Casually Compromised - Book 1

Mirrored Plates

The five dollar bill fluttered in my hand.

Suddenly I felt like an idiot standing there with the Soul Destroyer poised, intently staring at me.

Her eyes were gentle yet complex. Like a spiral staircase descending down, down, blue and deeper. Down you go Parker, who knows what you'll find. I wish I could stand there forever, tracing her landscape over and over.

Cherish the beginning because the majestic is just forming.

This is was where the obsession began.

For a split second I imagined asking her to tip 7 AM. Something that you can often ask girls to do, and they get all giggly or at least you perceive it that way and you feel fun and powerful giving them a task.

As if they will be your willful pony.

They travel ringside with your measly dollar and treat it as if its a thousand, bestowing it on the dancer you favor in a gesture. Its like a hot steamy MTV music video of girl on girl action with a dollar in the mix.

The hilarity of it deflates me.

My delusion reminded me this never works with her.

When she's in this place its less like anyone exists but her and who's in focus. She did not play these games. Nor did she recognize them.

The other girls simply didn't exist.

She'd make no mention of them, note them, nod at them. Its as if her reality distortion field was set to 11 and she didn't just distort reality, it changed for her. I enjoyed this vestige of a soul with so much power. Much like his own perhaps, sucking the energy out of everything, enjoying the moment for what it presented.

I made a sheepish shrug.

She broke the stare and proceed toward where I had been sitting, allowing me to enjoy a long look at her shoulders, her lower back, that subtle curve that I was intensely obsessed with, into her knees, then the heels, her signature shoes.

Just step on me already will ya? I'd mumbled to myself. Desperate to feel something with her sooner than later.

In a slow blink I recalled a memory..

A memory opens...

The Soul Destroyer did her routine on the stage. Fast, modeled to perfection. Her moves were designed to entice, her body moved to her will, and she commanded it with beautiful skill.

She embodied the want.

I recalled these earliest moments with her, enjoying these snippets in my mind as if they were crafted for me, by me, my mind editing the loop in my favor to please myself.

Snap out of it man, I'd think to myself- this is work, this is a performance, she is product. But was it still work if you enjoyed it? Did she enjoy it?

What was she really thinking I wondered?

I would often try to catch a dancers gaze when they perform, their view, what are they seeing, what are they thinking?

Was she there, did she mean it?

While I stood at the base of Mount Fantasy and for all he knew she was packing groceries counting the minutes down to departure in her mind.

This was a job.

Her face pressed up against the mirrored plates of the stage floor. This was part of her core routine. She stared outward as her body performed on cue timing it exactly as her legs stretched and extenuated her incredible ass into the air.