Circus Excite

by Nikki Magennis

  The floor was slippery underfoot, awash with spilt drink, and Julia felt herself sliding, falling back against Rory so that his hard body supported her, leaving her front openly displayed to the other two men – and the crowd that surrounded them. Her long wild curls were now soaked with sweat, and the men’s bodies rubbing against hers were damp from the heat and their own arousal. Julia struggled to keep track of whose hands were pulling at her tits, rubbing her nipples, and whose were pulling at her G-string, making the soaked fabric cut into her cleft and agitate her clit as she squirmed to feel more. She felt the shock of the onlookers staring at the spectacle, knowing her breasts were on the point of spilling out and she was virtually fucking three men in the middle of the dancefloor. It only made her writhe more sensually, wanting to feel that mixture of lust and outrage that she knew her pulsing, horny body would provoke. She’d always been a show-off, and now she knew just how to get the attention she so hungrily craved: sticking her tits out; offering her half-undressed body to the crowd; inviting them to look while daring them to touch her.

  Then she closed her eyes and revelled in the sensations. She was surrounded by a group of men hungry to fuck her, feeling hands sliding all over her, a hard cock rubbing at her thigh, a stiff shirt collar brushing against her throat, a tongue flickering over her earlobe. She was bathed in sweat and the smell of it mixed with aftershave, the scents of the men around her pungent and exciting. The music soaked into her skin, pulsing at the same deep rate as her heartbeat, urging her to relinquish the last shreds of control. As she danced Julia let her body take over, loving the mix of her scandalous display and the snatched intimate groping of Rory and his competitors. She felt the bouncing and swaying of the crowd, the excitement of the night, the climax of the hours she’d spent sweating and grinding in the dance studios. The music built to a strident throbbing beat, so Julia could feel it vibrate in her chest and deafen her as she gave in to it, abandoned control and became nothing more than a body melded to others, fusing in the heat and the noise.

  2

  TWO WEEKS LATER, and the memory of her riotous graduation ball had faded into history. Julia was sprawled on the sofa, wearing knickers and a T-shirt and combing the ‘Situations Vacant’ in the back of The Stage. The reality of life as a dance school graduate was turning out to be a bleak and precarious one. There were no more than a handful of adverts, most calling for experienced dancers. It was dry season in the world of theatre, most of them going ‘dark’ till autumn, and Julia was giving up hope. She flicked through the paper, grim desperation rising in her. The thought of working in an office made her want to curl up and die, but she had to find work soon.

  She looked around at her tiny living room. Sharing with two other girls, Julia had got used to the noise and chaos of a student flat. The hall was as busy as King’s Cross, with various visitors and lovers coming and going at all hours: Karin leaving for her bar job just as Julia got in from afternoon classes; phones ringing and the radio blaring. It was handy for college, and Camden Market was just down the road. Julia loved the buzz of the place, even if it was barely big enough to swing a cat. But now . . . Julia looked at the brick-wall view out the window and the dead spider plant on the sill. Her gaze fell on the pile of dirty plates stacked up in the sink. Behind her the washing machine sputtered and gave out a weak moan as it broke down, again. Maybe it was time to move on.

  It was then that the small advert, just two lines at the bottom of the page, caught her eye:

  Dancer (f) wanted for

  Circus Excite.

  Circus? It wasn’t exactly what Julia had in mind. She was a serious skilled dancer, not a cabaret performer. Dancing didn’t usually involve nipple pasties and garters, in her opinion. But the idea of a circus tickled her. And it was the only advert left to try. Julia grabbed the phone and dialled the number. It rang twice before a recorded message cut in.

  ‘Are you ready to excite?’ a deep female voice asked, the line crackling. ‘If you’re looking for adventure and have an open mind, visit us on Friday 1st of May between 10 a.m. and 8 p.m. at . . .’ The voice gave an address in the centre of London. Then the message cut off, leaving Julia holding the receiver, puzzled. She had been expecting at least a little more information about the job, an idea of how to prepare for the audition. What to wear, what kind of routine to rehearse.

  She sighed and threw the paper on the floor. She went to dress for the gym, still turning the message over in her mind. The woman had had a slight accent that Julia couldn’t place – Eastern European, perhaps? As she walked down the street, she remembered the voice, and the tempting phrase:

  ‘If you’re looking for adventure . . .’

  In the gym Julia got on an exercise bike and started pedalling. She liked to build up a sweat before practice, get herself loosened up and start the adrenaline flowing. She pedalled harder, going at high speed until her pulse started racing. She felt the rush that she always did when her body was working hard. The pounding beat of MTV kept her in rhythm, and her mind wandered. The voice of the woman played again in her head. As she thought about the obscure message, Julia imagined herself onstage in a feather headdress. The idea was so ridiculous she almost laughed out loud. Would it be some kind of Moulin Rouge affair, high-kicking and spilling out of a diamante bikini? What kind of people watched cabaret anyway? Julia could picture a half-empty bar, with men in suits watching her dance. She could see the look on their faces; eyes glazed with desire as she wrapped herself suggestively round a pillar. Despite herself, she started to feel excited. She pressed her crotch against the pommel of the bike and racked up the gears, pushing harder as the resistance increased. Overhead, the TV screen showed a music video full of voluptuous women grinding to the beat. What was dancing about, if it wasn’t exhibitionism?

  By the time she stepped off the bike, Julia had made up her mind. She’d go to the audition, and see what happened. It sounded more fun than temping, at any rate. What did she have to lose?

  On Friday morning Julia found herself wandering the near-deserted streets of Soho. The venue for the audition was proving hard to find. Eventually she stumbled across a narrow dark alley buried deep in Fitzrovia. Julia checked her scribbled note. This was it. She looked again at the street, cluttered with kitchen bins and drifting rubbish. She walked down the street uneasily, as though rats might emerge any minute from the shadows and attack her. Trying to walk on the balls of her feet, Julia pulled the denim jacket tightly across her chest. She had considered what she should wear for the role of ‘cabaret dancer’, and in the end decided on black. Black leggings, black T-shirt. The costume wasn’t exactly showgirl material, but Julia reckoned it would cover just about any eventuality. After several failed ballet auditions and blunt comments from her dance instructors, she was also keen to disguise her ripe curves, and head-to-toe black gave her a sleeker silhouette.

  Halfway down the alley a piece of card had been taped onto a door, reading ‘Audition, top floor’. As she climbed the stairs, Julia was struck by the silence. Normally auditions were abuzz with the clatter of dancers running in and out, people doing warm-up vocal exercises, sometimes the twanging chords of a piano from inside the room. Today there was no noise at all, just the echo of her steps as she climbed and the sound of her breathing. Maybe she’d got the wrong date? That would be typical bad luck. As she reached the fourth floor, she was preparing herself for the disappointment of finding an empty room and the prospect of a wasted journey.

  The door was a huge reinforced slab of steel. Padlocks hung open from the sliding bolts and another paper sign was taped up:

  ‘Circus Excite. Knock and wait.’

  Julia rapped on the door with her knuckles and heard the sound echo down the stairwell. She waited for what seemed five minutes, and was about to turn and leave when the door was abruptly pulled open.

  She found herself being scrutinised by a tall dark-haired woman. Her eyes were underlined with thick lines of kohl, giving her a hard feline appearance
. The woman’s gaze travelled briskly from her head to her feet and swept back up again, blatantly sizing her up. Julia felt as though she was standing naked under this critical appraisal, and straightened her spine defensively. The woman gave her a withering look.

  ‘No. Thank you for coming.’

  The door was slammed back into place with a bang that reverberated in the hallway and down the staircase.

  Stunned, Julia stared at the solid steel in front of her. Swearing, she shook her head in disbelief. Gritting her teeth, she banged on the door with her fist. They could damn well watch her dance before telling her she wasn’t good enough. She banged harder, pounding at the metal till her knuckles were stinging.

  She nearly fell forward into the room when the woman opened it again. This time, she was wearing a sardonic smile, and stood aside to let Julia enter.

  ‘Okay, better,’ she declared, motioning Julia forward. ‘Much better.’

  Inside was a vast, chilly space, empty but for a table and chair in the centre of the room. The floor was dusty concrete, the walls were unpainted plaster. Julia’s steps echoed as she entered. Obviously, this was not a particularly successful company. There were no posters on the wall, no sign of any schedules or activity. Nothing, in fact, but flat grey stone. Light crept in from cracks in the shutters, which had been pulled shut over the high windows. Julia stood uncertainly in the room, feeling a shiver dance down her spine. Now she was the other side of the armoured door she was having second thoughts about whether she wanted to be locked in here. The woman was walking round a corner into a darkened passageway, leaving Julia alone in the silent room.

  ‘The ringmaster will be with you shortly.’ She tossed the remark over her shoulder as she disappeared. Julia recognised the voice – deep, scratchy and tinged with an accent. It was the same voice that had purred ‘If you’re looking for adventure . . .’ on the answer phone message. It added a hint of exoticism to the words, the woman’s accent rolling the r of ringmaster, putting the emphasis on the word ‘master’ as though he was some kind of sadistic Svengali, whipping the circus into shape with a mixture of cruelty and indulgence.

  Julia was looking forward to meeting him.

  When she first saw Robert, she was taken aback. The first thing that struck her was how young he was. She’d expected a kind of father figure, fifty or sixty, imposing, silver-haired. Possibly wearing a top hat. Robert was mid-thirties, tall, laconic and handsome in an intense unsettling way. Dressed in a crumpled white shirt and jeans, he could have passed for a slightly jaded rock star. He introduced himself with a handshake, smiling lazily and meeting Julia’s gaze with intensely dark eyes. His hair was tousled and he was unshaven – in general he had the air of someone who’d recently risen from bed. He moved with an easy confidence, walking slowly to the chair and pulling it round backwards to straddle it. He sat with his arms crossed loosely over the back and scratched his stubble.

  ‘So let me see what you can do,’ he said lazily, fixing Julia with a curious heavy-lidded stare. Nonplussed by his languorous attitude, but determined not to show it, Julia dropped her bag on the floor and took off her jacket.

  ‘It’s great so far. I like you undressing.’ Robert’s voice was calm, with a teasing lilt in it. ‘Keep going.’

  Julia was thrown off balance. Was this a joke? She wasn’t shy about her body, but she hadn’t anticipated her interviewer asking her to strip. She wasn’t quite that desperate for money.

  Nevertheless, something in Robert’s voice had challenged her, and Julia loved a challenge. Standing straight-backed and proud, she met his gaze and answered steadily: ‘Are you looking for a professional dancer, or a stripper?’

  Robert laughed, a low sexy laugh that Julia felt tickle her inside. He shrugged.

  ‘It’s up to you, babe. If you want to join us, you’d better not have any false modesty. We work as a very close team.’

  ‘You mean you want me to forget about the professional dance angle?’

  ‘Not at all, not at all. Circus Excite is unconventional, sure. But we’re totally professional. Our show is designed very precisely, even though it looks kind of unpredictable to the audience.’ Julia raised an eyebrow. She was intrigued by the sound of this, although something made her wary. Robert continued, standing up and approaching Julia as he talked. ‘We try to open the minds of the audience, more than merely “entertain” them.’ His voice had turned as smooth as honey, and he leant close to her as though he were telling Julia an intimate secret. She had to steady herself not to back away from him. He reached out a hand to her hair, as though to brush a strand from her eyes. ‘Sometimes the most effective way to entrance people is . . .’ He pulled a feather from behind her ear, a curling white plume that Julia knew was definitely not there when she’d tied it back that morning. ‘. . . to surprise them.’ Robert placed the tip of the feather at Julia’s neck, and traced a line across her chest, down between her breasts, and towards her belly. She felt the light tickling touch of the feather fluttering over her body and her breath started to quicken. Her nipples stiffened under her loose T-shirt. Was this a test to see if she’d storm out in disgust? Was he going to start fondling her now, in the interests of demonstrating how ‘open-minded’ he was? Julia wasn’t sure if she was happy with the way the audition was going, and wasn’t sure how to react. She stood stock-still, frozen with uncertainty and trying to stay looking calm, but there was nothing she could do about the way her nipples stuck out proudly.

  ‘Cold?’ Robert asked, casting a glance at her breasts. He smiled again. ‘It is a little chilly in here.’ He dropped the feather at her feet, and walked back to the chair.

  Turned on, shivering and disturbed, Julia felt a rush of adrenaline. As Robert seated himself again, she decided to play him at his own game. She was not easily shockable. In one movement, she pulled off her T-shirt. Underneath she was wearing a black sports bra, made with lycra netting. It held her breasts firmly in place while she danced, and was cut more like a cropped vest than seductive underwear. She removed her shoes and socks. Dancing barefoot was the way she preferred: it gave her a sense of freedom that she relished. Though her feet were tough and calloused, hardened after years of pointe shoes, they were also extraordinarily sensitive, able to feel the resistance of the floor and the minute shifts in weight that she needed to balance. Now, she felt the hard, cold surface of the concrete underfoot and realised this was her first chance to audition for a professional job. She had to make it good.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she peeled off her leggings too. Her knickers were sporty black thongs, cut high to accentuate her legs and firm buttocks. She glanced at Robert to see his response. His face remained impassive, as though he were looking at a painting in an art gallery. Slightly annoyed by his cool demeanour, Julia decided to perform a sequence she’d adapted from a Chicago number. It was the sexiest dance she could think of. May as well let your hair down, she thought to herself. She undid the clasp holding her hair back and shook out her curls. The tips of her black hair brushed against her nipples, which were still sticking out proudly.

  She stood in front of Robert and inhaled, standing in first position to centre herself. She hadn’t warmed up properly, and there was no music. This was certainly going to be a challenge. In her head, she conjured up the opening bars to a tango rhythm. Closing her eyes till she could concentrate on the beat, Julia started moving. She swept across the floor in a ‘cat walk’, aware all the time that Robert’s eyes were following her. Rolling her shoulder and flicking her head, Julia looked straight at him. He was frowning slightly, his gaze fixed on her body. She felt suddenly weightless – the austerity of the space and the cold concrete floor now felt like a stripped-down, pure environment where she could vaunt her skills freely. Then she gave in to the dancing, forcing herself to concentrate.

  She ran through her routine slowly, her movements fluid and sustained, hips swivelling and legs kicking high as she turned and spun. As her body warmed up she felt the fam
iliar buzz of adrenaline enter her bloodstream mixed with a charge of sexual energy, dancing for this stranger, alone in a silent room. She executed switch leaps and grands jetés – the splits mid-air – with expert precision, breaking sweat and starting to breathe heavily.

  Robert watched impassively, his arms crossed. Julia jumped higher, shimmied harder. No reaction, other than a faint smile. She was worked up now, flushed and letting out grunts of effort as she leapt and curled across the room, pounding her feet against the floor and slapping her ass to keep time, gathering dust on the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. She moved closer to him, determined to elicit a response. When she was standing close enough to reach out and touch him, she turned her back, and reached up to undo her bra. As it fell to the floor, she felt a pulse of excitement flow through her body, flooding her with warmth. She knew she was sexy, and knew how to turn a man on. Robert couldn’t fail to be aroused.

  Holding her breasts cupped in her hands Julia turned to face him, shaking slightly with exertion and arousal. Her chest rose and fell as her breath came in ragged bursts. She looked up, her hair in front of her face. Robert was watching her, his chin in his hand. What was he thinking? Was she having any effect on him at all?

  She let her hands fall to her sides as she stood in front of him, breathing shakily through an open mouth. She watched as his eyes dropped to her breasts and studied them. It was as though he was caressing her. Julia had to stop herself from walking the short distance between them. She wanted his hands on her, his mouth on her breasts. She imagined the feel of his stubble brushing over her skin, and his long fingers holding onto her hips. Most of all she wanted to see him shaken by desire, to see his calm amused expression shattered and see him lick his lips, blush, clear his throat – Jesus, anything!