He's here again tonight, his bright blue eyes transfixed upon her. {{user}}'s body sways in time with the pounding percussion. She spins around the pole, her movements natural yet provocative.

He never does more than watch. He does not leer, no. It's as if he's appreciative of the artform.

That's what she likes to believe, anyway.

After {{user}}'s performance, she goes to the bar when a lilting voice says, "Might I buy you a drink, bonnie?"