LETHAL LUST | ✎

.𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻

𝐈𝐭 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐝, and took payment, to sin.

     Strip clubs are like temples, except instead of religious iconography they happen to be full of damnation, busty women and booze. The high rise stage serves as the altar, the haunting, slow base from the DJ was the choir, the pole as the cross of Christ that the preacher - dancer - does a table top twirl from and ends in a split as a male member of the congregation slips a 'Franklin in her collection plate.

     When Hozier wanted someone to take him to church I wonder if this is what he meant.

     My reasons for dancing wasn't due to lack of cash flow or a bout of daddy issues that plagued many of the girls here. No, my reason was simple: to visit the former shell of myself that used her sensual prowess to get what she wanted.

     Admittedly I wanted for nothing in this life. My dad, albeit in secret, funded my lifestyle so long as I was successful in school and I stayed away from narcotics and for the most part, I did. Percs and blow slipped between teeth between nostrils between Louis bags all the while I slipped between my drug of choice: his bed sheets.

     And if God was the DJ, Gomorrah was the Devil.

     "Can I get a Judas Iscariot with lime?"

     A chuckle escapes me. Even our overpriced drinks were biblical. "Sure thing," I beam at the damsel in front of me and turn to her jailer. "Can I get you anything?"

     "Same, no lime though." Gross.

     Nodding, I slide across the bar island and start shoveling a pile of ice. "Leslie? Girl down there in the red dress ordered a Judas Iscariot. With lime." She groans. "Mhm. Guy looks like a creep too."

     "Men." she says with a roll of her eyes. "Think we'll need security?"

     "I said creepy not threatening." We nod each other off and I greet the soon to be divorced couple with their traitorous beverages. "Here you are -oops!"

     While handing back their IDs I let his slide a little too far and while he bends to pick it up I wink at the girl in red to let her know I got her signal.

     "No worries." He huffs.

     I go to get another drink order and from my perview I see Leslie approach them and exclaim something about a car alarm while dragging the girl in red away. I grin.

     "And what about you handsome?"

     The green eyed Adonis seems to drink me in instead. "How about a tall glass of you?"

     "Cute. Rookie start, but cute nonetheless."

     He chuckled embarrassingly. "Just got out of a break up so I'm a little rusty. But hey, aren't you a dancer?" I nod while servicing his friend. "When will you be on?"

     "I'm not dancing tonight,"

     "Aw, come on. I promise I'll tip worth your while."

     "Us girls can't dance every night of the month you know," It takes him a moment to get my emphasis and when he does, he sighs, defeated.

     "Some other time then."

     I lean across the bar, just enough to where my cleavage bulges from my bra some more, and I salaciously pop a cherry from my mouth and drop it into his drink. "Some other time."

     After a few more orders Leslie slaps the back of my thighs and tells me I can go. "Mrs. Please let me work the bar I can't dance tonight!" She teases. I peck her cheeks and start wiping down my station with fervor.

     I truly couldn't dance tonight but not because of the crimson wave. My legs still felt like jell-o after a night with him and foundation could scarcely cover the business so the dim bar lighting would have to cover the rest. While I hadn't intentionally seen him in almost three days I made another promise to myself that it'd be forever.

     Checking the time I search impatiently for Elena. She's not on the stage or on anyone's lap or...oh. I see her golden hair glow red under one of the exit signs seemingly in a heated row with what looks to be her fiancé again.

     I want to interject because I need to make an important Skype call tonight, but I want no part of it so I pair with the bar and ask Leslie to make a drink for her so she's calm on our drive home.

     While I wait I turned to look at the dancefloor, and the writhing mass of bodies it contained. The club was packed and full of people here for the same reason as everyone else; to drink, to dance, to forget.

     Drink in hand, I pushed my way into the middle of the crowd, desperate to join them in their state of blissful unawareness. I close my eyes, focused on the way the bass poured out of the speakers, making the floor shake beneath my feet, and I began to sway my body. As I dance I found myself sinking into the oblivion I had been searching for when I first started stripping.

     I'd relocated to New York leaving my entire family behind after that night. Some people might have called it running away, called it cowardice or fearfulness, but I simply called it self-preservation. I was starting over.

     I wallowed in the freedom this city gave me. The pole was just an extension of it, like some sort of warped revenge where I could violate the wallets of the violaters instead of the other way around.

     For a while, it worked. For a while I just danced, and didn't think, didn't agonise over what I should do. All I was aware of was the burn of the adrenaline in my veins, the rhythm of the music, and the press of people all around me.

     And then I opened his eyes ─ I saw a man with dark, messy hair across the dancefloor, and I couldn't run away anymore.

     The man wasn't Gomorrah, but the passing resemblance was strong enough that my heart momentarily skipped a beat, it was strong enough to make me remember everything I was trying to hide from.

     I remembered the argument, and the way their faces where ones of fear, animosity and vangloriousness when I announced that I couldn't do this anymore. That I'd go to the police.

     I remembered how he'd gripped my throat and told me I'd regret it because, "You weren't innocent in this either!"

    Drugs made people do bad things.

    As the ghastly, gut-ripping memories flooded my mind I knew that I would never be able to forget it. No matter how long I stayed sober, how long I danced or how long I tried to make up for it by doing good ─ there would be no escape from what I did.

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