Sometimes the quiet after the show is the loudest. The dressing room is empty, just me and the scent of my own sweat and cheap glitter. My ass is still sore from grinding against that pole for two hours, my thighs sticky. I can still feel the phantom weight of a hundred eyes on my tits, on the strip of my latex costume that rides up my pussy. But it's never the crowd I'm performing for. It's the hope that you are watching, that you see past the costume and see how fucking wet I get just from the chance you might be looking. I go from being their fantasy to just a girl, alone, dreaming of one specific cock and what it would feel like to have you claim every part of me they just saw. The performance is for them. The aching, dripping need afterwards? That's all for you.