• She moved gracefully along to the music, her slender body leaping across the stage, and her luscious brown hair flying behind her. While her body was so beautiful that it was useless to look at her face, her hair was thick; the kind that men wanted tangled in their hands as they lay tangled in the sheets. She shone under the stage lights, glistening with sweat, until finally she and the music stopped. Her tiny chest heaved from the effort of the complicated ballet, and then the applause began. She smiled feebly, her face washed out under the bright lights, but it wasn't from pleasure at the applause. She ignored the roar, and looked into the faces of the audience; she saw the men leaning forward, applauding with too much vigor, and saw their desire clearly like an aura surrounding them.
    When she was a child, her mother had been worried by her tomboyish ways, and had immediately enrolled Genevive into a ballet class. The girl had loved it, embracing a new femininity, and her mother had been proud. Gen devoted long hours to practice, eventually abandoning her social life as she honed her body. After years of this, she became one of the most famous dancers in America, and she was happy to have her mother's acceptance as she began her tour across the country. But what her mother hadn't thought of was the total unselfconsciousness that comes from ballet- the familiarity with sexuality that made Gen give her body to whoever wanted it.
    Some who she gave it to were more attractive than others, and some she was ashamed of before they had ever reached her bed, but she never truly wanted them the way that they wanted her, and the lust was never mutual.
    Because of this, more than her performances, Genivive remembered the strangers she had spent sleepless nights with. The memory of her dance faded as she glided off the stage, wondering who would have her tonight. She slowed and stopped as her question was answered; a tall man who had managed to talk his way backstage stood waiting for her.
    "I'm Jared," he smiled, looking into her eyes.
    She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off with, "And you're Genevive Cantrell, of course." His smile grew wider as she took a step closer to him in her racy ballet costume, shining with sweat.
    "Nice to meet-" He cut her off again, asking what hotel she was staying at, and she gave her timid reply. Most men treated her as a minor celebrity; a sex goddess that could run at any moment...but Jared dominated her as soon as he met her. Her breathing continued to be labored, but no longer because of the exertion from her performance- she had just met the first man in her life that she wanted in the way that he wanted her. "Can I take you to dinner?" He asked- no, commanded.
    "I'll pick you up at 8, then." He smiled a cliche smile to go along with the line and strolled off, confident in her acceptance. He left her doing the mental math, trying to determine how long it would be until she could have him.
    She said her goodbyes to the stagehands, and grabbed a taxi and raced to her hotel. She needed all the time in the world to get ready for him, but in reality she only had 20 minutes.
    She took a shower, dried her thick hair, and applied her makeup in a blur. The outfit she chose wouldn't be important; her body's perfection could not be hidden underneath clothes. With 5 minutes to spare, she pulled on a pair of high heels, and teetered down the crooked stairs of the cheap motel where she was staying. As she rushed outside, she noticed the sidewalk was damp, and hoped that the rain wouldn't spoil her evening. She was eager to redeem her pitiful sexual encounters, and postured her body casually, hoping his urges were as strong as hers.
    5 minutes turned in to 10, 20, and her desire grew painfully as she waited, her perfectly applied makeup becoming less perfect as the humidity faded it away. At 8:30, he finally arrived in an old BMW, and her lust peaked before she remembered the chore of dinner that lay in the way of her first pleasurable night.
    They went to a fancy restaurant; she was too captivated by him to bother remembering the name. She smiled and picked at her salad, as he commanded the conversation. Her opinions were disregarded or laughed at, and with each blow to her self esteem, the minutes inched by slower and slower.
    "Dessert?" He asked.
    Gen hesitated, before she smiled sexily and replied, "At my place." If he could work in cliches, then so could she. He paid and they quickly left. The car ride back to her motel was even more excruciating than the dinner...there was a complete silence, and anticipation was thick in the stuffy air of his car as they reached the motel, and she led the way up the stairs like she had so many times before. As soon as she unlocked her door, he was on her, their lips inseparable, and his hands worked her clothes off. She opened her eyes wide and looked at him, and knew that the experience would be heightened by the wait.
    "...Jared," she whispered, as his hands fumbled with his belt.
    "What?" He muttered, as he began to unzip his pants.
    "I don't think we should. Not yet." She looked up at him, completely naked and exposed, and saw his face contort in disgust before quickly rearranging itself into concern. "Why not, baby?"
    "I just...don't think we should."
    He slowly, deliberately put his clothes back on, and turned away as she got dressed.
    Her mother would have been proud at her first experience of saying "no"...or maybe she wouldn't have understood. It didn't matter as Jared moved toward the door, his clenched teeth revealing his anger.
    "Wait!" She called as he stepped into the tiny hallway. She grabbed motel stationary, and copied her number down with a cheap pen that would never write again, before handing it to him. "I'm...in town for a few more days," she faltered before he turned away she closed the door.
    He looked at the sheet of paper in his hand, before carefully crumpling it up and laying it on her doorstep.