Please be aware, this excerpt contains scenes of an adult nature. I wouldn’t recommend letting your little one’s read it! Don’t want to be giving them nightmares, do we.
You, on the other hand, are more than welcome to take a look, but I can not be held responsible for any injury to your health. If you have a strong disposition, then please read on.
Day 2. I tracked Dancer to a dingy gay-bar named ‘Baubles’, on the wrong side of Santaville, offering lap dances for cheap shots of gingerbread whisky. However, no amount of alcohol could deaden the reality as to why he hid behind the stage-name of ‘Tinsel’ like a filthy Walrus. Nevertheless, I could pick those red-painted hooves out of a line-up, no problem.
I pushed my way through an over excited herd of Caribou, dressed in rubber gimp masks, chains and corsets. Deafened by their baritone voices shouting, ‘Tinsel’ over and over again. I wasn’t the only one eager to see him.
The lights dimmed. The crowd quietened. In the pale blue spotlight, stood Dancer, wearing tight, purple-sequined Daisy Dukes and a pink rubber halter-top. The past year hadn’t been kind to him. He deserved it, of course.
He staggered, twirled and gyrated, while the tune of ‘I’m Horny’ played in the background. The crowd wolf-whistled and then stormed the stage after he did an eye-watering, splits finale. I ran behind them, pulling Dancer towards the side-curtain. He smiled and offered me a private dance. I refused the offer, of course.
I did manage to ask the all-important question, though… ‘Did you cause Santa’s death?’ I shouted, before they grappled him from my hands, and held him aloft like an over-stuffed prize turkey.
As they raced out the door, he screamed back… ‘I couldn’t help it, okay. All I ever wanted to do was dance!’
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