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The gentle swoosh of the waves at my feet and the screetch of parrots filled my ears. I looked at the sun reflecting of the water. The position of the sun in relation to coconut trees on the point told me it was most likely after four pm. My equatorial location would give me another hour to hour and a half of light.
I slipped my finger over my upper arm, caressing the tan lotion into my skin. I placed my finger on my breast bone and slide it over the slow undulating curves of my stomach. I was relaxing in the mid after noon sun at las arenas ronedas. I looked back at the jetty in front of me, my mind was casting back, back over the week.
I pictured myself standing on a desolate street in the Soho district as I did earlier in the week. The air was chilly. My skin felt the slight icy breeze. My tour guides stood in front of a half constructed museum. I was here to see a club. A club with a difference, un-open to the public eye. The entire area surrounding me was devoid of people other than my two guest.
I was guest of the architects of this empty place. I could imagine the hustle and bustle of this concrete jungle that would be one day consume this place. They lead me down the street; I walked along the white lines in the centre. We turned at "T" intersection onto a side street, stopping not far from the curve. I stood in front of an open door way, a set of stairs lead downwards in front of me. I slide my hand on the red velvet wall as I walked down the stairs stoping at a short platform.
There in my view was an underground club. I was excited by the view in front of me. The heals on my red platform shoes clicked on the stairs as I made my way down to the dance floor.
I walked towards the stage, the cold steely pole in front of me. I touched it with my right hand; slide my palm up and down grasping it.
Suddenly flashback, in an instant I was living a different time. I felt a hand on my ass check, slipping under my short skirt a breast against my back. I was dancing on a pole with my lovely sister. The music raged our bodies brushed against each other as we circled the pole. My mind was reliving another moment at metal H&H. We danced centre stage in the club. Our cheeky school girl day conversation had the clients and managers in the club focusing on the erotic display we provided.
The tip jars filled, we helped each other remove our clothes. I would strut off into the change room with my clothes in my arms as my sister slipped off to a private room with a client. The act repeated two or three times a night. This was the busy successful life I left behind.
I shook my head my flash back was over; a day lived in an instant. I removed my hand of the pole. I was sensing the potential this place had. I turned looked at my companions. My mind was racing, so too was my mouth. I could feel the passion growing.
Over the next few days, the passion grew. I felt a sense of urgency, my passion for the club was becoming intense, like a drug fuelled high. The passion I had for the place, the desire to get back to the life I had in the new trendy environment was being accompanied by the nervous fear.
Like any addict the need feel the high of anticipation, must have become sounding obsessive. Then my peaceful mediative state on the sand bar near the beach at las arenas ronedas was broken by the flutter of a sea gull landing on the rock behind me.
I realise to myself, that I divide my passion proportionately between my love Sami, my sister and let the excess flow into my writing for a reason. I remind myself that without that balance my passion starts to flow in a direction that turns me into something resembling a crack addicted prostitute pacing the pavement in the red-light area's chasing a john.
I notice the sun is getting closer to the water the hour is getting late. I am thinking about what I should wear for my early morning call to please my clients before they scurry of to an early start. Up I stand the sand I brush from my bum, time to find a warm bath and slide into my comfortable bed.
If I am lucky I will be woken by my love, but that’s a complete different story, which I file in personal collection for me to smile at when I am lonely and without my lovely partner.
~Kiss Kiss~
Oz
I slipped my finger over my upper arm, caressing the tan lotion into my skin. I placed my finger on my breast bone and slide it over the slow undulating curves of my stomach. I was relaxing in the mid after noon sun at las arenas ronedas. I looked back at the jetty in front of me, my mind was casting back, back over the week.
I pictured myself standing on a desolate street in the Soho district as I did earlier in the week. The air was chilly. My skin felt the slight icy breeze. My tour guides stood in front of a half constructed museum. I was here to see a club. A club with a difference, un-open to the public eye. The entire area surrounding me was devoid of people other than my two guest.
I was guest of the architects of this empty place. I could imagine the hustle and bustle of this concrete jungle that would be one day consume this place. They lead me down the street; I walked along the white lines in the centre. We turned at "T" intersection onto a side street, stopping not far from the curve. I stood in front of an open door way, a set of stairs lead downwards in front of me. I slide my hand on the red velvet wall as I walked down the stairs stoping at a short platform.
There in my view was an underground club. I was excited by the view in front of me. The heals on my red platform shoes clicked on the stairs as I made my way down to the dance floor.
I walked towards the stage, the cold steely pole in front of me. I touched it with my right hand; slide my palm up and down grasping it.
Suddenly flashback, in an instant I was living a different time. I felt a hand on my ass check, slipping under my short skirt a breast against my back. I was dancing on a pole with my lovely sister. The music raged our bodies brushed against each other as we circled the pole. My mind was reliving another moment at metal H&H. We danced centre stage in the club. Our cheeky school girl day conversation had the clients and managers in the club focusing on the erotic display we provided.
The tip jars filled, we helped each other remove our clothes. I would strut off into the change room with my clothes in my arms as my sister slipped off to a private room with a client. The act repeated two or three times a night. This was the busy successful life I left behind.
I shook my head my flash back was over; a day lived in an instant. I removed my hand of the pole. I was sensing the potential this place had. I turned looked at my companions. My mind was racing, so too was my mouth. I could feel the passion growing.
Over the next few days, the passion grew. I felt a sense of urgency, my passion for the club was becoming intense, like a drug fuelled high. The passion I had for the place, the desire to get back to the life I had in the new trendy environment was being accompanied by the nervous fear.
Like any addict the need feel the high of anticipation, must have become sounding obsessive. Then my peaceful mediative state on the sand bar near the beach at las arenas ronedas was broken by the flutter of a sea gull landing on the rock behind me.
I realise to myself, that I divide my passion proportionately between my love Sami, my sister and let the excess flow into my writing for a reason. I remind myself that without that balance my passion starts to flow in a direction that turns me into something resembling a crack addicted prostitute pacing the pavement in the red-light area's chasing a john.
I notice the sun is getting closer to the water the hour is getting late. I am thinking about what I should wear for my early morning call to please my clients before they scurry of to an early start. Up I stand the sand I brush from my bum, time to find a warm bath and slide into my comfortable bed.
If I am lucky I will be woken by my love, but that’s a complete different story, which I file in personal collection for me to smile at when I am lonely and without my lovely partner.
~Kiss Kiss~
Oz
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