No I belong to the almighty dollar

What!? Belonged to him? I didn’t belong to anyone! Especially not him. I did a job for him, that was all, wasn’t it? Did he really believe that I ‘belonged’ to him?

“The manager tried telling me how successful other girls have become after catching Mr. Khani’s eye,” he shrugged. “Actually he’s right about that - some of them are doing pretty well for themselves these days - but don’t worry, I assured him I paid you well and that you were happy dancing for me.”

I had thanked him. I had danced for him. I had humiliated myself before one of his young secretaries. And now he thought I was happy to ‘belong’ by him! What kind of man was he? Who did he think he was?

Mr. Khani - or whatever his name was - had singled me out for Christ’s sake! – I mean, all those naked, available, sexy whore-girls to choose from and he wanted ME to dance for him! The guy must have taken a serious fancy to me! I couldn’t fail to impress him… And who knows where it might lead… mixing it with the super-rich… It had to be worth taking a chance for, didn’t it?

“I’ll do it,” I heard myself announce. “I’ll do it. Where is he?”

The CEO looked strangely unmoved. I had expected him to protest – to try to keep me ‘his’. Instead he just looked on impassively as the manager rushed over, rubbing his palms together gleefully.

“Come with me Elizabeth – that is your name, isn’t it?” The manager chimed. “We’ll get you kitted out.”

Saying nothing – wanting to ignore the CEO like he had so often ignored me - I trotted hurriedly behind the manager across the club.

He led me through a curtained area, past various whore-girls in various stages of undress, through a mirrored room, along a corridor and into a changing area. There I followed him to a peg fixed to the wall at shoulder height. Inscribed into a small bronze label under the peg, was the number ‘94’. A skimpy pair of white semi-transparent embroidered knickers hung on it.

“You’ll have to make do with your own heels,” the manager explained. “Yours haven’t arrived yet.”

Mine hadn’t arrived? What on earth did he mean by that?

“Get changed, then come and find me back at the curtain we just came through,” he said, and scampered off.

He left me standing there looking at peg number 94. At peg number 48 a whore-girl was shaving her legs. At peg number 70 a girl was applying make-up to her nipples, making them shiny, perhaps.

Oh shit. What had I done? I had agreed to dance for a complete stranger – in public, right here, right now! And for some reason I hadn’t considered the fact that I would have to dance half naked. Was I some kind of idiot? What on earth should I do now? Was it too late to change my mind?