Circus Excite (2 page)

‘You like that guy staring at your tits, babe?'

So he had noticed.

‘Shut up and keep dancing, Rory.' Julia felt a surge of power as she was crushed between the two men, the focus of their rapt attention. Hidden by the darkness of the dancefloor and the confusion of flailing limbs, she reached for the man beside her, pushing one hand quickly up under his shirt so she could feel the lines of his muscular stomach. She worked her fingers under his waistband, slipping her hand over the brush of hair that led down into his boxer shorts. He stiffened under her hand, twisting round so that their antics were hidden from his dancing partner. Julia felt a little thrill of victory.

At the same time, Rory had managed to pull her skirt up so that her bare ass was rubbing against his trousers. She felt his thumb hook the elastic of her G-string and pull it aside. It was a delicious risk to take, him practically stripping her in the crowd. Julia felt herself getting dangerously turned on so it was becoming hard to keep dancing. The three of them were locked in a tangle, and any minute someone next to them might notice they weren't just pretending to dance sexily.

As she felt her knees start to weaken and strained her hand to reach inside the guy's trousers, Julia noticed Karin approach through the crowd. Even in the disorientating atmosphere of the packed and dark dancefloor raked with strobe lights, Karin grasped the situation in a split second. She raised her eyebrows at Julia as though questioning her. Ignoring the two men, she grabbed her friend by the shoulders and leant in to speak to her:

‘You've got some fucking nerve, girlfriend.' Her tone was teasing. ‘How many d'you think you can do at once?' Julia sensed a dare in her question.

‘How about we put on a little show?' she retorted, feeling gleeful as she sensed the two of them were about to start their favourite game. Dancefloor power plays were a regular feature of their nights out. All it took was a little imagination.

‘I'm game,' said Karin.

‘Come here and give me some tongue, then, you dirty bitch!' Julia laughed, knowing how to play the game with Karin. Without pausing, she reached out with her free hand and pulled Karin towards her, making a pout and winking at her. It never failed. As soon as the girls started mock-kissing and dancing closely with one another, the whole dancefloor would be focused on their erotic routine. She looped her arms round Karin's body, now feeling herself the centre of a knot of three people working their bodies against hers. Getting worked up, Julia looked around to check who was watching. She saw with satisfaction that a couple of girls were stealing sideways looks at the curious rhythm of the group of bodies dancing next to them. She gave the tall blonde girl a teasing little smile and stuck out her ass further, loving the feel of displaying her body as though she were fucking in public. Beside her a guy materialised, broad and bulky with his face wearing a dazzling smile.

‘You've just made my fucking night, girls! Don't stop, babe.' He shook his head at Julia, making a low whistle as he nodded and let his gaze sweep over her bared legs and the tangle of her limbs meshed with Karin's.

‘I'd bend you over and fuck you right here if I could,' he roared at Julia's ear, and she felt Rory pinch her ass hard, playing jealous. ‘Mind if I cut in?' The newcomer was worming his way between Julia and Karin, trying to push right up against Julia's tits. She could see the
sweat running down his face and feel the bulk of him imposing on her as he pushed his leg between hers, letting her crotch rub up against his thigh. Julia now found herself caught in the middle of three guys, and saw Karin, pushed out of the circle, throw up her hands in surrender. Around her other heads were turning, but instead of feeling embarrassment she revelled in being centre stage. Her dress had been crushed, crumpled up and pulled aside: she was showing so much flesh she might as well have been wearing just her underwear. Rolling herself around, straining against the arms and thighs of the men moving with her so intimately, Julia knew this was how she was meant to dance. This display of her sex, voluptuous and sensual, was the desire that had driven her since she was a teenager. She needed this, needed to feel eyes and hands, mouths and skin on her body. She felt the gaze of every man around her running over her, wanting to touch, wanting to bump up against her and possess her.

What was dancing about if it wasn't sex? What was the pounding beat, the pulse of the bass, but an invitation to bang your body against someone else's? Julia felt herself dissolve in the rhythm, the crowd around her surging and rocking in time, the night melting into a charged electric buzz while the beat of the slinky electro kept urging the crowd on. Under the white strobe light, Julia saw flashes of the dancers: a bare back glistening with sweat; teeth flashing in a sharp smile; eyes turning towards her; smiles; hands reaching for her. She realised with a thrill she was now the apex of the crowd. There were no other women around her. Karin had slipped into the background and Julia was on her own, surrounded by men who fixed their gaze on her grinding hips, the sight of her stocking tops and braced thighs. She heard the music resonate through her feet and up her legs, and felt a shiver as she recognised the opening
beats of one of her favourite songs. Pulsing through the hall now was a dark throbbing electro bass line that looped slower and slower as the sound of a woman mewing rose in pitch. Julia felt her own excitement rise as the intensity of the woman's cries melded with the steady thud of the drums, her voice growing louder till the whole hall reverberated to the sound of the singer groaning in ecstasy. A song to fuck to – or to dance to as though you were being fucked.

Julia slipped into the movement and felt every beat resonate through her body, knew just how far to throw her hips, thrust her tits and lean back, aware of every pair of hungry eyes following her movements, aware now of herself as part of the music, a lush sensuous fantasy made flesh. She felt Rory's dick pressing urgently against her ass, so hard now it was digging into her with urgency – as was the cock she could feel stiffening as she brushed it with the back of her hand, while the bulky third guy roved his hands roughly over the curves of her body. She watched as a the onlookers moved nearer, circling in towards her, dancing so close she could feel the heat from their bodies increase her own temperature, till she was at boiling point, melting, wanting to rub herself off in full view of the crowd.

The floor was slippery underfoot, awash with spilt drink, and Julia felt herself sliding, falling back against Rory so that his hard body supported her, leaving her front openly displayed to the other two men – and the crowd that surrounded them. Her long wild curls were now soaked with sweat, and the men's bodies rubbing against hers were damp from the heat and their own arousal. Julia struggled to keep track of whose hands were pulling at her tits, rubbing her nipples, and whose were pulling at her G-string, making the soaked fabric cut into her cleft and agitate her clit as she squirmed to feel more. She felt the shock of the onlookers staring at
the spectacle, knowing her breasts were on the point of spilling out and she was virtually fucking three men in the middle of the dancefloor. It only made her writhe more sensually, wanting to feel that mixture of lust and outrage that she knew her pulsing, horny body would provoke. She'd always been a show-off, and now she knew just how to get the attention she so hungrily craved: sticking her tits out; offering her half-undressed body to the crowd; inviting them to look while daring them to touch her.

Then she closed her eyes and revelled in the sensations. She was surrounded by a group of men hungry to fuck her, feeling hands sliding all over her, a hard cock rubbing at her thigh, a stiff shirt collar brushing against her throat, a tongue flickering over her earlobe. She was bathed in sweat and the smell of it mixed with aftershave, the scents of the men around her pungent and exciting. The music soaked into her skin, pulsing at the same deep rate as her heartbeat, urging her to relinquish the last shreds of control. As she danced Julia let her body take over, loving the mix of her scandalous display and the snatched intimate groping of Rory and his competitors. She felt the bouncing and swaying of the crowd, the excitement of the night, the climax of the hours she'd spent sweating and grinding in the dance studios. The music built to a strident throbbing beat, so Julia could feel it vibrate in her chest and deafen her as she gave in to it, abandoned control and became nothing more than a body melded to others, fusing in the heat and the noise.

TWO WEEKS LATER,
and the memory of her riotous graduation ball had faded into history. Julia was sprawled on the sofa, wearing knickers and a T-shirt and combing the ‘Situations Vacant' in the back of
The Stage
. The reality of life as a dance school graduate was turning out to be a bleak and precarious one. There were no more than a handful of adverts, most calling for experienced dancers. It was dry season in the world of theatre, most of them going ‘dark' till autumn, and Julia was giving up hope. She flicked through the paper, grim desperation rising in her. The thought of working in an office made her want to curl up and die, but she had to find work soon.

She looked around at her tiny living room. Sharing with two other girls, Julia had got used to the noise and chaos of a student flat. The hall was as busy as King's Cross, with various visitors and lovers coming and going at all hours: Karin leaving for her bar job just as Julia got in from afternoon classes; phones ringing and the radio blaring. It was handy for college, and Camden Market was just down the road. Julia loved the buzz of the place, even if it was barely big enough to swing a cat. But now . . . Julia looked at the brick-wall view out the window and the dead spider plant on the sill. Her gaze fell on the pile of dirty plates stacked up in the sink. Behind her the washing machine sputtered and gave out a weak moan as it broke down, again. Maybe it was time to move on.

It was then that the small advert, just two lines at the bottom of the page, caught her eye:

Dancer (f) wanted for

Circus Excite.

Circus? It wasn't exactly what Julia had in mind. She was a serious skilled dancer, not a cabaret performer. Dancing didn't usually involve nipple pasties and garters, in her opinion. But the idea of a circus tickled her. And it was the only advert left to try. Julia grabbed the phone and dialled the number. It rang twice before a recorded message cut in.

‘Are you ready to excite?' a deep female voice asked, the line crackling. ‘If you're looking for adventure and have an open mind, visit us on Friday 1st of May between 10 a.m. and 8 p.m. at . . .' The voice gave an address in the centre of London. Then the message cut off, leaving Julia holding the receiver, puzzled. She had been expecting at least a little more information about the job, an idea of how to prepare for the audition. What to wear, what kind of routine to rehearse.

She sighed and threw the paper on the floor. She went to dress for the gym, still turning the message over in her mind. The woman had had a slight accent that Julia couldn't place – Eastern European, perhaps? As she walked down the street, she remembered the voice, and the tempting phrase:

‘If you're looking for adventure . . .'

In the gym Julia got on an exercise bike and started pedalling. She liked to build up a sweat before practice, get herself loosened up and start the adrenaline flowing. She pedalled harder, going at high speed until her pulse started racing. She felt the rush that she always did when her body was working hard. The pounding beat of MTV kept her in rhythm, and her mind wandered. The voice of the woman played again in her head. As she thought about the obscure message, Julia
imagined herself onstage in a feather headdress. The idea was so ridiculous she almost laughed out loud. Would it be some kind of Moulin Rouge affair, high-kicking and spilling out of a diamante bikini? What kind of people watched cabaret anyway? Julia could picture a half-empty bar, with men in suits watching her dance. She could see the look on their faces; eyes glazed with desire as she wrapped herself suggestively round a pillar. Despite herself, she started to feel excited. She pressed her crotch against the pommel of the bike and racked up the gears, pushing harder as the resistance increased. Overhead, the TV screen showed a music video full of voluptuous women grinding to the beat. What was dancing about, if it wasn't exhibitionism?

By the time she stepped off the bike, Julia had made up her mind. She'd go to the audition, and see what happened. It sounded more fun than temping, at any rate. What did she have to lose?

On Friday morning Julia found herself wandering the near-deserted streets of Soho. The venue for the audition was proving hard to find. Eventually she stumbled across a narrow dark alley buried deep in Fitzrovia. Julia checked her scribbled note. This was it. She looked again at the street, cluttered with kitchen bins and drifting rubbish. She walked down the street uneasily, as though rats might emerge any minute from the shadows and attack her. Trying to walk on the balls of her feet, Julia pulled the denim jacket tightly across her chest. She had considered what she should wear for the role of ‘cabaret dancer', and in the end decided on black. Black leggings, black T-shirt. The costume wasn't exactly showgirl material, but Julia reckoned it would cover just about any eventuality. After several failed ballet auditions and blunt comments from her dance instructors, she was
also keen to disguise her ripe curves, and head-to-toe black gave her a sleeker silhouette.

Halfway down the alley a piece of card had been taped onto a door, reading ‘Audition, top floor'. As she climbed the stairs, Julia was struck by the silence. Normally auditions were abuzz with the clatter of dancers running in and out, people doing warm-up vocal exercises, sometimes the twanging chords of a piano from inside the room. Today there was no noise at all, just the echo of her steps as she climbed and the sound of her breathing. Maybe she'd got the wrong date? That would be typical bad luck. As she reached the fourth floor, she was preparing herself for the disappointment of finding an empty room and the prospect of a wasted journey.