How I Became Lotus Raine...the Porn Star Read Online Free

word didn’t exist in my vocabulary.
    I didn’t go straight home after work that day. I knew my packed bag would be sitting next to the front door to further disappointment me. I wasn’t ready to face my reality right then. I made my way over to the studio instead, knowing there would be an open room for me to de-stress myself out in. The pole was slick, and shiny, calling out to me like a siren in the night as I pressed my hand against it, and gripped the smooth metal. I held on tightly, allowing my body to fall to the side as I swung around a few times, letting the movement clear my mind.
    My instructor, Miss Mikal, had been begging me to start teaching classes with her. She always praised me at being such a natural. Little did she know it was in my DNA.
    I had gotten into pole dancing shortly after moving to Denver. A few girls from work were into it and invited me to join. I had no clue what their exercise classes involved when I had agreed, but the first time I walked through the door to Mikal’s Inc., a surge of thrill and terror swept through me. It was something I had always desired to try, but my reservations kept me from pursuing. It took me a while, and my best friend to get it through my head that taking classes that revolved around a pole, didn’t parallel me to a stripper. It also took me awhile to convince my own self that my motives were in retrospect, pure. I didn’t dance on the pole for attention or to use it as a form of seduction or income. I was drawn to the pole based off the pure sport and beauty it was able to create. How that was created, was solely determined based off the legs that wrapped around it, and the intentions looming between them.
    A couple hours later, I made my way home, tripping over the bag I had left near the door. I cursed its existence as I kicked it across my living room. No, it didn’t make me feel better. But it still felt good and that counted for something. I ate, showered, went to bed and prepared to do the same thing the next day.
    Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Story of my life.
    I didn’t get overly dressed Friday morning, but I did put a good thirty minutes into my routine. My normal routine was basically throw on whatever was cute, yet comfortable. My hair would mainly get tossed up for work purposes. It’d always get in the way when I actually kept it down. Sometimes I’d wear make-up, but not much. And not often. That morning, I focused on my eyes, wanting them to pop. Even though my mother insisted my body was my best feature, I knew it was my green eyes that I got from my dad. With the whole saying ‘the eyes are the windows to your soul,’ I was more than relieved to be sharing the same window with my dad.
    I opened my bathroom drawer filled to the brim with makeup. My best friend kept me supplied, in hopes I’d one day put it all to use. Or put stock into MAC, not sure which. She had given me some mascara that she swore on her dead cat Gigi would put fake lashes to shame. So, I figured I’d give it a whirl. Not that I was trying to impress any random new guy at work that day by doing so.
    Twenty minutes, ten Q-Tips, and two instructional YouTube videos later, I had eyelashes that made my eyes look bigger than headlights. I didn’t think all the hard work it took was going to be worth it, but after careful inspection and inner conversations between my self-confidence and self-doubt, I came to the conclusion that I could get used to them.
    I got more looks than normal as I walked to my office. The glances only made me walk faster than I already was. I didn’t understand it. To me, I didn’t look much different. All I had on was a pair of skinny jeans, a fitted Chicago Bulls tee and my Jordan’s. I was a tomboy. Always had been. When I got older, I figured out it was my way of keeping attention away from me. My own personal repellent mechanism. If I wasn’t anything to really look at, I didn’t have to worry about certain guys trying to mess with me. I had