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A step forward in white high heels

When she finally said yes, it wasn’t much of a decision to make.

After all, she was most of the way there already.

Angry, confused and reckless. Just eighteen, and not quite moved out of home yet.

It’s not like she spent a lot of time thinking things through.

She just said okay, I’ll do it. Then, she had to think about how, exactly. Covertly and perversely, selecting music from her parents’ limited and old-fashioned music library. Kinda lame really.

Then, the final steps were so mundane.

Surroundings were familiar. So were the people. The location. The activity. The beer.

Except that, someone stole her favourite t-shirt. Although everyone knew the culprit, she never did get it back. It’s probably the most prominent memory of that day.

But really, it really wasn’t so hard to do. Not physically or emotionally. Most of that was… numb, anyway. Not that she knew it right then.

She didn’t have to imagine herself elsewhere, either. Everyone in the pub was a familiar face, wanting her to do well. She wasn’t even nervous, really. There was no shame. No fear. Just… why not?

The day she crossed over from working as a topless barmaid to a stripper.

Dancing to Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing. Ironically.

Cue music. Move seductively, wearing white high heels purchased for her debutant ball just a couple of years ago. Eyeball the very familiar punters. Slowly remove prissy lingerie.

Til it was done.

But how did she get there? She couldn’t have told you then. Perhaps she can now…