The Stripper
by Max Holden©

She mounts the stage on platform boots,
stripping away all but her sex,
a priestess hidden behind a cowl of mascara,
she is each man's soul mate for five minutes,
making love to them one by one with only her
gaze,
providing fodder for masturbation--
blown loads on credit--
and as she spreads her legs,
they gather as if inspecting the outcome of a card
trick,
inventorying which body parts are real,
sneering over invented histories of
the child abuse and molestation she must have
endured.  
They hold bills between their fingers,
buying their egos a dollar at a time,
discussing prospects of finding their way into the
Champagne Room
because everyone knows they'll jerk you off in
there,
and it wouldn't be cheating on girlfriends or wives
because it's only a fantasy.  
And their climax erupts in whoops and whistles;
the afterglow:
her chasing bills spread on the stage like
a child rushing a flock of pigeons.





Blatant Sexual References


Long cylinder reaming forward
into the tunnel, triumphantly; darkness
licking at steal walls, inviting it
further; steam
huffing and puffing; wheels
pushing and pulling; pistons
thrusting back and forth,
pressure
building,
speeding,
heat,
rising,
releasing, and in an
explosive call, the train
spills from the tunnel.


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