I thought losing my job was going to be the worst thing that ever happened to me. For weeks, going on months, I was worried about not making money, and not being able to pay my bills. Meanwhile, I was getting rejected for job after job that I had applied for. And then I got an email saying that my application for being a go-go dancer been approved.
At first, of course, I assumed that it was just spam. Anyhow, I was certain that I hadn’t applied for the job of a go-go dancer. In fact, the thought of it was just plain ridiculous! Imagine me, a shy, forty-year-old unemployed computer programmer with the flabby physique of someone who had spent the last twenty years sitting at a desk, dancing up on some stage in some club, shaking my ass for the crowd. Ha! No way.
Well, I clicked on the email anyhow. It would be good for a laugh, I figured. But as soon as I clicked it, that was when I noticed the first change. My hair. I felt a cool rush of air as the sides and back of my head were suddenly shaved clean, leaving just an edgy, jet-black mohawk up top. It felt weird, but it also felt right. I was feeling like I needed a change, and maybe a new hairstyle was what I needed after all.
I scrolled down through the email. There was information about the address of the club, when I was expected to be there, how to access the building through the stage entrance in the back alley, what to wear, what was allowed and not allowed in my dancing. And the further down I scrolled, the more and more I changed.
As I sat in my chair, my muscles were gradually growing underneath my skin, becoming big and rippling, and giving me a distinctly musclebound look. Even my skin itself was changing. It was getting younger, I realized. It was becoming smooth and elastic and blemish-free, and washed all over with a golden glow. Combined with my new muscles, it gave me the appearance of a young stud in his prime.
I guess I should have been more concerned about the changes, in retrospect. But they were happening so smoothly, and so naturally, that it just felt right. There was no need to worry any more about not being able to find a job, about not being able to pay the bills. With a body like this, I knew I’d be bringing in hundreds of dollars in easy money every night.
I reached the bottom of the email and there was a link asking for me to click “Yes” or “No” to accepting the position. I clicked “Yes,” without hesitation, and that was when my face changed. I was given the dark features of a Latino stud. Deep brown eyes, thick, brooding eyebrows, full lips, a square jaw with a dimple. I looked like a walking sex dream. And there was one final change, perhaps my favorite change of them all.
That night, I showed up to the club at the time that had been specified in the email. They gave me a locker to put my things in and handed me a tiny black speedo, which was to serve as my “uniform” for the evening. Then they pointed me towards the stage and told me to dance. And I danced! I danced like I have never danced before. It was like my body was magically moving on its own accord, expertly twisting and turning and thrusting under the flashing lights of the club in perfect rhythm with the music. It was electrifying.
I’ve been dancing at the club for about six months now, about three or four nights a week. With this body, these looks, and these moves, you can imagine that I’ve made quite a name for myself. I make the most money out of all of the other dancers at the club by far, and I have fans who come out every night just to see me. And to think, I owe it all to clicking on that mysterious email with a job offer that I simply couldn’t refuse. As it turns out, losing my job was the best thing that has ever happened to me!
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