by Barbie Kiss
I know, 'slut' such a dirty word but I've heard much worse listening to the morning news so give me a break! This is my story dammit...I'm taking a break from writing about corsets and French maids. If you don't like, it lump it.
Sluts Don't Lie is a tale or is it non fiction?
Not sure but let's dive in shall we....
|Coney Island, Shoot the Freak|
Her name is Roxy and she lives in Brooklyn, NY near Coney Island with her family.
Roxy's life is a mess...she lives with a distant and numb father and an over medicated mother that pours juice in her cereal and burns her toast. Roxy doesn't like the morning scene and is sick of the madness as she reaches her 30's - living at home with her parents "sandwich generation".
Roxy can't find a steady job but she has several gigs: personal remote assistant, dog walker and occasional hostess at this burlesque club...whenever they call her. She makes more money than most of her grumpy friends since her jobs are off the books and tip heavy and not the jingly cup kind on the subway whenever that you hear whenever a rotting homeless guy passes asking for whatever you can spare ...try giving him your pancakes from Sunday brunch and see how annoyed he gets.
Roxy decides she can no longer tolerate her untidy disposition and decides she needs to move out and find a hole in the wall of her own. She looks at the classified ads and calls the ad for a roommate desperately seeking any Susan to help her make the rent by month end. "Hi, my name is Roxy and I can move in this week...cool" In less than the time it takes for Roxy to comb her hair she has new place to lay her red head. I digress for a moment...what the bleep does this short tale have to do with the title? Nada, I wanted to get your attention.
This is where I get minimalist....Roxy moves out and starts the solo life with a roommate - not important to mention in this story. She becomes a regular at the burlesque club because the other girl got in trouble for dating one of the customers...house rules "what happens at the Club X...stays at the Club X".
Roxy knows she can't do tricks likes those dancers but she can flirt but not for free and she needs the cash so she can go to San Francisco and find her voice (truthfully she always wanted to go to CALI and figured what the hay).
She spots him as he enters the club...tall, lean, muscular with jet black hair like the lead singer of Depeche Mode but less pale. Roxy saunters over and says "I've got your number" staring into his eyes and leaning in close enough to whisper but not so close that it becomes creepy.
He stares back and says nothing but he is staring. Roxy thinks that this is working in my favor and gives him a sly smile and then takes his hand and leads him to the bar. "What are you drinking? it will be on me...wink..wink. He shrugs. Roxy orders vodka straight little ice. As they wait she stares at him while applying her strawberry organic gloss without looking away from eyes. He smirks.
She sees the bartender with the drink and grabs it from him. She swallows quickly enough for the warmth of the vodka to take over and heat her throat. She holds onto the the ice cube with her tongue and then she and kisses Mr. Depeche letting the ice travel from her lips to his lips. The kiss is toxic and intoxicating and she feels herself tremble as he touches the slight of her bare back. There is no needs for words just more Vodka and ice.