Manifest Destiny

After a quick shower, Dolly squeezed into her uniform—black stockings, impossibly high stiletto heels, miniskirt, and embroidered corset. The shoes added to her already considerable height; she was six feet two inches tall when she wore them.

Her thoughts drifted back to the dream hotel with its beautiful rooms. Too bad we don’t have a regular gig with a five-star hotel, she thought. It’d be nice to have a classy place to work from. Oh, well. Three stars is good enough. Better than working the streets every night.

She finished her makeup and hair quickly, then reached for a small crystal decanter of perfume. Lifting the delicately cut stopper, she dabbed multiple areas of her skin with it. Neck, wrists, breasts, knees, and ankles. Dolly luxuriated in the scent. It was real perfume, blended especially for her, and had cost three months’ pay. It was worth the money. The perfume lasted all night and the scent was gorgeous. Johns were always telling her how much they loved the way she smelled.

Stepping back, Dolly took one last look in the mirror. Her makeup was heavy, her white blond hair smooth and shining, jewelry gaudy and noisy. She looked like a whore. Perfect.

Slinging a beaded purse over one shoulder, Dolly checked to make sure it held her phone and enough condoms, tucked in a handful of bills to make change in case of cash payments, and counted one lipstick, one pack of breath mints, dental floss, and three douches in the bottom. She slid a small knife into a hidden seam on the corset, grabbed her keys, and walked out.