Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“This is crazy,” I say and push open the door.
There’s a makeup area, with a mirror with bright lights all around it. A small shower cubicle, hair dryer, and… cans of Coke, bottles of water, and a bowl full of sweets.
“Nice,” josh says, taking one of the seats.
“I feel like a bloody star,” I say, taking the seat in front of the mirror.
My gothic makeup is already in place, but I tie a loose bun in my long black hair, making it slightly dishevelled like it would be after a long shift at the supermarket. My work uniform feels starchy over my lacy underwear. I feel encased by the old sensations of dread as I twirl for myself in one of the full length mirrors.
It’s hard to believe this used to be my life.
“Do I look ok?” I ask Josh.
“Hmm, maybe more makeup?”
I check in the mirror. Accentuate and exaggerate. “You’re right.”
I apply more lipstick, big and bright. And thicken up my catflicks and blush my cheeks.
“Too much? I look like a clown.”
“No, you don’t. You look hot as all fuck.”
A glance at the clock. It’s nearly time. I grab a couple of sweets and glug down some Coke before we set off with my cases to the wings of the stage.
I sneak a peek out at the venue, my jaw dropping at the scale of the place. I catch a glimpse of the balcony I sat at with Mum and Dad. It feels light years away.
I can do this, I tell myself. I’m performing my own story. The plot is an easy one to remember.
I’m as ready for the action as I’ll ever be when the spotlights start up and beam like beacons, so bright. I feel like a tiny mouse in my supermarket uniform as I hunch my shoulders and step out into the centre of stage. The lights largely block out my view of the seating area, but when I squint, I can see a solitary shadowy figure sitting there, right in the middle of the front row.
And so my story begins.
All over again.
My name is Ella, I say to the fake crowd. And my life is a scrabble for pennies!
With that announcement, I let myself run free and trust in the Gods of good fortune that I’m a good enough actress to expose my vulnerable self onstage.
I rush like a crazy thing as I act out stacking shelves, hurling fake insults at myself as I work like a trojan from the past. Faster, Ella! The half priced stock is still waiting. There’s a pallet in the back. Call to checkout number four! Why haven’t you unloaded the gift wrap, Ella? Where are the cans of chopped tomatoes, Ella? The shelf is almost empty! Get a fucking grip, girl!
I drop to my knees on the floor, my hands over my ears as I let out a scream that echoes around the empty theatre. A wail from the heart as I revisit the pain of trying to live up to a work bully’s expectations, while the man who claimed to love me smashed my heart to pieces and left me all alone.
I get to my feet again, slowly. A glance to the wings and I see Josh in the shadows holding two thumbs-up. So far so good. I stand before the empty seats and breathe deeply, regaining my composure.
And then begins my show.
Act one is where I strip myself bare down to my lacy underwear for the first time, nervous after having just signed up as an entertainer.
I grab a simple dildo from the props at the side of the stage, and re-enact my first proposal. Sucking the shaft with a vigour, then dropping to the floor and fucking myself with a simple in and out, with a dulled expression on my face.
It was boring.
Too boring.
I hope my performance conveys the truth as I finish up and give a thank you to the invisible client on stage with me.
Act two is where I grow more confident.
I present myself in a tight black dress, laughing and smiling at imaginary clients before I suck off dildos like I mean it this time. My head bobbing in a fervour.
I fuck myself in the right spot to get me rampant. I bare my tits and tug at my nipples, and let the real sensations wash over me. Thinking back to my early experiences and how much fun I had as I ticked off the first boxes on the Naughty List.
I get down on all fours at the front of the stage and bare my asshole, and finger myself in the spotlight. I spit on a dildo and slide it between my spread cheeks, moaning with true meaning as I dialogue with imaginary clients.
Take it all you filthy slut.
Yes, sir, I’ll take everything you’ve got to give.