. I wait. My pupils dilate in expectance to take in as much as they can. I wait. My joints: rigid, my muscles: tense. I wait.
At last, she slithers out from around her curtain. Her curves ebb and flow like the ocean on a calm day. Her hair bounces in soft curls covering part of her face giving her a mysterious darkness. Her smooth chocolate complexion shimmers in flattering light. She bares her pearly whites in a sultry snarl imitating a jungle cat. I’ve heard rumours that strippers dance under black lights to make their teeth whiter. The closer she gets, the more dewy sweet sweat I see forming on her long giraffe legs, and apple hips. She moves with the music; music that’s playing but I no longer hear. My growling turns to barking as I ogle the beauty before me. My tongue hangs out as I pant at her muse. I look like a twitterpated cartoon character in the rut.
I look into her dark wild eyes. I love you, I mouth with wet lips. She pays no heed. I don’t notice the other men around because my eyes are only on her. My black pupils stay focused on each of her movements as I try to see even more of her exposed body. A man is walking up to her. His face parts with a disgusting pervert grin. He looks around in triumph. I turn green in envy and sickness, and hot in rage.
Why him? Look at him. He’s a joke. Why not me? Look at me. Can’t you see me?
She backs up to him and rubs up against his big body. She shakes, gyrates, and vibrates. He looks around. He’s the king. As my love grinds up and down his front he looks at me, and pours 40 ounces of golden malt liquor down her back. The beer flows out of the bottle foaming and glugging as it drowns her. It disgusts me so much that it seems to happen in slow motion before my eyes.
My head feels like it’s held under water. My eyes aren’t sure of what they’re seeing, my ears can’t exactly hear what’s going on, and my lungs are fighting for air as I hyperventilate in anxious panic.
Before I know it, I’m back to reality. My trance has been broken by a random advertisement for some new fake reality show. I’m alone on my couch watching MTV. I hate rap, but I love the videos.
