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Howard Bledsoe, owner of Herbie’s House of Ladies located in Geneva, Ohio, was considered by some to be a visionary. After winning the Mega Millions jackpot in the Ohio State Lottery ten years ago, Howard “Herbie” Bledsoe gave up an unsuccessful playwriting career and ventured out into the realm of erotica, using his knowledge of the stage to create sensual wonderlands of sight, sound, and skin. Howard took pride in selecting only the finest performers for his weekend shows, often turning down the more ‘well-endowed’ who could not perform up to his high standards.
Howard enjoyed working with his girls to create over-the-top shows, sparing no expense, and producing elaborate sets and using costly special effects to enhance his dancers’ performances. He provided his higher class patrons (those who could afford his ridiculously high weekend cover charges) the ultimate fantasy experience.
Gina owned the coveted feature spot on Friday nights. That was where the real money was. In three short months, she had soared easily through the ranks of veteran dancers, becoming an overnight goddess in the eyes of the patrons who frequented Herbies.
At twenty-four years of age, Gina was in her physical prime; perky C-cup naturals, well housed within a petite frame to rival any D-cup; slender legs that could coil around a pole like a python with a well-rounded ass which defied the effects of gravity. Of course, her greatest assets were her long, fiery hair, intense green eyes, and luscious lips—all accentuated by her ghost-white complexion. But it was her ability to perform that won Howard Bledsoe over. He often said that Gina was by far one of the most gifted dancers he’d ever interviewed.
Each Friday evening, when Herbies (Herpes, as the locals called it, to the extreme displeasure of the owner) was at maximum capacity, Gina was announced over the roar of an intoxicated crowd of lawyers, college students from rich families, politicians in disguise, stockbrokers—the rich, the famous, and the infamous. Her shows always sold out.
Gina’s stage name was unusual. Coinciding with the unique nature of her performances, she had given herself the double stage names, Fire and Ice. Her erotic routine involved switching from one persona to another.
Earlier that evening, from her small, private dressing room, Gina had prepared for her latest performance. She sat before a well-lit vanity mirror, placing the finishing touches of black body paint on her bare breasts. A temporary tattooed dragon spanned the length of her body, appearing to materialize from its lair around her well-shaved lower region, ravishing the lands of flesh in between until the dragon’s monstrous head came to rest beneath her breasts with its claws reaching out to grab hold of each one.
The artwork was impressive; the attention to detail, however wasted on such a perverse crowd, gave Gina extreme satisfaction.
“I’d tap that,” she kidded with her reflection.
The artistic effort was a reminder of why she was stripping in the first place, why she put up with being reduced to an attractively dressed-up piece of meat every Friday night, and why she was bearing all to strangers.
“Gina Melborn, you are going be your own self-made woman someday,” she told her dubious reflection. Behind those green eyes, buried in dark eyeliner, was an optimistic young woman with a creative knack for pretending her way in and out of any situation. She had created the personas of ‘Fire and Ice’, two sirens that preyed upon the souls of men through seduction. That’s who Gina was when she was on the stage.
When the shows were over, Gina was just an ambitious and hope-filled girl, equally terrified and excited about an uncertain future that kept her up at night wondering where her life was headed. She had no living relatives left who wanted anything to do with her, no friends—just acquaintances. She owned nothing of any tangible value, just the untapped gold mine of her creativity pushing her to become somebody—somebody who could lie down at the end of the day, close her eyes, and feed off big dreams.
The small nest egg that she was building through her stripping gig was her ticket out, and a way to afford all the things she would need to make the life she wanted, recreating Gina Melborn from the mold of those persistent dreams.
Gina was brought back to reality by the sound of the crowd becoming impatient. They wanted their star performer and were growing restless, suffering the two-legged scraps of ‘had been’ leftovers that were only suitable when the prime rib was unavailable.
“Fucking dogs, every last one of you.” She rolled her eyes.
She could hear them chanting, “Fire and Ice! Fire and Ice!”
Gina caught the mischievous grin in her reflection and looked away shamefully.
Yeah, Fire and Ice. Time for those bitches again. Someday I’ll walk out of this shit-hole and never look back.
Although unwilling to admit it, Gina enjoyed the power she commanded over men when she performed. She wasn’t a prostitute like so many of her co-workers who moonlighted for the extra money. Fire and Ice was simply a temporary creation, a mask with a flesh-colored dragon costume while the real monsters sat in the smoke-filled shadows every Friday night like permanent fixtures.
“Not me,” she told the phony looking back at her. “I’ll never let you define who I am… never.”
There was a knock on her door. That would be Tony, the bouncer. Perhaps the only guy that wouldn’t be eye-fucking her tonight.
“Come in.” Gina wrapped herself in a towel.
All six feet of Tony Marcuchi filled the doorway; his muscular upper body stretching his black t-shirt. He greeted Gina with an honest smile, his dark brown eyes always careful to find hers, and nothing else. “Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted in his deep voice, “you’re up in twenty. Want me to stall them for you? I’ll tell the night manager you haven’t started painting yet. That will rouse some feathers in a hurry.”
Tony was the closest thing she had to a friend. In her recreated universe-of-self, Tony was much more than a friend.
Gina responded playfully, “Well… maybe I should give it an hour to let the paint dry.”
Tony laughed. “Forget it. I tell the boss that… then it’s my ass. Next thing you know, I’m up on stage dancing!” He began to get animated, waving his arms for emphasis. “Then, folks start running out crying, ‘We wanted Fire and Ice, not Abs and Guns’!” Tony laughed, flexing his massive biceps to illustrate the joke.
Gina smiled. “I’d pay to see that.”
There, I said it. Can’t take it back.
This made Tony blush. He quickly changed directions. “What did you paint this time?”
Gina sighed, feeling foolish and frustrated.
God, I hate it when he dismisses me like that! The only man I want is the only man who won’t want me tonight. Life is cruel.
“If you watch the show tonight, you’ll see,” she said teasingly. Tony never watched the girls perform. When they were dancing, he watched the crowd like a hawk. He often referred to the girls as ‘little sisters’.
Tony shifted uncomfortably. “Sold out crowd… again. No surprise there.”
What the fuck does that mean? Did he just reject and insult me at the same time?
Tony felt those fierce eyes strike him. That was his cue to go. “Alright then,” he said, backing out the door. “Good luck tonight.”
No you don’t! Not again. Do something, girl. Don’t let him just walk away.
Tony turned to leave.
“Hey!” Gina stood up and knocked various jars of ointment, make-up and body paint off the counter.
Tony turned back, surprised by the outburst. “What the hell was that?”
She let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s a fucking dragon.”
Tony looked confused. “And…?”
Gina was getting upset. “Took me an hour, Tony… not that you give a shit! Least you could do is look at it!” She dropped the towel and spread her arms wide, bearing all to him.
Tony’s eyes went wide as he recoiled, acting as though the dragon had flown right off of her chest. He lowered his eyes, using his hand as a visor. “Whoa… little sis! Save it for the show.” Tony quickly exited.
‘Save it for the show’? Are you fucking kidding me? Is he that oblivious?
Irrationally, she shouted after him, “Don’t call me that again, Tony! I’m not your fucking little sister!”
Feeling foolish as the tattoo dragon’s hands bounced with her anger, Gina turned away with a frustrated sigh. She hurried up and got dressed.
She looked down at her bare breasts and scolded, “So much for Fire and fucking Ice when I need you!” She then began to brush her hair while mumbling, “He better be fucking gay.”
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(Continued in the next reply...)
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