Categories > Original > Horror2 Reviews
Is it a crime to wanna shine in my white go-go boots?
I see you eyeing me off, as I twirl and spin and dance. I know I'm driving you wild, baby. Can't you tell I'm doing it deliberately, swaying my hips and acting fucking possessed. They call me firecracker, because when I explode, I explode with a bang. I bet you want me to explode all over you, don't you? You want me moaning your name, don't you? I can tell. Lucky boy, tonight's your night.
I'm sashaying your way. I can feel your eyes roaming my skin, devouring me like I'm a roast chicken dinner and you're the hungriest man on earth. It's $200, I tell you, just a little whisper in your ear. You're sliding the money into my bra and now I'm pulling you away, away from this seedy bar and into the hotel room I booked for the night.
You're pushing me down, biting and sucking at my skin, tearing my clothes off and you say you're gonna make me feel like a princess. I must admit, you do know what you're doing, you're pressing all the right buttons and sucking all the right spots, and I'm writhing under you, whining because I want more.
You sit up, and smirk at me. You're telling me to keep my boots on - do go-go boots turn you on, sugar? I bet they do. You pull me into your lap, I lower down, I know this routine so well. You're enjoying this, tipping your head back and groaning and touching me. I tell you to keep your fingertips on my waist. Let me do all the work.
I'm touching myself now, and I can tell you're so damn close. Your voice is getting all hoarse, and-
Nothing. I've plunged my knife into your chest, but I'm not gonna stop sliding up and down. Your fingertips are still on my waist. I'm still just pushing myself up and down, and there it goes, I feel like a princess. Thank you, honey, you did make me feel so good. I bet I made you feel good, too. One little stab is far too normal. I pull myself off of you, and slice it off, the patch of flesh that's ruled your life for too long. Your eyes are still open. I suck you, swirling my tongue round your still-hot flesh.
I draw six large lines with my knife. They form a sort of macabre heart. Your blood is flowing now, spilling down onto the sheets, creating an awful sight. Look what you've done, you disgusting animal. I'm gonna have to clean you up now. Look, you've gotten blood on my boots. You're horrible, filthy, awful.
When the police arrive, I'm licking blood off you. It's painting my lips like the prettiest, sweetest lipstick a girl could ever want. They're handcuffing me now, I'm still naked. They convict me of over 20 murders. 20! And you thought you were special, hah.
When they ask me what I have to say for myself, I just look at them, and ask:
"Is it a crime to wanna shine in my white go-go boots?"
Well, hello there. Claire, when are you gonna write something happy, I hear you ask. Never, I laugh.
This was inspired by Go-Go Dancer by Lana Del Rey. Amazing song, amazing artist. I adore Lana.
Anyhow, if your pretty little eyes are poisoned by this, leave me a comment.
Also: I need to find a topic to focus on that isn't murder or sex of a combination of the two. I write way too much dark stuff. Trust me, I've tried happy, and it never works. I think I'll try some dark humor in Miss Jackson. Just to leave a quick hint: I love making him a victim.