Finally, a new job in this desolate city! I was the newest addition to the first brothel for both genders in America. I was a little nervous. But my body was in terrific shape, beautiful, perfect even, except for my missing breast.
My first customer was a cute woman. Small in stature, short dark hair, pixie nose and deep brown eyes. We entered the small warm room and started with small talk. I’d never been with a woman before but she made it easy. She laid her head on my shoulder and I kissed her neck. Slowly, our clothes melted away. I slipped the strap of my bra down my arm and it too fell away.
“Oh my God!” she screamed, “How disgusting! You should have said something!”
“I’m sorry,” I cried, “I didn’t know if I should say something or just let you see it.”
She was angry. “It’s not that it’s really so horribly disgusting, it’s just that it’s so, well, shocking. You really should have said something!” She gathered her clothes and left the room.
I searched the commons for my mentor, a sweet man who'd taken me under his wing from the moment I'd walked in the door. He gathered me up and allowed me to cry in his arms. He brushed my hair from my eyes and lifted my chin.
“You didn’t know,” he assured me. “Maybe you should just say something up front when you get a new customer. Before the clothes come off.”
A few weeks later, the brothel owner decided to throw a competition party. One of her ways of keeping her employess on their toes, so to speak. Her way of keeping us competitive with each other. So, we danced, naked, for our customers' votes.
The most popular woman, Laura, danced first.
“You have the most awesome body here,” my mentor whispered, “Other than your missing breast. So just dance as if you’re whole.”
When it came my turn, I did just that. I felt sexy and beautiful. I traced my body with my hands, accentuating my missing breast, giving myself over to the music. I danced with my heart.
The brothel owner collected the votes from the customers. Once counted, she gathered the competitors music sticks and put them in order. The announcements began.
“I’ll be surprised if you don’t come in first and topple Laura from her pedestal,” said my mentor.
“I don’t want to come in first,” I replied. “Laura would be really mad and I don’t want her as an enemy.”
“Well, maybe you’ll come in second.”
“As long as I don’t come in dead last, I’ll be happy.”
“That’s a great attitude,” my mentor said.
The brothel owner took out the first music stick and placed it in the groove. Laura’s music poured through the speakers and relief rushed through me. I wasn’t first! She continued to place music sticks into the groove, her way of announcing the placements. I wasn’t second, or third. Or even fourth.
Finally, with only two music sticks left, the speakers played my music. “American Woman” filled the room and I rejoiced.
