You Make Me Perfect, Help Me Think of Somebody Else

Well, when I first started my blog, although most of you weren't around then, I warned everyone that one day I might subject you to the horrors of my writing. Well, you're getting it not that I am unemployed. (I had an interview today, for the concerned, and it went well...)

I wanted to share a bit of myself with you, because it occurs to me that you don't know too much about me except that on occasion I can be a bit of a cheeky lust monkey...so I thought I would let you in on the night of my birth, and see what you all thought. Of course, this means my writing so skip to the end after the stars if you aren't into it.

However, it has also come to my attention that you all might not know how to pronounce my name. So, if you like, please tell me how you pronounce it by spelling it phonetically for me, and we'll see if anyone gets close. I'd promise a prize, but I don't know anything worth giving, unless...well. Lets say I might let you tell me what to write about if you get the pronunciation correct. Exactly correct. My first name, that is. Because all of you better know how to pronounce Giovanni. Bonus points to the first person who knows the lyric I took my title from. (except ST, who doesn't count, because he already knows)

So, without further ado, the tortuous description of the birth of Alecya G.

*****
The base of the speakers is thudding loudly overhead. People laugh, the smell of hundreds of cigarettes floats down the stairs and to my nose. The stairs, rickety wooden stairs painted with peeling industrial blue paint that flakes under the spike heels of women floating up and down them. Stairs that would give the heart of the most fearless roller coaster rider a jolt. And all to soon, I am going to have to climb back up them. It scares me.

Its not just the stairs, but the act of going up those stairs and past a curtain, our into the lights. Across a stage, amidst loud music and lewd. Prying eyes. My own personal "Allegory of the Cave". I already can’t wait to get back to the shadows of the basement dressing room.
I suppose some would say tonight will be an epiphany for me. The moment I break through past all of my sterile, Midwestern, barefoot, pregnant, pink gingham upbringing ideals and step out to bare my true self to the world. Literally. Good Lord, who signed me up for this??

For my moment in the sun, I’ve selected black. They say it’s a slimming color, and even for a ‘skinny’ girl like me, that will be a comfort; knowing that the bit of me covered will look slim.
Jason, the manager, brings me a drink as I pull out my make-up box and tiny dance bag I carry (as though I am going to the gym) He mouths to me that its water. Uh huh. I plug in my curling iron and take a sip of the drink. As I suspected, its gin. I don’t think Jason knows what water is. There’s been speculation among the other dancers that there is a gin tap in his sink at home. I wouldn’t doubt it.

As I pull off my jeans, socks, and top I lay my leg on the vanity to inspect my shaving job. I’ve brought an electric razor just in case. I have never been what you would call an "expert shaver" an on occasion I have been known to miss a spot, or five. I should just wax and be done with it, but I am a bit squickish about getting my eyebrows and bikini done, so the thought of all my legs covered in hot wax makes me shudder...

After okaying my legs I start putting on foundation. It seems a little silly, I am so pale they don’t make a foundation in my skin tone, but the girls reassure me that it will even me out in the light, so I do it anyway. There’s strong doubt in my mind as to why anyone might find me attractive anyway. My legs are far too long for my body; and as I’ve mentioned before, I am so plae you can nearly see through me. Jason says I have a "gothic" appeal, that is both frightening and sexy at the same time. Apparently, there are guys out there who find the glow of my pasty skin appealing - a turnon even. Whatever.

That aside, I’ve decide that me an my gothic alter-ego are taking out act on the road. So here I am. Although she’s not quite here yet.

My alter ego, she is not afraid of anything. Bit by bit I become more like her as I ready myself. With the aid of pink shadow on my eyes and a large amount of eyeliner placed strategically on my lids, my face takes on a smoky quality. After my green contacts go in, I can see less and less of the peeling paint on the stairs. My sense of hearing sharpens and I can pick up voices, specific conversations. Over the din, the clink of glasses and sultry music I can detect the sound that brings out the woman hiding inside - lust.

Jason and another man I don’t know start to play with my hair, and as the long black tresses curl and move, I stop seeing myself in the mirror. I take another drink of the gin and look into the mirror again. The burn of the drink makes the woman looking at me smile. She needs rouge, and lipstick, I think. Something to go with the throaty laugh that boils out of her and spills past her lips.

My hand skitters across the dressing table to my make-up and I select a pale pink rouge. She’s so pale - too much would be noticed. I brush it lightly across her cheeks and she purses her lip sin a pout. I’ve almost put too much on. Her evergreen eyes shoot sparks. Tonight she must be perfect, alluring, subtle. Don’t worry, love. I tell her. I can take care of it. I dust her face with powder, and the soft, unearthly glow returns. Her eyes glow in approval. The look she favors me with makes my heart jolt. Jason and the other man curse me, I’ve managed to get powder in my hair. They can fix it, though, and I return my attention to the sultry woman in the mirror.
Her face is perfect, and I find that I can’t help but stare. She’s so beautiful. I watch her, fascinated, as she pulls out a bottle of lotion and smooths it on to her legs. I’ve never seen legs that long, and the way she lotions them makes me think of sex. She knows it. She smiles at me mysteriously. I take another drink and she lights a cigarette.

When she breathes out, smoke spirals tiny kisses up the stairs to the men laughing, waiting for her. She rests her feet on the vanity so I may continue to admire her legs and her slender, dainty toes. She inhales again, and I can feel the burning in my chest. I think she must smoke strong cigarettes because my mouth feels hot with smoke. I suppose I am right, because when she exhales again, she winks at me, as though we are sharing a secret.

I watch her, as she smokes, drinking between puffs, as the men make her lovely. Her hair is a vision of silky raven locks that curl tantalizingly down her back. But there is something missing, I think. Lipstick. Red as blood ans thick as the smoke in her lungs. She puts in on and I know it must be almost time. She stands up and reaches for my bag. She pulls out the thin, silky, nearly sheer black garments and begins to pull them on.

I feel like a voyer now, because she is so beautiful naked. I am nearly disappointed when she slides in her bra. But then I have to envy the way it looks, because surely my breasts never stand out like that. Her hips seem smaller and legs even longer when she slips on the bit of material that covers her waistline. As she pulls on the strappy spiked heels that have ben sitting on the stool next to her I envy the length of her perfectly shaped legs.

I wonder a bit at how graceful she looks, because every time I have ever worn shoes liket at I felt like I was wearing lead boots, but she is tripping around the room in them now like they weigh nothing. They make her a good four inches taller and I am more than a little impressed. We did it. Or we will. One more thing, and we’ll ooze sex.

I reach into my bag and pull out the vial of jasmine scented oil I jeep there. A little on the ankles, a bit above my navel and the customary dab to the wrist and neck - nothing can stop us now.
Jason is standing behind me, and its hard to tell who looks more satisfied about my look -me or him.

"You look amazing" he says.

When I turn to him, she takes over. Its her show now.

"Do I?" I purr into his ear, with soft tones that barely scratch at the obscene. I see him nod and step closer, an then closer again, my hand slipping around his waist for the briefest moment. "We have to go."

I ignore his puzzled look as I trip up the stair and out into the lights.

******

alright, finish the laughing and get to guessing, you lot.

Love and kisses-AG