How hypnotic, watching her dance upon a stage. Everybody's eyes fixed upon her tight catsuit, the thing is though, and not that anyone would notice; it was not a PVC catsuit, instead it had been painted on. But everyone's eyes were still immersed in her charisma, her power and the uncontrollable lustfulness of her performance; men were trying to undress her with their eyes desperate to see the hint of a nipple or an inch of flesh, not realising that really she was naked and her power had deluded them. I sat in the corner of the club watching the saliva drool from my boyfriend's mouth as the dancer gracefully moved around the dance pole; "She's all silicon Pete, at least mine are real." He wasn't listening all he was able to utter was "UH-HA"; he began to move closer to the stage leaving me behind. I watched him with the other punters hooting and howling like a pack of Hound dogs. Throughout the corners of my eyes I saw young girls leading men into dark chambers for private performances, and I began to think would he love me more if I were like them?
How strange watching him sleep with her so predictable, as I left the bedroom with my suitcase. The unappreciative bastard.