Coco took a deep breath, leaned back to fluff her mane of Aquanetted curls, and made sure there wasn’t any blood leaking out of her nostrils. She winked at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted her hair.
Somewhere between the adrenaline rush before she hit the stage—where she felt the most adored—and the cocaine in her dressing room, she was feeling pretty fucking amazing. She rode that buzzing wave out onto the stage as the DJ boomed, “For all of you just arriving, welcome to Snatch Hausen! Where there is more than one use for a brautwurst! Talk about a happy hour special!” Coco hated it when Victor, the club’s DJ, talked over the intro to her song. She would be sure to give him a good tongue-lashing after her performance.
“Gentleman, welcome Snatch Hausen’s own Coco Darling!”
Coco sauntered onto the stage. Chastity brushed passed her, smirking. Normally Chastity would make some kind of catty comment in passing, or glare at her and hiss “bitch” as she stepped offstage, always too late for Coco to retaliate; the spotlight already setting her thick coat of body glitter off like twinkling oversexed stars. This time, Chastity just smirked and quietly snickered to herself as she passed. Although Coco found this strange, she strutted on, thinking that perhaps Chastity had chosen another girl as the object of her unfounded hatred.
Coco’s mind cleared of all these things as the spotlight bathed and blinded her. She rolled her hips at the few men she could make out in the front row. She ran her hands up and over her silver bikini and pulled at the strings slowly, making the rounded man, whose shining crown of his head was visible through a sad comb-over, sweat and salivate. His tongue lulled slightly out the corner of his thin-lipped mouth. It was a good reaction—one that would get at least a couple of dollar bills tucked into her g-string. So she focused on him. She kept her eyes fixed on him as she approached the pole at center stage.
Coco built up a little momentum to give herself a nice solid start on the spin. But when her hands grasped the polished chrome, they held only for a brief moment before something slick and slimy caused her to lose her grip. Coco flew across the room like a semi-nude astronaut, and crashed into the DJ booth. The heel of her stiletto gouged a hole into the soundboard and sent up orange and bright violet-blue flashing sparks that snapped, popped, and finally sizzled. Plumes of smoke poured from the smoldering mess of Coco’s hair.
Victor ducked behind his chair as the half-naked, airborne woman sped toward him. At slow speed, this would have been some odd sexual fantasy fulfilled for him, but Coco’s speedy flight made him realize that this was not going to end even remotely like so many previous dreams about her.
“Coco...? Coco?” he called to her as he stood. “Coco?!” Victor raised his voice, shouting over the commotion of the gathering crowd.
In response, Coco slid off the soundboard and landed in front of the console with a thick, meaty thud.