The Ballad of Millissa McGurk

by Prospero Lane

      The music stream rasped the rhythms of Reggae as Millissa McGurk moved across the beach club’s dance floor, her carefully sculpted shape straining against her white minikini. She swayed with her sexy-walk attachment like an electronic Marilyn Monroe, needing only a simulated subway grate.
      Here was Millissa the fun-giver. Millissa who would dominate the dance floor, the Queen-of-the-Prom. The girl who would shed her top and maybe the rest and dance naked and anatomically correct. Millissa with the custom-made shape: the big boobs and JLo ass, the long legs and full lips. She had the expensive wardrobe, hair selection and skin collection, jewelry and the fancy house with the L$12,000 top-of-the-line SexGen bed.
      Chat bubbles blipped. “Hey Millissa.” “Hi Sexy.” She was greeted by dancers, the club owner and Corky, the table dancer. Millissa seemed to smile at the greetings, the popularity, the raw sexual energy her arrival seemed to generate.
       “Hey Millissa,” IMed her friend, Trixie, her short brunette hair a counter-point to Millissa’s shoulder-length blonde flexi-tresses. “You look so cool!!!!!!!.”
      “So do you! Is Vinni coming back?” Millissa answered.
      “Vinni should be back later. Ceria and Parke will be here, too. Enough for a party. And there’s Corky, just for you.” Trixie messaged, the cattiness coming through.
      Millissa’s aggressive pursuit of the slim blond in her modest bikini was a bit of joke in the group, so opposite were the two women—Millissa blatantly sexual and Corky demurely sensual. Corky stayed on the table, and in her bikini, all night. Millissa stayed on the dance floor, and usually out of her clothes, all night. Millissa was cheerfully promiscuous; Corky was unapproachable, cool and sometimes icy. Millissa was Paris Hilton; Corky was Gwyneth Paltrow. Millissa never understood why, by the end of the evening, most of the crowd had gravitated toward Corky, leaving Millissa with one