Sequel: He was the Moon

Dance to Anything

“It’s the nice boy I danced with,” I said in a sad whisper. “I thought … I just thought he could be my saving grace.”

Opus nodded; every move she made was delicate and beautiful. Toxic. “We call her Fucker,” she said softly. “And she doesn’t seem to care. Since she’s a whore.”

“Aren’t you all?” I asked, then clapped my hands over my mouth, appalled at my rudeness.

But Opus laughed, a light and dainty laugh. “I suppose,” she said and stepped one spidery leg between mine. “Would you care to pay for my time?”

Swallowing a gasp as her thigh pressed up against my groin, I blinked rapidly and blushed. “I, uh … don’t believe I’d have the money for that,” I managed. “You seem
awfully expensive.”

Written for this contest. My color was black.