Caught like a deer in the headlights:

The spotlight is so bright I am momentarily blinded. 

Instinctively I smile, red lips spreading across my face and look towards the DJ cubicle.

What did he just say?

Did I hear correctly?

“Shake what your mama gave you Tezzie,” he repeats.

Shake what my mama gave me? 

My mama gave me prayers and nope I seriously doubt a Hail Mary would do here. Although, I started saying it in my head. 

I remain frozen for what seems like ages, yet I know only a few seconds have passed. Ok, I lie maybe a minute.

Wait a minute why am I called Tezzie? I have a stage name now. Ok, this ends right now.

“Or maybe it doesnt,” I think as I glance back to the bar and a sea of eagerly waiting men look at me. 

Gulp! I swallow the panic and think about what to do.

“You have to be quick here,” I console myself.

I move backward, away from all those stares and…

“Tezzie, Tezzie,” I dimly hear.

Oh God, they’re chanting my name. I wipe my sweaty palms down my skirt and suddenly there’s more applause.

It finally dawns on my little red riding hood brain that the move backwards and the wiping of my hands down my skirt seems like the beginning of my dance routine.

Here’s the thing, I am one of those people that dreamed of being able to naturally sway my hips to the music. I tried to recall my inner Donna Summer (Jennifer Lopez for you younger ones) but my hips never obeyed my head. I had visions of dancing to my own “Patrick Swayze” type of partner but that’s for another day. Salsa stubbornly remained a sauce in my robotic body, not a dance.

Just because you visualize yourself flying doesn’t mean you can fly. Do you know what I mean?

But back to my situation. As I am about to hide away from this humiliating situation, I find myself in, one of the girls, with the nipple caps and thong joins me behind the bar.

The crowd roars and men are clapping and cheering, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. 

“Wow, she’s really good,” my wayward brain tells me.

She moves so smoothly. 

Why is she moving closer to me?

She sways and throws one of those red boa’s across my shoulders and leans forward.

“Now slowly lift your top,” she whispers. “Make it part of the dance!”

“I’m wearing a bodysuit, I can’t lift my top,” I tell her.

This feels like a bad dream and Ms. Destiny dancing around me and pulling the boa makes it seem so sexy. I don’t want to be sexy. I want to go home. 

Lord how did this happen.

She starts shaping my body with her hands whilst swaying to the music. Down and down she goes in front of me and all I hear is more coins being dropped and louder cheering.

Her hands touch my ankles and slowly slides towards my knees.

Her head is in the region of my stomach. “What are you doing?” I call out to her.

Why am I even part of this dance?

Pop! Pop!

“Wait,” was that the clips on my bodysuit.

Before I could even think about where her hands were and what she was doing, she looks up, smiles and says, “Now you can lift your top for them!”

So, there I was, eyes as big as saucers, brain still not working, I’m from a conservative family remember, legs slightly apart (the pregnant duck comes to mind) and bodysuit unclipped.

“Lord, if you get me out of this, I will never lie or be horrible to anyone.” My silent prayer.

Ms. Destiny is now behind me and slowly moves her hands around my waist to the front of what is now my top/bodysuit.

She tugs…

The big reveal!

Stay tuned for the second and final part of Part 3.