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Stalking Venus

It’s 8.44 p.m. on this still and empty stage. There isn’t much air in here and the little that there is, is saturated with the stale smell of cigarette smoke and sugary ale. I can taste it on the back of my coated tongue. My throat and eyes are so dry that they itch. I stand tall and central between the up lit and parted velvet curtains. I am the centre of attraction. My naked body, pale and ‘rouge’ from the reflected tungsten light is a pink oasis within a dark red sea of velvet waves and ripples. Your eyes are on me, Hunter. I follow the formulae and shift my weight over to my left leg and down to my stiletto shoe. It is one of a pair that I am wearing and the only thing apart from my diamante choker and earrings.

There’s an undercover cop at my feet looking up at my rouge red lips. He wants me but he can’t have me. It’s against the law. The same law that he is assigned to enforce. ‘’No physical encounter between client and entertainer’’ is what it says.

I have an odd power you see, like Venus. I am made for pleasure. Visual and tactile. Deep and meaningful as well, if you like it like that. Their eyes inch their way over me and they indulge their prescribed and repeated fantasies. It’s all the same to me. I get my honey, cash in the hand, at the end of every night. It’s why I do it – for the money, honey.

But this cop is complaining. Things are not as he wants them. He’s here to bust me. To bust my employer too. My “employer of choice”. Nail us. Bleed us dry. Perhaps he’s been staking out this joint for a while and, feeling lucky, he has slipped into our fold. Cunning little guy. And now he’s waiting for the kill. He lies there like a sniper in this provincial battle field and I’m firmly in his sights. Locked onto me he is and he can’t let go. He’s an officer of the law and he’s having sex with me with his clothes on. He’s hurting though, badly. He has me within his lawful grasp and must derive his satisfaction from this alone. Like cupid, agent of Venus, he has scooped up the honey but got stung by the bee. Me.

Hinchcliffe & Hodgson. June 2007
After Tom Hunter’s ‘Girls Sex Act in Club 2004’ seen at The Graves Art Gallery, Sheffield.

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