9 of 100 - Duck Duck Goose

Markie slowly moved the pillow from her face and waited until her eyes, through the thin lids, adjusted to the early afternoon sun. While she prepared herself for the day’s light to reach her bare eyeballs, she groped blindly for her cell phone on the night stand. Putting it up to her face, she squinted open her eyes to see the time.

“Great. Just fucking great.” She kicked the sheet and thin blanket from her legs and turned to her side. Pulling the pillow once more over her face, she braced to pull herself from the bed. In a quick motion she threw the pillow to the floor and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Putting her face in her hands, she bent almost double to try to minimize the effects of waking to a new day.

“God damn,” she moaned as the throbbing settled in just behind her eyes. “I will never fucking learn.” Markie drank too much. She knew she drank too much, but that knowledge didn’t seem to stop her. She also knew if she didn’t drink too much, once the night was over she wouldn’t be able to sleep. But the headaches every day were starting to make it harder and harder to start a new day. Maybe, she thought more and more often these days, she should just figure out something else to do. But she never thought that for long.

The room was small, as were all the rooms where she spent her nights. Moving the few steps to the bathroom, she turned the water on as hot as she could stand it and stood for a moment, looking at herself in the mirror. As the steam began to fill the small room, she pulled her hips to the side, turning her bare ass to the mirror. “No cellulite still,” she said aloud, slapping the firm muscle. She stepped into the tub, pulled the shower curtain closed, and turned her face to the spray, enjoying the slight stinging of the water on her face.

Markie was 32 years old, but continued to tell people she was 28. She knew 30 was the kiss of death for a dancer, and she refused to be branded by her age. Not much fat on her body – just enough to keep from having sharp edges and a bony ass as she liked to say – she was in exemplary physical shape. She worked hard at it. In addition to the nightly dancing, she traveled with a set dumbbells for weight training and tried to run a few miles ever few days. She’d seen too many dancers who were thin enough but their bodies had lost their hardness. Little flaps began to form under the arms and their calves, firm enough, had lost the contour of the muscles below the skin. Markie prided herself on the definition of her muscle and the flexibility of her form.

Stepping out of the shower, Markie threw her hair up in a towel and dried herself with another. She sat on the edge of the bed, spreading lotion on every square inch of skin. She knew the year-round tanning and smoke-filled late hours could wreak havoc on a girl’s skin, and she did all she could to maintain her skin’s suppleness and softness. She had been told more than once that her efforts had been successful.

Finishing with her feet, rubbing lotion carefully between each manicured toe, she was startled from her ritual by a knock.

“Markie! Hey bee-yotch! You up yet?” It was Brandi, one of the girls she’d traveled with off and on over the last few months. Brandi was 22, a youngster on the circuit, and had been dancing for a few years already. She told everyone she was dancing to pay off her school loans. Markie knew she was dancing to keep herself supplied with cocaine. And the rush. But they all danced for the rush.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming” Opening the door, Markie was not surprised to see Brandi holding an open beer and another stuck in the waistband of her shorts. “What’s up? I’m just getting out of the shower.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Brandi said and reached out and pinched Markie’s nipple gently. “Want me to help you with that lotion?” She left her hand on Markie’s breast, cupping it and bending her mouth toward it.

Markie pulled away laughing. “Don’t you ever think of anything else, girl?” She reached into Brandi’s pants and grabbed the beer there. Pulling it out she twisted the cap off and took a long drink.

Brandi threw herself on the bed and spread her legs, rubbing the insides of her thighs. “I’m sore as shit today, Mark. I shouldn’t have tried that last trick. I ‘bout killed myself.” She laughed at the memory.

Markie barely remembered the end of the night, but she did remember Brandi duck walking the length of the bar and back, wearing only a thong and 5-inch heels. The dances were over for the night but about ten regulars were still finishing their drinks, sitting along the bar. Brandi, Markie, and a few of the other dancers had gathered their things for the night and come out to have a last few cocktails. Somehow the talk had turned to childhood games – Hide and Seek, Marco Polo, Duck Duck Goose. Of course sexual innuendo had rung in every comment, and the men still there were looking for any sign that they might be able to have some hands-on experiences with the girls. Brandi had exclaimed that in Duck Duck Goose she was the best in the neighborhood at duck walking. To prove it, she dropped her over-clothes and jumped up on the bar. From one end to the other, she duck walked. The men, every one of them, slapped her ass or grabbed her tits as she passed them, and she laughed and squealed every time.

Markie, even in the haze of a long night of physical exertion and alcohol consumption, had been just a little nauseated to watch Brandi’s last performance of the night. She’d left for her room when Brandi turned to make her third trip down the long expanse of bar.