Erotic Dancing for the Thrill
Submitted by Lacey M.
I get a lot of flack being an exotic dancer. I must be a prostitute, a druggie, a victim or a slut. I’m sure that there have been and maybe still are women who fall into each of those categories who take their clothes off for money. I don’t know their reasons, I only know mine. Let me tell you a little secret…
I don’t do it for the money. I do it for the thrill.
I’ve taken dance lessons since I was a little girl. Ballet, tap, ballroom; I just couldn’t get enough. I love to perform! I’ve learned street dance, swing dance, salsa, and even belly dance. If there’s a class for it I will take it.
I choreograph each routine and I design each of my costumes with infinite care. When the music starts I let my body go with the rhythm and it takes me to a whole other plane. Dancing is my meditation, the stage my temple.
On stage I am a goddess and those watching have come to worship at my feet. I move with the music, my hips roll, my breasts sway. With each inch of skin I reveal their craving for me grows. Each movement of my body inflames their desire. I bend and turn my body, raise my arms and throw scraps of cloth for them to hold onto. I make love to their psyche. I am sex incarnate. I am the dream that whispers to them in the dark, the temptation that whittles away at their will power.
What would they give to have me, even for just one night? But how can they hope to touch the divine? I am unobtainable.
Call me a tease if you want. When I’m dancing I may put everything I have on display, but it is not on the menu. Sure they throw money onto the stage, they stand and wait for me to take the bills from their hands and hope for a single brush against my skin.
They send bouquets of flowers, gifts of chocolate and jewelry, always hoping that it will buy them some private time with me but it never does. You see, they can look but they can’t touch.
Even when I dance right in their laps their hands have to stay at their sides or it’s over. I have all the control. That’s the rule, and that’s what does it for me. That’s what gets me off more than anything.
I like knowing that the man in the three piece business suit is squirming in his seat because he’s so hard he’s about to explode. I love the look of desperate horniness in the eyes of the college boy in the corner.
When they leave they take visions of me with them and that means I have changed their lives in some infinitesimal way.
I own a part of them.