I came here bright-eyed and buzzing with potential. Full of wonder, eager to please, and thirsty for notoriety. Between my ambition and my, ahem, attributes, it didn’t take long for me to climb to the top of the cesspool, however modest it may be.

Well, ‘modest’ might be a gross misappropriation… The number of us who have been willing to get up on that stage over the years is limited; what I mean is that we generally checked our modesty at the door. That was the point, after all.

They came from all over to watch me come all over the stage. Before long, I was a household name in the community, which helped because it was one of the few ways to learn of my hidden talents. (I pre-date internet reviews, though I don’t doubt that I would have boasted a 5-star rating across the boards.)

My specialty was my versatility, along with the palpable chemistry I seemed to exude with any and all of my stage-partners.

“Whatever (or whomever) will she do next?”

I refused to give returning customers any reason to bore of my antics.

When I took his cock, I sucked all of them in with me. When I spanked their backside, they all felt the strength of my hand. When I cooed “good girl,” they all shivered with humiliation and pride. When I screamed out, they all heard their own name in the echoes.

Every act, every kiss, every slurp, every slap, every unspoken word — they were theirs as much as they were mine. For them, for me.

Where does one person end and another begin when you join in the ether? The answer does not much matter anymore, if it ever did. But this much is true: they needed to feel it as much as I did to complete the circle of our lurid conversation right until the curtain dropped to put an end to our raving reverie for another night.

I gave as generously as I received, and I took from them almost as fiercely as I took for myself. The only thing that exceeded my performance was how much I needed to deliver it.

But time passes and what once was shiny and new inevitably dulls and tarnishes no how much polish you might apply. Trends shift and people change, their needs and wants along with them. I slipped away from their mouths in the madness of new lyrics to learn and they have long since forgotten my song.

The pain of this stark reality is the only way I know I am still alive, for surely I must be dead inside. I can’t explain to you how much miss the thrill of burning the brightest under that seedy spotlight. I watch in disdain from a distance as brood after new brood hatches and takes flight, leaving me even deeper beneath the layers of their stardust.

Now I’m nothing more than a faded, dead-eyed memory lurking between murky shadows and slapdash tags. Desperate to choke one more time on the gaze of a gripped audience.



Friday Flash is owned and operated by F. Leonora. To more of what this flashy prompt is stirring up, give the logo a poke. The image, Masked Graffiti, also belongs to gifted F. Leonora.

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