Warm-Ups for a Bright Future

The door of the hot pink Volkswagen shut behind Craig with a heavier sound than expected, sealing him inside the blessed silence of the car. For a moment, he didn't move. Purse abandoned in the passenger seat, fingers still loosely curled around the steering wheel, head tipped back against the headrest as his eyes slid closed.

Everything hurt.

Not sharp pain. Not injury. Just soreness everywhere. Deep in his thighs. Across his shoulders. Along muscles in his stomach and lower back that apparently hadn't been invited to participate in his old life. Even his wrists ached faintly.

A long breath escaped him.

"Jesus Christ..."

The violet glow of Velvet Vertigo still lingered behind his eyelids.

Two hours. Two entire hours of pole dancing. Somehow that sentence had become part of his life.

Before Eros, Craig would've walked into a place like that and immediately focused on someone like Melody. Any straight guy would've. She was stunning in that almost unfair sort of way, all impossible curves and fluid confidence. Every movement she made looked choreographed even when she was just crossing the room to grab a water bottle.

Only now?

Now Craig wasn't there to admire her. Now he was the one expected to move like that. And that part had been horrifying.

The lesson had started innocently enough. Melody had clapped her hands together with bright enthusiasm and announced that before anyone learned how to dance, they learned how to not tear a muscle.

"Pole is athletic," she'd said. "Sexy, yes. But athletic first."

Craig had quickly learned that "athletic" apparently translated to stretching himself into positions no human being should reasonably occupy before noon.

The mirrors hadn't helped one bit. Every awkward movement reflected back at him from every angle while Melody guided him through warmups that felt deceptively simple at first.

Shoulder rolls. Forward. Backward. Again.

Arm circles next, slow and controlled, followed by wrist stretches that left him blinking in confusion.

"Why do my wrists need to be stretched so much?" he'd asked at one point.

Melody had laughed softly. "Because eventually you're going to hold your body weight with them."

That hadn't been reassuring.

Hip circles followed after that, and somehow those had been worse. Standing in platform heels and tiny ruffled shorts while slowly rotating his hips in front of a mirrored wall had unlocked entirely new forms of humiliation.

"Loooosen up," Melody had teased, demonstrating beside him.

And Christ, the way she moved. No wasted motion. No stiffness. Her hips rolled like water being poured from a glass, smooth and effortless. Every stretch carried this natural sensuality that Craig suspected she wasn't even consciously trying to project anymore. One arm lifted overhead during a side stretch, exposing smooth skin beneath the cut of her leotard while her body curved elegantly sideways.

Meanwhile Craig looked like someone trying to survive a medical emergency.

"Am I doing this right?" he'd asked during torso twists.

Melody had tilted her head.

"Technically? Sort of."

Not encouraging.

Then came the cat-cow stretches. Hands and knees on the polished hardwood floor. Arching his back. Dropping his stomach. Lifting his hips. Craig wanted to die. Especially because Melody kept gently correcting his posture with soft touches against his lower back or hips.

"Relax your spine."

"Open your chest more."

"You're looking beautiful. There you go."

Beautiful. Nobody had ever used that word for him before.

The actual pole work had somehow been even more embarrassing. Melody demonstrated everything first. She'd approached the brass pole with casual confidence, one hand sliding upward along the metal as though greeting an old friend. Then came the walk.

Slow steps. Crossing one foot elegantly in front of the other. Hips swaying naturally. Inside arm extended high above her head while platform heels clicked rhythmically against the floor.

"Pole walk," Melody had explained. "It's about confidence. Grace. You're introducing yourself to the space."

Craig had stared at the pole. The pole had stared back. Then came his turn. Awkward didn't begin to cover it.

The first attempt looked less like graceful seduction and more like someone trying not to slip on ice in expensive shoes. Eros' magic had given Craig increased agility in the shoes, but the movements that Melody were trying to teach him felt counterintuitive. His arm position felt unnatural. Hips moved stiffly. Concentrating on pointing his toes while walking in platforms while maintaining posture nearly caused a full system shutdown in his brain.

Melody, to her credit, remained encouraging.

"Good! Again."

It had not been good.

The dip turn went worse. One hand gripping the pole while pivoting around it should've been simple. Melody made it look effortless, spinning lightly with a playful smile before landing gracefully on one heel.

Craig attempted the same motion and nearly launched himself sideways into the mirrors.

"Okay!" Melody called quickly as he stumbled. "Core tighter. Trust your balance."

"I don't think balance is the issue here."

"The issue is fear."

Easy for her to say. The fireman spin introduced Craig to entirely new forms of panic.

"Inside leg hooks first," Melody instructed gently, demonstrating again. One leg wrapped the pole while momentum carried her body smoothly around in a controlled spin that somehow looked elegant instead of physically impossible.

Craig tried. Immediately forgot where all his limbs were supposed to go. One platform heel clipped the floor awkwardly. Momentum vanished halfway through the movement, leaving him clinging to the pole like a cat stuck in a tree before gravity won and dumped him unceremoniously onto the hardwood.

The impact echoed. Melody winced sympathetically.

"Oof."

Craig lay there staring at the ceiling girders.

"This feels less like dancing and more like losing a fight."

A laugh escaped her before she offered him a hand back up.

"Everybody sucks at first. Everybody."

The back hook spin wasn't much better. Neither was the chair spin. That one had actually looked fun when Melody demonstrated it. She spun around the pole with both legs bent gracefully outward, body suspended effortlessly while her hair swept behind her.

Craig attempted it and looked like a malfunctioning office chair falling downstairs. At one point his platform heel smacked lightly into the pole. At another point he lost grip entirely and had to catch himself with both hands before eating hardwood floor.

Sweat clung to his skin beneath the sports bra by then, the tiny outfit somehow making every failure feel more exposed. The ruffled shorts bounced embarrassingly every time he landed awkwardly, which was often.

Still...

Not everything went badly. Some movements almost worked. The body rolls, for example. Melody demonstrated first, naturally. Chest forward. Stomach. Hips. A smooth rolling motion against the pole that looked hypnotic under the violet lights.

Craig had expected failure. Instead his body... understood parts of it. Not perfectly. Not even close. But enough that Melody's eyebrows had lifted slightly.

"Oh," she'd said softly. "Interesting."

"What?"

"You move better when you stop thinking."

That wasn't comforting either.

By the end of the lesson, Craig's legs trembled from exhaustion. Every muscle felt overused. The sports bra clung damply against his skin, and putting the paisley dress back on afterward had weirdly felt like relief.

Almost.

Because the dress no longer felt entirely like a costume anymore. That realization that the clothes Eros had given him now felt comfortable, protective even, disturbed him more than the dancing itself.

A soft buzz from the passenger seat pulled Craig back into the present. His phone. Eyes opening reluctantly, Craig grabbed it from atop the purse and glanced at the screen.

Daniel Mercer.

Of course.

Daniel: Just got the initial feedback from Melody. Promising start. She sees strong potential in you.

Craig stared at it. Then another notification appeared almost immediately.

Daniel: The leadership team acknowledges we should've started your development earlier. We're taking Melody's recommendation moving forward. Starting tomorrow, you'll report to the office in the morning and transition to training with her at noon each day.

Craig felt his stomach drop. Every day? Another buzz.

Daniel: Keep up the great work, Craig! Proud of your progress already.

Silence settled inside the car again. Craig lowered the phone slowly into his lap. Outside the windshield, afternoon sunlight reflected off the hood of the ridiculous pink Beetle. Somewhere behind him, hidden beyond the studio walls, brass poles and violet lights waited for tomorrow.

And apparently the day after that.

And the day after that.