Phaedra Torres

Digressions Into Erotica

The Four O’Clock Set

Stiletto is a dancer, stuck with the early afternoon shift. She makes the best of it, butis it really worth it?

Dead stares through acrid haze-I hate this place in the afternoon; clinking, sweat-soaked long necks, gin-soaked businessmen leaning on the rail or laying back in their chairs, legs spread like they have something to offer.

Gentlemen, I give you Stiletto!

I burst through the curtain and strut to center stage, daring them to look at me.

Cupping the pole between cool palms, I sway my hips in time with the base line that pounds the air and let my gaze circle the room. Searching faces, selecting my prey.

Only a few are focused-eyes traveling up and down my body as I slither around the pole. There you are. I see you with your wad of bills and poorly veiled anticipation all but dribbling down your chin. Let me just slide the straps of my bra down my shoulders, holding my arms close to my body while I finger the clasp between my breasts.

I pause, asking with my eyes, ‘shall I let it fall?’ I press in and up, so that when the hook is released, my nipples spring into liberation.