Orchid

A fictional essay, crudely reviewing my take on surgical modifications within the sex industry.

*

He was not in a habit of frequenting these places; he felt they lacked the style and class with which he would prefer their service be presented with. Of course, a more tangible reason for him not to visit these places was that he was married, and wanted to remain so.

Not even his wife would object to him being where he was during a younger co-worker's bachelor party, though. So there he was.

The younger men obviously enjoyed the place and its scenery. He, himself, couldn't help but think of what it could be like, and that made it so very difficult to enjoy what it was like.

The topless waitresses could have had breasts with natural curves, they could have had natural lips giving them each an individual and personal smile, they could have had noses that looked different from one anothers, some crooked, some straight and some maybe even large.

They could have looked like young practically nude women, each easy to tell from the others. Sensual and lively.

The beer was good though, and the party he belonged to was lively. So he tried to ignore what it was like and what it wasn't like, doing his best to enjoy that his company was having fun.

Beer, whiskey, vodka, they do have an effect on how things affect us. The live shows began. He watched them with only a fraction of his attention, turning his head every time one of his co-workers made a joke.

He was getting accustomed to the strange gravity defying roundness of the women's breasts, it no longer bothered him so much. After all, it was their own bodies, their own choices, their own right to make those choices. He would never be touching any of those balloonic curves, and at home waited the curved pair of breasts which were perfect for him.

At closer look, maybe many of those noses and lips were natural after all, maybe the homogenous appearances were a matter of coincidence or simply a very particulate taste of the one hiring the girls.

His smile grew more natural when rum added to the mix of alcohol already within, and, just exactly at that moment, the speakers proudly presented:

"Orchid."

The lights faded considerably, and he swung his full attention to the young beauty walking onto the stage.

'Orchid', he couldn't have thought of a more sensuously suggestive name for an erotic dancer. The name had too much class to call the process: striptease, and the young woman's movements could have been the definition of sensual.

He forgot the loud party, and focused his full drunken gaze on her movements. As she slowly danced, equally tauntingly slowly removing pieces of cloth, he could truly envision her role as an orchid.

An orchid slowly unfolding its petals to reveal to him the full complexity of its intricate beauty.

His glass of rum was forgotten still in his hand. As he was hypnotised by the promise of her dance. Such erotic perfection, such a build, a tension of perfection. Forgotten for a few moments was also what waited at home, to give room to the experience of seeing this flower open to him.

Her skin bared, more and more. Her curves, moving and alive, so feminine so thrilling. With a nearly supernatural understanding for erotica it seemed, the young body revealed ever more of itself till finally it was time. The orchid would unfold fully, it's last petal was ready to open.

He nearly held his breath with anticipation, he was in the perfect spot to see. From where he sat he would have the perfect view when Orchid would finally reveal her 'orchid'.

And then the moment came, as the young woman spread her fit legs to reveal...

He stared in disbelief. He even blinked to clear his eyes, in order to understand what he was being shown.

She was naked, and she was a woman, that much he had to admit. But what was revealed before him was no orchid. No complex flower awakening his lust. He felt nauseous. Before him lay a woman whose spread vagina looked like it had not gone through puberty with the rest of her body.

The inner labia had been cut to perfect symmetry and a size that made them practically unnoticeable. Her outer labia were perfectly shaved, or waxed, and bulked out smoothly and curvelessly, held firm as a baby's with silikone, or whatever the industry pumped into young women's bodies these days.

The edges of his mouth twisted, while the woman changed positions to allow everyone a good view before heading off stage.

Without a word of explanation, he got up and went to the toilet.

Over the next many weeks, his co-workers made a couple of snide, yet not unfriendly, comments regarding his 'cozy private time' at that bachelor party. They had come to the conclusion that he had enjoyed the show just a bit too much.

He never corrected their misinterpretation regarding the time he had spent alone at the toilet after Orchid's show, never revealed that it was his stomach (not his balls) that he had emptied in that toilet stall.