Her reflection called her Tess


And it was her reflection, she spent most of her time with now. Suppose it had been this way longer than she cared to admit. Just the mirrors changed.

Reflections are funny things. Take a mirror for example, and your in its frame. Naked, no makeup, hair pulled back on a short cut shag rug in gray, completing the picture is a rose crystal chandelier, ever so fragile, dangling above your head.

What details strike us? What colors illuminate? How much do we notice the amount of light? Are there details in the mirror? What is behind us?

Most of us in any new reflection, spend our sights studying ourselves. Searching for some change. Hoping for more similarities. Enough so, it intrigues us to stare longer than we are even aware. We want to see ourselves and detail what we would change. Change for the better, more appealing, visually more attractive, signs of a sexy presentation. In the end we want to see ourselves as we believe we should be seen.

Familiar Routines

Her tiny frame was misleading, even to the two men escorting her from home, taking her coat once inside her dressing room. With a thorough room sweep, proceeded politely by closing and locking the overly large double wooden doors upon their exit.

She stripped to bare skin, at marathon speed, jewelry included, and as any well mannered woman, replaced her nakedness with her favorite floor length, purple and feathered cape, rather robe, or a combination thereof.

That didn’t relax her near as much as the scent of a country rose garden. Fresh cut long stem roses every evening throughout the room.

Tess did decorate her oasis. Demanding she could certainly be, as everything she loved in life, the simple things to us, was everything she had worked so hard to become. The key to a successful art of applying stage make up was lighting. Overhead lighting made her washed out and gray. Thus applying color to her beautiful face wrong in tone.

She noticed the time, always running late daydreaming and losing herself in her world of unforgettable passion that day by day seemingly came true.

Powdered her thigh high, purple boots and began the 6 minute routine of tightly lacing them up. Having to do so lying down, as the heels were so high she couldn’t balance standing up. However, once tightly laced, she could dance and spin your head as though you were watching Swan Lake


Still lying on the floor she calmly pulled out a joint from her robe and lit it. Closed her eyes and took a long drag. It was that first toke that always helped her get through the memories of yesterday. The yesterdays where there was no Tess.

She stood and started pacing as she smoked, to firmly secure the fit of her boots as always. Decided to go to the open window, where a brick building with the same window mirrored back. Instantly, three men were popping their heads up one at a time, like peeping toms.

Fools indeed. Surely they need not act this way when, on the net, she had been seen for sale on my stripper pole for $100 bucks. If they only knew a time, she could show her gyrations to these strangers how an American slut unwinds.

She didn’t laugh or say a word, only was triggered more so, from yesterday. Men her entire life behaved foolishly towards her. She, without doubt was stunningly beautiful, since forever. Tess, however really never saw the attraction, to behave in such a manner.

It was the bricks mostly that did so. The sight again of yesterday. Visually flashing back in time, not yet a decade.

15 and alone

It became a post traumatic stress reaction for her to such a degree, Tess never did two things, one, cry and two, never doubt or let anything ruin her dream.

She ended that thought with the visual and uneasy memory of her rapist that did meet with one of her own bricks, twice, that’s all it took and that’s where her thoughts must leave it.

But her thoughts would not let her. She could smell the sweat. feel the the other strippers bodily slime on the poles, see the owner shaking his fist full of a wad of bills to hurry up with another lap dance.

She wasn’t Tess then, rather she being immature used her birth name. However she was not the last one to use it. The chanting of her birth name through stabbing, groping, rapes, screaming on the stage, pimps, beatings,slaps, grabs, kicks, the notorious VIP special lap dance lounge, and the worst of all being called a stripper not a dancer.

She was not dumb, but this is all she knew, and the pathway to everything she wanted.

Who was anyone to judge her fantasy, they spoke her name for the last time. As did she. What transpired the next evening changed her life forever.

Still starring in the mirror, Tess was smiling as she applied her thick lipstick and false eyelashes, reflecting, first and foremost she had not one bruise on her and secondly of that magical night that changed her name and her took a leap towards fulfilling her dream.

Did however place her hand on the back of her neck from when she inked with a tattoo X-MAN’S NEXT. She looked back up in the mirror recalling how she got that tattoo the day after her change of course took place because of him.

Curtain Call 1 hour

Never had Tess been remotely late for a curtain call. Passion is passion, and when it bites you, all facets come into play in the most serious of manners.

At 24 she looked like a movie star, felt like one too. Burlesque performing was a level of singing and acting and dancing and wardrobe far beyond anything she had dreamed of, let alone seen.

Yes him, Michael, in 6 years has never hurt her, always made her feel like a queen and continues to be the only lover she believes will ever have. She loves him, though 20 years her senior, no one ever did things to her, the way he could.

However he understands and respects Tess for absolutely no form of intimacy or relationship of love. She does not desire it, nor needs it, or wants it. He still pleased her beyond fairy tales.

Back not so long ago, stripping in violent circumstances, young and so very abused, Tess was dancing, and will never forget how a man could be so kind.

It was a gentleman who turned out to be Michael she was about to meet. Routinely doing her stage chair act nude, out of nowhere a man threw his overcoat around her and as he was carrying her out of the shady club, the owner with his baseball bat took a swing.

Michael ducked, threw 5K his way, and simply said, that should keep you busy for a good long time. Your lucky I dont report you she’s a mess.

There it was. Mess. Like a flash of light right there in this strangers arms she named herself Tess, as thats what she really heard.

Michael owned an upscale Burlesque club, which is where she sat now. He formed her and she continues to be the mainlining act and graciously protected at all times.

As she finished her hair she forbid herself to wonder why he saved her life and handed her her dream.

Like clockwork, Tess almost ready, she could hear the ramblings of Michael tipping security to burst in with purple flowers and to take her to a place where only shared secrets breed, and ecstasy is redefined every time.

Final encore and she bolted for her safe place with the double doors.

After all these years as Tess, trying to catch her breath, eyes closed and tears streaming for the first time in ten years, she prayed they liked her, god she prayed they were there, spotlights are blinding.

Security had been instructed days ago, no one allowed through those door but them and the Sunset Strip reps.

She couldn’t breath and those stupid tears were ruining their make up should they come to see her.

Stop. Just Stop

There is no IF in my fantasy.

That’s when Tess exhaled and really realized she was her own fantasy all along. She created Tess. As she start…..

knock knock.


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