Lucy peered critically at herself in her dressing-room mirror. Her clothing was in place, her skin had been dried of sweat. Her makeup, smoky around the eyes and red around the lips, was as perfect as her natural face. Lucy preened a moment, adjusting the tilt of her hat - the same small hat pinned in her coiffure, its long red-and-gold plumes sweeping back past her ear.
Lucy walked to her place on the stage and basked through the cheers of her faithful regulars. She spread her arms out exuberantly, like a goddess thanking her followers, smiling like the sun. The white lights picked out her dress, a brief thing of cloth-of-gold, and the rich gold jewelry that adorned her arms and throat. She looked, she thought, like the great Bastet - the greatest performer that ever lived.
A lot to live up to. She cleared her throat with a little purr, and pitched a speech to the crowd.
"I was going to sing you a song tonight," she said huskily, "about something obvious. Something about collars, and pets - something you might expect from a cat-girl. But I decided instead to speak to you of something sacred - something secret. Something that all women hold close by their hearts, that all women hide...."
She leaned forward, sharing a secret. "My song tonight is about my red lingerie."
She launched into her song, improvised that afternoon (and in her opinion better than the one about pets.)
"You may think that I'm a scandal -
A saucy singer in a cabaret!
But I swear to you that I'm entirely decent -
Beneath my gown, I have my lingerie."
She sits down on the stool placed behind her, coyly drawing up one leg - the hem of her skirt comes perilously close, but does not show a hint of red or a single bit of lacy trim.
She continued,
"My lingerie is lacy and revealing -
It's red as sin, it's lined with beads and pearls.
It's beautiful, but you will never see it.
You see - I'm really not that kind of girl.
"For when first I came here as a nudist,
I quickly learned the ugly, simple truth:
Clothes make not the man, they make a lady!
And innocence of laws is no excuse....
"Soon I saw there was no use in fighting
These culture-rules that, broken, caused distress!
For here. it's not the dress that makes the outfit -
Without an outfit underneath you're barely dressed!
"So I bought myself a sexy pair of panties,
I bought a bra that jingles when I move.
I showed my friends - they said, "Oh lord, that's sinful!"
They said "Really!" and "Not really!" and "I approve!"
She delivers her trademark wink before the moral to her tale:
"For in cities, no one's pretty when they're naked -
Once undressed, a lady needs her lovely clothes!
Because men and woman lovers,
before they get under covers,
Need to see you're decent-clad in lace and hose.
"I wish that people would forgot what's decent,
And turned their minds to what is truly good -
For it's heart that is all passion's start -
A lovely mind, not a cloak or hood."
Lucy stood from the stool. Elaborately, she shook out the beaded hem of her golden dress, smoothing it over the tops of her stockings. She reached then for the top of her dress, where ribbons tied the outfit to her body -
And she stopped, withdrew her claws from the ties. She shrugged sadly at her audience, and walked away to her dressing room.
She would send someone later to collect the flowers, which would surely fill her room with the scent of adoration. And when she returned in her gauzy belly-dancing outfit, introduced by talking drums, they would applaud her as if the past welcome had been forgotten entirely.
Lucy walked to her place on the stage and basked through the cheers of her faithful regulars. She spread her arms out exuberantly, like a goddess thanking her followers, smiling like the sun. The white lights picked out her dress, a brief thing of cloth-of-gold, and the rich gold jewelry that adorned her arms and throat. She looked, she thought, like the great Bastet - the greatest performer that ever lived.
A lot to live up to. She cleared her throat with a little purr, and pitched a speech to the crowd.
"I was going to sing you a song tonight," she said huskily, "about something obvious. Something about collars, and pets - something you might expect from a cat-girl. But I decided instead to speak to you of something sacred - something secret. Something that all women hold close by their hearts, that all women hide...."
She leaned forward, sharing a secret. "My song tonight is about my red lingerie."
She launched into her song, improvised that afternoon (and in her opinion better than the one about pets.)
"You may think that I'm a scandal -
A saucy singer in a cabaret!
But I swear to you that I'm entirely decent -
Beneath my gown, I have my lingerie."
She sits down on the stool placed behind her, coyly drawing up one leg - the hem of her skirt comes perilously close, but does not show a hint of red or a single bit of lacy trim.
She continued,
"My lingerie is lacy and revealing -
It's red as sin, it's lined with beads and pearls.
It's beautiful, but you will never see it.
You see - I'm really not that kind of girl.
"For when first I came here as a nudist,
I quickly learned the ugly, simple truth:
Clothes make not the man, they make a lady!
And innocence of laws is no excuse....
"Soon I saw there was no use in fighting
These culture-rules that, broken, caused distress!
For here. it's not the dress that makes the outfit -
Without an outfit underneath you're barely dressed!
"So I bought myself a sexy pair of panties,
I bought a bra that jingles when I move.
I showed my friends - they said, "Oh lord, that's sinful!"
They said "Really!" and "Not really!" and "I approve!"
She delivers her trademark wink before the moral to her tale:
"For in cities, no one's pretty when they're naked -
Once undressed, a lady needs her lovely clothes!
Because men and woman lovers,
before they get under covers,
Need to see you're decent-clad in lace and hose.
"I wish that people would forgot what's decent,
And turned their minds to what is truly good -
For it's heart that is all passion's start -
A lovely mind, not a cloak or hood."
Lucy stood from the stool. Elaborately, she shook out the beaded hem of her golden dress, smoothing it over the tops of her stockings. She reached then for the top of her dress, where ribbons tied the outfit to her body -
And she stopped, withdrew her claws from the ties. She shrugged sadly at her audience, and walked away to her dressing room.
She would send someone later to collect the flowers, which would surely fill her room with the scent of adoration. And when she returned in her gauzy belly-dancing outfit, introduced by talking drums, they would applaud her as if the past welcome had been forgotten entirely.