On the pole

The room blurs at the edges. I can feel the heat climbing up my spine as I move, the swimsuit sticking to me, damp and tight. Each spin around the pole feels smoother now, the liquor settling warm in my stomach, my hips finding the beat without me having to think about it.

One of Joe's friends whistles, loud and appreciative, and I feel a little shiver run through me that has nothing to do with being cold. My body twists, arching back, my hair whipping around my face as I grip the brass and drop into a slow, controlled invert.

I catch your eyes again, your face flushed from drinking, and I let my smile turn softer, more private. The kind of look I'd give you in our bedroom, not in front of an audience.

I come down, landing on my feet, and my thighs are burning. My chest is heaving. I'm aware of the sweat glistening on my collarbone, the way the swimsuit has ridden up just a little at the hips.