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Coups de cœur Cultura
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From up here on stage, I can see her. Even with her First Lady hair and Sunday school shoes, I can't take my eyes off of her.
The music starts. I swing my hips to the thumping bass. Oh, so slowly I slip one button through a hole, then another, then another. I ease the black silk from my shoulders and toss it right toward her.
I watch her pale glossy lips form a big 'O' before she catches it like a major league baller. The flashing lights blind me. Between beats, I can see her blue eyes zeroed in below my waist.
I know what she wants. I give it to her. With a zip and a tug, the leather pants join the rest of my clothes. In my skin tight briefs, I dance just for her. With the last chord of the song, the stage goes dark.
I know when the lights come up again, another guy will be dancing in my place because this is my last time. I'm not doing this ever again. It's too bad I didn't get her name. I really liked that shirt. But not enough to go back and claim it.
If she wants me bad enough, she'll have to find me.
