The Red Stilettos
Part I
We found each other through the mist. You were wrapping yourself around one of the tall steel tree trunks in the sparse forest on stage. Immediately I knew you were different. You aren't like the other girls, no fake tan or silicone. Your naturalness jars with the cold pole and the sequined curtains. The Red Stilettoes weigh down your light body, unnaturally heavy. I felt it as soon as I saw you, this string that pulled us together. A gossamer thread strung to your ribcage, nothing like the heavy chain strings bound to your feet. I hired you for a table dance. Such a sordid introduction. But we'll laugh about it later, and marvel that such pure love came from such sleaze. I could tell you were so pleased when I asked if you'd just sit and chat instead. The conversation was so natural and you laughed so sweetly. You are so real.
I watch as they bay and leer, wolves that wolf whistle. They're animals. Ugly, swollen, their mouths drip down their ruddy chins. Their ugly eyes bulge and roll. They're ugly animals, only here for flesh. And the ugliest of all stands behind the curtain, his wide frog mouth spreading as he pulls your strings. The Shoemaker who buckled your sweet feet into the Red Stilettos. He doesn't see what you really are. None of them see what you really are. They don't notice the dark, intelligent eyes under those heavy lashes. Or the delicate way the nape of your neck spreads out to your delicate, sloping shoulders. Or the perfect, delicate and white naturalness of your breasts. They won't notice the small rosy scar on your inner thigh that peeks out from under your silk and lace panties and sweet scent that lingers round you. They won't notice that you weren't made for this. You were made to be loved, truly.
But he has you so tightly you can't leave. The straps of those Red Stilettoes have been soldered to your fine ankles and I understand you can't remove them. I can see the secret signs you send me as you dance, begging for your freedom. You can never be free from those shoes, they're part of you now. You would have to cut off your feet. We could do it though, cut the curse away. Leave him with only the Red Stilettoes and a little flesh. They won't dance without you. They say true love is not without sacrifice. I would carry you. To hold you in my arms for one night would be worth holding you forever. I will sacrifice my two free hands to free you from those shoes. Because I love you.
Part II
"Ever wondered what it's like to work in Secrets, the hottest adult club in London? Cosmo heads to Hammersmith to interview one of their hottest dancers, Karen, to get the lowdown!
C: So, do you enjoy working at Secrets?
K: I love it.
C: There's a common conception that most women are pushed into your line of work, what do you say to this?
K: Well, a lot of us do this as a sort of interim job. It pays very well and the hours are great if you're also studying. But I do this because I love it. I genuinely can't think of a job I'd rather do.
C: We've heard you make the most money at this club.
K: Really? That's embarrassing!
C: You're clearly good at what you do. What's your secret? What gives you the edge?
K: A lot of the girls are too perfect. They're perfect, they're the ideal. They're really popular with the young men and the stag nights. But I try my best to seem very real. Older men seem to like this better. I think it's because they're no longer pursuing this "ideal woman", they want something resembling real love. A lot of older men just want a feeling of connection really. And older men have deeper pockets.
C: Do you think there's anything immoral about adult clubs?
K: I think if women want to take their clothes off and the men are happy to pay, then why not? As long as the women are happy with it, I'm happy with it."
I put the magazine back on the rack and quickly walked out the newsagent. It could have been worse. But I definitely shouldn't have said the bit about older men, seeing it in words on paper just made it feel that bit more...shallow? Maybe that really is immoral? The chatty man is usually in tonight, so at least I'll have time to think about it while he drolls on.
