Pagan Moss' Peep Show Stories

Sunday, December 19, 2004

Halcyon Daze: Part I

I was walking down the long dark corridor toward the dressing room when I heard: “Pssst . . ." I looked back and saw the head mistress, Mistress Sativa, leaning precariously out of her office, motioning for me to come back. When Mistress Sativa was in her office, she was all business--no one was callled in just to chat. In fact, most of us had never even set foot in that place and those who did, often weren't around long enough to fill us in on the details. I wondered what she could possible want with me. Maybe a customer had complained because I hadn't shaved for almost two weeks . . . or maybe she caught me on tape, pulling my panties aside for that young cute boy last night, which would surely send me steppin'. It was common knowledge that she videotaped the shows and watched them first thing the next morning before any of us stumbled in, making sure no funny business was going on.

I begrudgedly turned back towards her office.

When I got to the door, I leaned inside not sure what to expect. The room was all dark except for a slant of smoky yellow light, which streamed out of a small reading lamp on her desk. "Come in and close the door," she said without looking up. She sat hunched over her desk going through a heap of unkempt papers.

"What's up?" I asked.

“How are you?” she asked--smoke billowing from the sides of her porcine mouth.

"Fine," I said. "And you?" I asked, wanting to get past the bullshit.

"Great!" she said with a devilish grin. She grinded her cigarette into a plate of dead food and turned on a small fan, waving her hand through the haze that hung in the air. She pointed a bear claw of a nail toward a chair sitting on the opposite side of the desk. “Sit down,” she said. “I’m just finishing up here.“ I took a seat and checked out the place as I waited. The room was sparse except for a desk, two chairs, and a large wall unit, containing three small television monitors, which played nothing but muted static. Mistress Sativa caught my gaze and picked up the remote control, pointing it toward the monitors and turned them all black with one loud click. She then gathered up all the papers and put them to the side. "Done," she proudly announced, pushing back in her chair. "Now we can get down to business."

Mistress Sativa opened the top middle desk drawer and pulled out a black spiral notebook. She started flipping through the pages--her eyes darting up and down. "Oh, where did I write it down?” she muttered. Her finger finally came to rest. “Here it is,” she said with a smile.

“What is it?” I asked, eager to find out what the hell this was all about.

“A customer came in after you left last night,” she said. “He was a new guy . . . just in town for a couple of days.”

“Yeah?” I said, leaning forward in my chair.

“Well . . . he came in looking for a special kind of girl," she said. "A girl with dark hair and fair skin . . . small boned with small tits."

"So you thought of me," I said.

"Believe me," she said, "if I hadn't pranced out to greet him with my tits spillin' out, I would've convinced him I had small ones. He was a real cute one . . . a little on the weird side, but not too bad."

"What's he into?" I asked.

"Oh, the show's a piece of cake," she said. "A girl in a coma could do it. All's you have to do is lie perfectly still on the sofa with your eyes closed.”

“Like I’m sleeping?” I asked, perplexed.

“I guess,” she said, “or maybe you’re suppose to be dead, he didn't exactly say.”

“I dunno . . .”

“Well, he wants to come in and see you today," she said. “I told him you'd be here."

"Hmmm . . ."

"If it makes you feel better, I'll turn on the monitor during your show," she said. "If he tries anything, I’ll call the cops. She leaned way back in her chair and crossed her arms behind her head. "The last time I called 'em, they were here in 30 seconds."

“OK,” I said, “I've certainly done stranger things for less."

“Great!” she said, snapping forward in her chair. “There’s just a few more things I need to tell you." She disappeared behind her desk and popped back up, holding a large black gift bag with white tissue poking out the top. “He brought in a few things for the show," she said, handing me the bag.

"Hopefully it's not a strap-on this time," I said. I opened the bag and found two packages elegantly wrapped in silver foil paper. I opened the smaller one first. Inside was a small shiny black box. I looked all over the box for a label--anything that might hint as to what was inside.

"It's perfume," she said. "It's really special, I guess. He said he picked it up in Thailand when he was there on business last month. Don't worry . . . he assured me it's never been opened."

I broke the ornate silver seal and opened the box. Inside was a small glass perfume bottle with an elaborate hand blown glass stopper. I had never seen anything like it before. It was beautiful and it looked like it must have cost a fortune. I held it up to the light and studied the light green liquid inside.

"He wants you to wear it during the show," she said, "along with what's inside the other package."

I carefully put the perfume back into the box and opened the other package. Inside was a white cotton nighty with a single row of delicate pink rosettes just below the neckline--the kind I used to wear as a kid.

"It's never been worn," she said. "The tag should still be there. He said you can keep the perfume, but he wants the gown back after the show. He says he likes how it smells after it's been worn with the perfume and all."

I put everything back into the bag. "That's fine," I said, "as long as he understands that once this gown touches my skin, it's worth more."

"Yeah," she said, "I told him he'd have to pay extra for that."

"Is that it?" I asked.

“He said he doesn't want you to wear any makeup--just some gloss on the lips," she said. "And no shoes. He likes bare feet.”

I stood up and started walking toward the door.

"Oh, I almost forgot the most important thing," she said.

I stopped.

"It's very important that during the show you keep your eyes shut tight--no peeking," she said--her voice turning serious. "He said he'll be able to tell. He's paying me extra to handle the paperwork and to escort him to and from the room. He wants you lying on the couch with your eyes closed when he walks into the room and he wants you to stay that way until he leaves."

My smile began to shrink. "This isn't some kind of sick joke, right?" I said.

"Of course not," she said. "He's just some eccentric fuck." Mistress Sativa looked down at her watch. "It's almost 11:00," she said. "He should be in around noon. You better start getting ready."

I left her office and walked into the dressing room, which was eerily still. Mistress Sativa and I were the only ones working. I set the bag down on the counter and took out the perfume and the gown. I then stripped out of my street clothes down to my white cotton bra and panties. I sat down in a chair in front of the dressing room mirror and picked up the bottle of perfume. I carefully pulled out the delicate stopper and brought it to my nose to smell. The fragrance was intoxicating--like nothing I had smelled before. I dabbed a couple of drops on each wrist and a couple more behind each ear. The scent was quite complex, seeming to change every few minutes. It started out sweet like honeysuckle but a few minutes later it smelled more like lavender. Thirty minutes later when I was dressed--lips glossed--the scent had turned musky. I went to the living room and curled up on the couch with a blanket, waiting for the mystery man to show up.

A couple minutes later I fell fast, fast asleep.

* * * *

I woke up with Mistress Sativa standing over me, barking: "He's here, hurry up. I can't bring him back until your in the room . . . in position."

I'd been asleep for less than an hour, but it felt like I'd been out all day. I wearily pried my sweaty body off the couch and tried to focus on the small black and white monitor across the room. I could barely make out the figure standing patiently in the middle of the lobby. "OK," I said, shuffling toward the door, "I'm coming." Mistress Sativa walked out to greet the customer and I walked back to the room. I spread out a clean white sheet over the couch and laid down on top of it. I straightened out my gown and closed my eyes and waited. I wondered what I should do with my hands--fold them peacefully over my chest or keep them at my sides. I heard them coming down the hallway so I decided to keep my arms at my sides, palms up--corpse pose. The door knob turned and the door slowly creeked open.

(cont.)


1 Comments:
Blogger Trish said...
I am waiting with bated breath for the rest of the story...!
4:37 PM  
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