When asked her occupation, she would say “professional dancer,” she preferred the ambiguity and it was far more respectable than “stripper.”
On the soft white skin under her left wrist was a tattooed portrait of The Virgin. A blue shawl rested over her head while her meditative eyes stared at the earth, her palms gently pressed together pointed to heaven. On the right wrist was Marilyn Monroe. Waves of angelic hair hung from her head, seductive eyes, and her slight smile, which seemed amused by the attention.
More than anything the dancer wanted to know the feeling of The Virgin, of Marilyn; the feeling of being chosen by God, but worshiped by man.