Magic City

Always gone before dawn and back after dusk; growing up I saw my mother break her back and work herself to the bone, just to barely be able to keep a (leaky) roof over our heads. Sure, to everyone else we were poor. To us, we were beyond wealthy with each other’s love. I adored my mother growing up and appreciated how hard she fought for the little we had. But seeing her lose her freedom, joy and all chance at finding love in pursuit of that dollar, I vowed to myself, “Never get trapped in the rat race. Never get trapped in the 9-5.” You have to understand, ever since I was a little girl I had dreams of being known and making money, serious money. I wanted to be my own boss, taking charge and always calling the shots. But how could I possibly achieve that? Luckily, I grew up in a place called Atlanta, the heart and soul of Georgia. And in Atlanta, if you wanted to be a real boss, making real money, you had two options – rapping or stripping. With a glorious behind, thick enough to stop traffic and make husbands want to cheat – I chose the latter. I chose to be a stripper. I. Chose.

Atlanta strippers aren’t like the ones you see on movies, TV screens or even in other states – we don’t abuse drugs and we don’t have daddy issues. On the whole, we’re independent women with entrepreneur spirits. Preferring to earn our own money rather than having it given to us. We’re empowered. And empowered women only go to one place in Atlanta… While actors go to LA, soccer players to Europe, strippers, the very good ones at least, go to Magic City. At 18, like a moth to an open flame, I couldn’t help but be drawn to the neon lights of the best strip club in America, possibly the world. Magic City, a place where diamonds sparkle, champagne pours and money rains. In my first month stripping, I made more money in a month than my mother did in an entire year…

Stop. I know what you’re thinking, “No one chooses to be a stripper…” But you’d be wrong, I did and I do, every day. I know about choice feminism – you can’t shake your arse 24/7, sometimes you have to pick up a book – which says if a woman comes from a less privileged background, she can’t have true choice as the options are limited. However, that is not me, at all. Sure, I came from a poor family, but I always had good grades and determination… If I wanted to, I could have been that lawyers or that surgeon. Yet, I choose to strip because I loved the idea of being constantly desired and always the center of attention. It excites me to have men grovel at my feet and watch them spend all their money just to be near me. Just for a second, when that spotlight hits me and the music pulses, I feel as if the whole world stops turning and all eyes are on me. Magic.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I can’t strip forever – I’m not stupid. Sooner or later, time even beats the best of surgeon’s scalpels. I’ve got plans. When the last song is played and the last dollar is thrown, I’m going to take my entrepreneurial spirit to the next level and run my very own club. And it’ll be the best in town because I know this business better than anybody else. I know the best DJs. I’ll know how to treat my dancers better. Most of all, I’ll have more hustle in me than anyone else does. Period. I was born to strip. I was born to live that American dream.


Dark thoughts of a disturbed mind


Alone with my thoughts, I set the darkness within free and with pleasure, I allow it to take hold of me. I throw my head back and surrender as evil as black as tar, courses through my veins on its way to my brain. I then listen intently as the glorious voices echo around my mind – KILL. And when they tell me “reach for the knife,” I know I can’t deny. I head to the door and go outside, my knife glinting like a star in the night sky.

I see my victim… they run but there’s nowhere to hide. Man, woman or child, it’s all the same to me. And when the screaming finally stops and the body goes limp, I calmly get up and head back home. For the next few hours in silence, I listen to Beethoven and allow my eyes to bury deep into my mirrored reflection. Eventually, night bleeds into day and I begin to hear sirens crying and soon notice as my face lights up in flashes of red and blue. As the ending dawns and I tightly close my eyes, I finally release a long sigh of relief – It’s over, it’s all over.

All Eyes on Me


Ambition is not the sole domain of men. I refuse to remain in the demure and thankful role imprisoning women, while my male peers like Kanye West and Charlie Sheen are willed to boast about their achievements and self-proclaim themselves The Second Coming. So, fuck that! That stops now. I’m a woman who’s not afraid to tell the entire world what she wants and how much she wants it.

Simply put, I want to be famous – real fucking famous. And I’m not talking about reality TV or Youtube shit famous, I’m talking about Madonna and Bono famous, so famous I don’t even need a fucking last name. And I want to be every little girl’s hero and constantly have millions… actually, fuck it – billions screaming my name whenever I’m around. And I want to be on the cover of Forbes, Vogue and Time Magazine all at the same time. And I want at least 100 million followers on every social media and have my face plastered on billboards all over London, Paris and New York. And I want to be able to walk into any room and have all heads swivel in my direction and each heart explode in excitement.

Pretty much I want the whole world in the palm of my hands – get it? After all, Tony Montana said it, “The world is yours.” And I promise you, I will do what ever it takes to make sure it will be.

Music to Watch Boys to


Some may spend hours plucking away at guitar strings, others even immersing themselves in decades old foreign films…we on the other hand do none of that, in truth we don’t have any actual hobbies. Well, there is one… the center of our teenage universe…the sole reason Clarissa and I gravitate towards the park every Sunday afternoon.

The height of summer, we certainly aren’t the only ones there. However, while others are perfectly happy to idle the day, wrapped up in the warm blanket of a July sun or the chitter-chatter of friends and family, Clarissa and I have our attentions firmly embedded elsewhere, boys playing football. Muscles, taunt and rippling under skin shimmering bronze from sweat, handsome features furrowed with concentration, eyes ignited by the midday sun. Looking at them is like looking at an oasis of beauty, that so easily leaves us powerless… forever transfixed and hypnotised, we simply can’t turn away – they’re Adonises to fall in love with.

Honestly, who the hell needs hobbies, when you can spend an afternoon watching gorgeous boys and listening to beautiful music? Oh, but not just any music…there is an exact science to providing the perfect soundtrack to our fantasies. Soaring melodies, haunting vocals and lyrics that pierce your heart – Lana Del Rey is our second greatest pleasure. To us, almost nothing in life is as satisfying as clicking play and surrendering to her sweet embrace. Once sufficiently enchanted by Hollywood Sadcore, we can finally turn back to our most important of tasks, watching boys…

Desperate for them to notice or more importantly, like, love what they see…we embody, everything, we ever learned about being beautiful from movies. So we pout, hair flick and arch our backs until we look like the most glamorous of screen sirens. But of course, we never let on to boys, just how much we crave their acknowledgement or how easily our worlds revolve around them. No, we’re far too cool and indifferent for that…

The Devil in Her Eyes


With eyes clenched shut and finger tips pressed firmly on either side of my nose, I try desperately to grasp at memories as fleeting as flickers of amber. Yet, as much as I try, they remain agonisingly  just out of my reach. Like an old TV set drowning in static, from the chaos I can only gleam the vaguest of pictures: a bourgeois party with an air thick with the chorus of chatter and wisps of cigar smoke. Then, my memories suddenly snap into high definition as a vivid image glows bright in my mind: an incredible beauty emerging from the swarm of bodies and like a deer in headlight, instantly I am paralysed by her devastating glare. I remember in that one moment, as my eyes fall into those cold icy blues of hers, my life would never be the same again…

With that final thought, the memories are quickly extinguished as reality comes gushing back in. The foggy haze lifts and I remember where I am and what I’ve just done. Once again I’m aware that my heart is thumping so hard against my chest, I can feel my ribs vibrating violently beneath my shirt. But it’s the glass shattering scream still ringing  in my ears that swallows all my attention. As fear begins to smother me, my trembling hand gives way and the knife clutched with such intention only moments ago, finally falls with a dulled thud into the pool of red rapidly engorging my feet– there is so much blood now that it seems like I’m wearing crimson slippers.

Then, as her soft and delicate hand slips into mine, like a soothing elixir, my entire body beings to calm and the stillness within me is restored. As her husband exhales his final pained breath from under me, with the firm tip of her finger she yanks my chin towards her and kisses me hungrily. The speckles of blood peppered on both our lips give the kiss a metallic taste, yet it is no less arousing and passionate. And just like that, the softness of her lips give me amnesia and I forget all about the evil I’ve just committed. With swiftness of thought and clarity of mind, she leads me hurriedly down to her husbands basement. Stepping into the bunker awash in pristine white, I’m momentarily overwhelmed by the eye watering collection of super cars casually displayed. No time to waste, she tugs me towards the vehicle that will guarantee our escape.

*Note to Reader – You have to believe me when I tell you this… until I met her I never knew I was capable of murder – honestly. But with one glimpse into her hypnotising eyes, I know I’ll do it again and again just to have her look at me the way she does…

At the same time as the police were no doubt swarming into the penthouse, and abruptly being stopped by the brutal, bloody scene now in front of them, we’re cruising in a Ferrari down a wide open road with the wind rushing through our hair. I didn’t know where we’re going or how long we can stay out on the run, but with forever stretching out tantalisingly before us, I know she’ll always have my soul and I’ll always be by her side, because my true love has the face of an angel and the devil in her eyes.