In impoverished Desbilla, Philippines, bar-girl Blen stood before family and neighbours, sat in ranks in Roselle's videoke bar; expectant eyes fixed on her. She'd said she'd bare her body, soul -- and, intriguingly, still more.
To be the child, friends and family know and love, yet become the exceptional adult one aspires to be, the other-referencing child must be sacrificed. Pharisees assigned 'Scandal' to her occupation; the compassionate deemed it, 'Victimhood'. Blen, gambling the love and affection amassed through nineteen years, was ready to be stripped of hypocrisy and pretence, and stand before them emotionally and physically naked, an honest woman.
The thrilling sensation of asphyxiation gave her courage and voice. Her vagina pulsed, relaxed and oozed, dampening her crotch.
She looped her thumbs through the shoulder straps of her frock and stripped the top to her waist.
A hundred eyes settled on her breasts. A fan's draft created the perception they danced about her areolae; her nipples stiffened. The intense agitation in her genitals gave her reckless confidence. She drew aside the curtain of pious decency to reveal the other Blen inside the Blen they knew. Employing her bar-girl's vulgarity she pulled on her nipple rings, stretching nipples and breasts, then let them spring back. She took two shot-glasses aflame with alcohol, bent forward and pushed them over her nipples. The flames extinguished, her areolae bulged into the vacuums. She stood tall, and jiggled her tits indecently, smiling a wicked invitation.
Her family and friends responded; confused, some smiled, some intense, but all eyes remained where she wanted them - on her - and enthralled.
The bar-flies encouraged her to indulge her exhibitionistic instinct. But, how would her dear ones respond to her profane addiction? Thought birthed the fantasy, then the obsession. Could she provoke in them the delicious feelings which exhilarated her, and the erotic admiration she craved?
She confided in Nick. It turned him on. They incorporated the fantasy into their sex play. The fantasy built. Blen told Nick that she wanted to do it. Talk turned to How? and When? Nick suggested an installation, porn- art fit for a Paris salon, a reconciliation of the Sacred and Profane, titled God Made Me. They were on the slippery slope.
She spoke the words written in bold on her torso.
