The Arabian Nights hoochie-coochie dance show

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for… Little Cairo!”

There was a pause. Then, Fiona’s head peeked out hesitantly between the curtains. She wasn’t sure how she’d managed to get here, to the Arabian Nights hoochie-coochie dance show behind the giant ferris wheel on the Midway. And she certainly wasn’t the famous hoochie-coochie dancer Little Cairo! But the police were waiting at every exit, and it seemed this was the only way out.

“Folks, this little chickadee’s hotter than a firehouse store in August! She’ll jump. She’ll jive. She’ll jiggle. You’ll want to see this, folks. Every last little bit of her anatomy’s going to shiver and tremble like a fresh Thanksgiving jelly.” The carnival barker took off his hat and wiped his brow theatrically, looking out at the eager audience of men in shirtsleeves and a surprisingly large number of curious young ladies, all eager to see a show.

“By the time she’s done, the mercury in here’ll rise thirty degrees. And, yes, folks, we do guarantee she shows it all. The whole kit and caboodle. All curiosity assuaged. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, she don’t wear a scrap more than she has to, and under Illinois state law that mean she don’t have to wear anything at all. She ain’t modest, she ain’t decent, she ain’t any better than she should be and some might say she’s a hell of a lot worse. You’re going to see her bounce. You’re going to see her wiggle. And if you’re very lucky you might even see her blush - don’t laugh, it’s been known to happen. Now, I won’t keep you in suspense any longer, folks, so let’s get this ball rolling. Little Cairo says hello!”

There was a drum roll. And a very hesitant, very red-faced, very naked Fiona Fairweather stepped out into the spotlight, with all eyes expectantly on her. If she didn’t dance, she knew perfectly well, they’d figure out right away that she was an imposter, and the police would have her in cuffs quick as a wink.

But there were hundreds of people sitting in the darkened dance hall, gossiping and whispering to each other. And they were all looking at her, standing on the stage, brilliantly illuminated by the spotlight.

And she had NO CLOTHES!

The band struck up a lilting, vaguely Oriental tune, which Fiona recognised immediately. The crowd began to sing along, although Fiona wasn’t quite sure they had the lyrics right.

“There’s a place in France where the naked ladies dance,
With a hole in the wall so the men can see it all,
There’s a place in France where the ladies wear no pants,
And they’re blushing bare, ‘cause they’ve got no underwear,
There’s a place in France where the ladies have no chance,
And the men all stare, ‘cause their bottoms are all bare,
Yes, the ladies dance with no pants on down in France,
And they show it all to the men behind the wall.”

There was nothing for it. She couldn't just stand here forever. She had to choose. Either turn herself into the police, and accept whatever punishment they handed out, or dance.

Fiona took a deep breath.

She began to do her best impression of a hoochie-coochie dance, just as the barker had described. Wiggling her hips, undulating her belly, making vaguely serpentine motions with her arms.

It was a solid effort, but the crowd still seemed a little disappointed. Fiona bit her lip, realising why.

She wasn’t jiggling enough.

She essayed an experimental little twitch of the shoulders, designed to induce something of a bounce in her full, creamy English-rose breasts, and was rewarded with a hoot of approval. Yes. Definitely, the only way she was getting out of here without being caught and locked up was if she, Fiona, made every inch of her deliciously plump female anatomy jiggle and wiggle as much as possible. Live on stage. With no pants, or underwear, or anything else.

“Hey, look!” somebody shouted from the front row, as the music got faster, and the red-faced blonde began to shimmy and gyrate as quickly as she could, with the aim of inducing jelly-like shaking and shivering in her pert, yet borderline voluptuous, hourglass figure. This strategy was, as it happened, a complete success. “She’s blushing!”

“Well, folks,” shrugged the barker. “I told you it could happen.”