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https://x.com/Horselover_Fat_/status/1902768353711661110/photo/1

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Background Pony #493D
Yesterday he was one of them out there in the audience, hooting and shouting encouragement to the dancer on the stage.
Today she was one of the dancers, reluctance being dissolved by an insidious, relentless urge to strut and sway for the crowd that cheered and cat-called to see her body in all its glory.
In between was a foggy, barely coherent recollection of ordering a private lap dance session and doing some lines of the latest street drug off her technicolor body, then waking up in a dressing room and being told to prepare for her first set.
The lights shut on with a heavy clunk, blinding her unaccustomed eyes. A dull roar rose from the crowd of men she couldn’t see, but could definitely hear… and smell. A rich, warm scent invaded her nostrils and lubricated her tense muscles. The tidal noise of shouts and whistles seemed to whittle away every thought that wasn’t about dancing and stripping.
Some sort of cheap electronic music started thrumming rhythmically beneath the demanding turmoil of the crowd.
She realized her foot was tapping in time and she couldn’t tell it to stop. She realized that giving in would be so much less effort than holding back. She had never known how to dance, but it wouldn’t matter. The men, the crowd, would tell her what to do and what would work, how to use her body to its utmost. The wisdom of the crowd was trustworthy. It was… inevitable.
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