C'est payé, balayé, oublié
Continued from Part 8 - Today's Empires, Tomorrow's Ashes
---------------------------
My name is Nina. That is how the majority of my acquaintances and friends know me. Nina, the younger sister. Nina, the wonderful grandaughter. Nina, the student. Nina, the big drinker.
But four nights a week, my name is Sofia Vivant.
I didn’t ever plan to become Sofia. It just happened, really. But like a lot of things in life that just fall into place, it could possibly be one of the best things that ever happened to me.
I started burlesque out of interest really. I did conservative burlesque for fun to begin with. But well, when you've gone 90, why not go 10 more?
I never expected or planned to go professional. In our society, we constantly see sirens and sex kittens all over the big screen, on television- we even read about them.
And most women hate them.
We call them sluts, whores- any derogatory term you can think of. And yet we admire the air of confidence that Satine exudes in Moulin Rouge. The ease with which Dita von Teese can undress herself.
And when you can do it? Well, you begin to impress yourself.
I suppose I just wanted to feel sexy. To feel feminine.
I think I continued with it to feel like, if I wanted to, I could seduce anyone I wanted. That I was powerful enough that I could have whoever I wanted, and it wouldn’t matter who I’d already lost.
They say that sexiness isn’t so often learned as much as being inherent behaviour.
Well, maybe I had this all along.
---------------------------
The curtains part and the lights go up as the big band starts. Cheers and wolf whistles make their way down to my ears as my legs land astride on the beat.
I perform one little kick before bringing my feet together and bust shimmying with a cheeky smile and a wink in the direction of the very receptive audience.
The shimmies always get the hollers.
This is one of my more saucy numbers, and it’s to a song everyone knows, with lyrics I can work with.
It’s the kind of routine that makes the women envious and the men drool.
And then I notice him.
A familiar face watching me, his mouth hanging open as I walk my fingers down the front of my stocking to catch the finger of my glove under the toe of my high heel.
I feign a shocked looked at him as I flick the now-removed glove in his direction- wide-eyed and open mouthed. A look that pretends as if being on stage beckons me to do things that I would never normally do.
A group of unfamiliar faces slap him on the back and laugh, never taking their eyes off me as I undo my underbust corset, however.
He doesn’t know what to think. That’s understandable. Most people don’t when they recognise me. You see it ticking over in their minds, “Hey, isn’t that Nina? You know, Nina! The one that did so well at high school!”
I know they assume I’m some sort of stripper. Some sort of prostitute. The majority of women who work in my area argue that this is an art form.
I’d agree with that too.
But I’ll admit, I don’t mind feeling lusted after.
The music crescendos, and I turn to walk off, my sequinned bra leaving my chest only as I turn away from the crowd. With a flick of my wrist it ends up offstage, and by the sound of the crowd, someone's caught it.
Maybe he feels shocked now, but I know this will give him something to think about when he lays awake tonight.
There’s no way he’ll forget the image of me strutting away from him in nothing but ruby red heels and ruffled panties.
My name is Sofia Vivant, and I always leave an impression.
THE END.
-------------------------------
Part 1 - Don't Fall Down Now, 'Cause You'll Never Get Up
Part 2 - What a Lovely Way to Burn
Part 3 - Pronails
Part 4 - Idealistic in Vision, Tactless in Expression
Part 5 - Glory Glory
Part 6 - Jet Pack
Part 7 - Snake Charmer
---------------------------
My name is Nina. That is how the majority of my acquaintances and friends know me. Nina, the younger sister. Nina, the wonderful grandaughter. Nina, the student. Nina, the big drinker.
But four nights a week, my name is Sofia Vivant.
I didn’t ever plan to become Sofia. It just happened, really. But like a lot of things in life that just fall into place, it could possibly be one of the best things that ever happened to me.
I started burlesque out of interest really. I did conservative burlesque for fun to begin with. But well, when you've gone 90, why not go 10 more?
I never expected or planned to go professional. In our society, we constantly see sirens and sex kittens all over the big screen, on television- we even read about them.
And most women hate them.
We call them sluts, whores- any derogatory term you can think of. And yet we admire the air of confidence that Satine exudes in Moulin Rouge. The ease with which Dita von Teese can undress herself.
And when you can do it? Well, you begin to impress yourself.
I suppose I just wanted to feel sexy. To feel feminine.
I think I continued with it to feel like, if I wanted to, I could seduce anyone I wanted. That I was powerful enough that I could have whoever I wanted, and it wouldn’t matter who I’d already lost.
They say that sexiness isn’t so often learned as much as being inherent behaviour.
Well, maybe I had this all along.
---------------------------
The curtains part and the lights go up as the big band starts. Cheers and wolf whistles make their way down to my ears as my legs land astride on the beat.
I perform one little kick before bringing my feet together and bust shimmying with a cheeky smile and a wink in the direction of the very receptive audience.
The shimmies always get the hollers.
This is one of my more saucy numbers, and it’s to a song everyone knows, with lyrics I can work with.
It’s the kind of routine that makes the women envious and the men drool.
And then I notice him.
A familiar face watching me, his mouth hanging open as I walk my fingers down the front of my stocking to catch the finger of my glove under the toe of my high heel.
I feign a shocked looked at him as I flick the now-removed glove in his direction- wide-eyed and open mouthed. A look that pretends as if being on stage beckons me to do things that I would never normally do.
A group of unfamiliar faces slap him on the back and laugh, never taking their eyes off me as I undo my underbust corset, however.
He doesn’t know what to think. That’s understandable. Most people don’t when they recognise me. You see it ticking over in their minds, “Hey, isn’t that Nina? You know, Nina! The one that did so well at high school!”
I know they assume I’m some sort of stripper. Some sort of prostitute. The majority of women who work in my area argue that this is an art form.
I’d agree with that too.
But I’ll admit, I don’t mind feeling lusted after.
The music crescendos, and I turn to walk off, my sequinned bra leaving my chest only as I turn away from the crowd. With a flick of my wrist it ends up offstage, and by the sound of the crowd, someone's caught it.
Maybe he feels shocked now, but I know this will give him something to think about when he lays awake tonight.
There’s no way he’ll forget the image of me strutting away from him in nothing but ruby red heels and ruffled panties.
My name is Sofia Vivant, and I always leave an impression.
THE END.
-------------------------------
Part 1 - Don't Fall Down Now, 'Cause You'll Never Get Up
Part 2 - What a Lovely Way to Burn
Part 3 - Pronails
Part 4 - Idealistic in Vision, Tactless in Expression
Part 5 - Glory Glory
Part 6 - Jet Pack
Part 7 - Snake Charmer
Comments
Okay... I still think you sped the ending, but the jarring shift to first person works quite well. It's a cheap trick, but it definitely works.
Not a bad effort, you.
The story flowed well. I found myself wanting more detail, but it was an easy read.
I loved your titles. :-)