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It was a bright summer's afternoon. I was slowly submerging myself into the sand on the beach on the edge of the square at centre of the purple monkey club. The sun beaming down on my body, I was wearing my favourite swimsuit, a one piece royal blue with an Australian flag on the front.
I was pondering to myself. Pondering what I would say when I meet our father at the virtual walls to his house. I would say I am not here to apply for the role of an angel. Some seem to exist as if it is just some big game my lord. I ask on their behalf for your forgiveness because I fear they don’t see the negative aspects on their character.
I would say to you lord I have lived life being aware that real hearts and minds are behind us all. I accept my own negative aspects. Even in this crazy world I to have a heart. I did my best to ignore a person’s negative aspect. I tried to sense the real positive things they offer. My insecurities arose when my head sensed via my third eye a signal different to that of my heart.
I would stand in front of him willingly ready to accept his judgement. "Brrr", I shook my head. "Wake up Ozzie", I said to myself. So I tilted my head up away from its downward stare.
I looked forward across the square watching the two club owners scurry around creating and building. I mused to myself, if I could capture it on time lapse photography it would be an artful display of Erotic Building worthy of youtube.
I brought my left leg up from its last out-stretch position, I stopped with my knee a foot or two off the ground, I crossed my other leg under it. I sat up more so that I could support my own weight. I had a clump of sand in my hand I watched it fall like a poorly made hour glass. I moved back into my day dream like state.
My friends paying no attention to the dream like state I was in some metres on the beach. They were busy building a club and relationship. Maybe the flame from my candle I released had floated by.
My mind drifted back to early mornings and late nights a variety of clubs I worked at. The people, the faces, the rules, the steady sound of money and loose change filling up my jar became footprints in the sand for me. Some people would come in to watch the slow sensual movements of our scantly clad bodies on the stage and leave just as quick.
Some people would enter, your eagle eye looking them over. You could almost feel the heightened flow of hormones in their veins. A welcoming hello would induce a conversation you could feel there burning stare. Your choice of words designed to maintain their level of desire. You knew it wouldn’t be too long before they threw a large some of money in the jar. You would step down from your stage take their hand and give them a more intimate display of your sensuality. Once the show was over you would collect yourself strut away gracefully knowing you would most likely never see them again.
Most of my attention I provided to the lonely hearts, which would frequent the clubs. There to chat to a caring girl, enjoy the show and reward you well for your efforts. These are a band of people you knew to be around in the club for their anticipated visit. Often alone to some degree or so it seemed in there lives. We would swap a caring ear, a gentle smile; provide a nice view all for a heavy tip jar.
The game players are unable to see the real aspects, the lonely heart that comes to enjoy the music, the view, the friendship, while they recharge. My mind was drifting off again further and further into its dream like state as I lay on the beach. I was thinking about two such hearts I encountered whilst on my stage.
The first I met in a club, large open arched entrance was some metres in front of me. I was dancing the lead pole; the stage was almost triangular with five dancing poles shaped in a point. I moved about a part of body never leaving the pole. A young lady walked in a sat down to my left as I slide my back down the pole.
She was quietly spoken; her sentences were all too infrequent. She stayed a while and left. She would come again each week, each time slowly getting to know her. I called her my adopted soldier. She was one of many soldiers based in some war torn area. She would come to us some hours before her next mission.
Each time, she would come, sit, hardly tip, and not offer much of a conversation. I noticed after a period of time, she stopped coming. Like a children’s adventure book you could take the story either way. I prefer the chapter where she goes home to her friends and loved ones, our small task completed.
The second I met at the same club, he had a large frame, with a moustache, thin and running from lower jaw to lower jaw. I would see him a number of times a week. He made sure my jar was full; I knew dancing for him would end with him being appreciative and me having to collect myself and my strewn items of clothing. I knew that when he found that special someone in his life he would stop coming.
Months upon months of similar nites passed through my head as I drifted off further into my dream like state. I stopped at the previous night where I met my lonely heart again. My royal blue skirt with the silver embriodery was on the floor behind my chair. I had a black tie in my hand. My white blouse and bra positioned underneath my skirt.
A rowdy male figure sat in front of me, his bare chest I could see. His eyes hard to notice, disguised from the blonde hair protruding from under his felt Cowboy hat. I could sense his desire, the professional me responded, the real me was getting nervous.
I was reliving the moment like some vivid dream; maybe I was asleep on the beach. I see his lips moving, he was offering words, were they tacky and tasteless I can't recall. All I could hear was "Ozzie", "Ozzie” ...silence. Again "Ozzie", then silence. Then the last thing I heard was "Silly Cow is asleep."
I was pondering to myself. Pondering what I would say when I meet our father at the virtual walls to his house. I would say I am not here to apply for the role of an angel. Some seem to exist as if it is just some big game my lord. I ask on their behalf for your forgiveness because I fear they don’t see the negative aspects on their character.
I would say to you lord I have lived life being aware that real hearts and minds are behind us all. I accept my own negative aspects. Even in this crazy world I to have a heart. I did my best to ignore a person’s negative aspect. I tried to sense the real positive things they offer. My insecurities arose when my head sensed via my third eye a signal different to that of my heart.
I would stand in front of him willingly ready to accept his judgement. "Brrr", I shook my head. "Wake up Ozzie", I said to myself. So I tilted my head up away from its downward stare.
I looked forward across the square watching the two club owners scurry around creating and building. I mused to myself, if I could capture it on time lapse photography it would be an artful display of Erotic Building worthy of youtube.
I brought my left leg up from its last out-stretch position, I stopped with my knee a foot or two off the ground, I crossed my other leg under it. I sat up more so that I could support my own weight. I had a clump of sand in my hand I watched it fall like a poorly made hour glass. I moved back into my day dream like state.
My friends paying no attention to the dream like state I was in some metres on the beach. They were busy building a club and relationship. Maybe the flame from my candle I released had floated by.
My mind drifted back to early mornings and late nights a variety of clubs I worked at. The people, the faces, the rules, the steady sound of money and loose change filling up my jar became footprints in the sand for me. Some people would come in to watch the slow sensual movements of our scantly clad bodies on the stage and leave just as quick.
Some people would enter, your eagle eye looking them over. You could almost feel the heightened flow of hormones in their veins. A welcoming hello would induce a conversation you could feel there burning stare. Your choice of words designed to maintain their level of desire. You knew it wouldn’t be too long before they threw a large some of money in the jar. You would step down from your stage take their hand and give them a more intimate display of your sensuality. Once the show was over you would collect yourself strut away gracefully knowing you would most likely never see them again.
Most of my attention I provided to the lonely hearts, which would frequent the clubs. There to chat to a caring girl, enjoy the show and reward you well for your efforts. These are a band of people you knew to be around in the club for their anticipated visit. Often alone to some degree or so it seemed in there lives. We would swap a caring ear, a gentle smile; provide a nice view all for a heavy tip jar.
The game players are unable to see the real aspects, the lonely heart that comes to enjoy the music, the view, the friendship, while they recharge. My mind was drifting off again further and further into its dream like state as I lay on the beach. I was thinking about two such hearts I encountered whilst on my stage.
The first I met in a club, large open arched entrance was some metres in front of me. I was dancing the lead pole; the stage was almost triangular with five dancing poles shaped in a point. I moved about a part of body never leaving the pole. A young lady walked in a sat down to my left as I slide my back down the pole.
She was quietly spoken; her sentences were all too infrequent. She stayed a while and left. She would come again each week, each time slowly getting to know her. I called her my adopted soldier. She was one of many soldiers based in some war torn area. She would come to us some hours before her next mission.
Each time, she would come, sit, hardly tip, and not offer much of a conversation. I noticed after a period of time, she stopped coming. Like a children’s adventure book you could take the story either way. I prefer the chapter where she goes home to her friends and loved ones, our small task completed.
The second I met at the same club, he had a large frame, with a moustache, thin and running from lower jaw to lower jaw. I would see him a number of times a week. He made sure my jar was full; I knew dancing for him would end with him being appreciative and me having to collect myself and my strewn items of clothing. I knew that when he found that special someone in his life he would stop coming.
Months upon months of similar nites passed through my head as I drifted off further into my dream like state. I stopped at the previous night where I met my lonely heart again. My royal blue skirt with the silver embriodery was on the floor behind my chair. I had a black tie in my hand. My white blouse and bra positioned underneath my skirt.
A rowdy male figure sat in front of me, his bare chest I could see. His eyes hard to notice, disguised from the blonde hair protruding from under his felt Cowboy hat. I could sense his desire, the professional me responded, the real me was getting nervous.
I was reliving the moment like some vivid dream; maybe I was asleep on the beach. I see his lips moving, he was offering words, were they tacky and tasteless I can't recall. All I could hear was "Ozzie", "Ozzie” ...silence. Again "Ozzie", then silence. Then the last thing I heard was "Silly Cow is asleep."
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