I'm not always the hero. Sometimes, I'm merciless.
My whole life I've been the good guy-loyal friend, helpful son, dedicated firefighter-but in the bedroom I'm someone else. That's where my inner villain likes to come out and play.
With a kink as ta...
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Emi
I'm a professional dancer, classically trained from the time I was five. I've danced on more prestigious stages than I can count for audiences who watch me in rapt silence. But tonight will not be that. Tonight, I'll be performing on a stage speared in the middle with a single chrome pole, for an audience of rowdy drunks. For a few precious minutes, I won't be a ballet dancer...
I'll be an exotic dancer.
Cardinal Sin is a strip club with two floors—male strippers above and female below—and on the first Friday of every month, they host an amateur night when just about anyone can show up with a costume and song choice and try their hand at shaking their ass for cash. And for the past six months, I've been doing just that. It allows me to shed the name I've built for myself and the pressures that come along with it and just...be. No rules, no judgment, no legacy to uphold.
Here, I'm not Emmélie DeLuca, only daughter and prodigy of the internationally renowned French dancer Mirabelle Bissett. I'm just Raven, woman of mystery and amateur stripper. And I love every minute of it.
Smoothing my hands down the chin-length electric blue wig that hides my long, black hair, I check my finished appearance in the lighted mirror. My eye makeup is bold, with metallic blues and greens covering well under my lower lashes all the way up to my eyebrows and streaking across each temple. The extreme design acts like a masquerade mask, disguising my identity on the off-chance someone in the audience could recognize me.
"Oh my God, I'm so nervous I think I might barf."
My gaze shifts to the brunette with big doe eyes on my right. She's dressed like Britney circa "...Baby One More Time" with knee-highs, a tiny pleated skirt, and white button-down shirt tied under her chest. Her hands are shaking so bad she can't get her fake lashes on properly.
I remember what it was like my first time, too. Not even the fact that I've been performing on stages my whole life had been able to keep the nerves away that night. Turning on my stool to face her, I smile and offer to help. I've been putting falsies on since I was ten, so it's second nature to me.
"Thanks," she says with a relieved sigh. "I've never worn fake lashes before. I'm more Baby Spice than Posh Spice."
"I can tell." I nod at her outfit. "A fan of '90s music, I see. Same here."
"A great love of the '90s is all I really inherited from my mother. I'm Raquel, by the way."
"Nice to meet you, Raquel, I'm Raven."
"Ooh, that's pretty. Is that your stage name?" she asks as I take both strips of lashes from her.
"Yep. What's yours?" Raquel watches as I carefully reapply the glue and blow on it lightly.
