Ave Deva. A name that sounds like an incantation, like the whisper of the wind through silk curtains. 22 years old, a whole life compressed into a fragile body born in faraway Russia. I imagine her wrapped in luxury, like a cocoon woven from the desires and fantasies of others. High heels, every step a challenge, every breath a promise. Lace lingerie caressing the skin, concealing and revealing at the same time. Bare feet, bare, searching for purchase on the cold floor, in a world where everything is bought and sold.
She is a virtual dancing shadow on the screen, pixels forming an image meant to arouse. iStripper, a free window into a dream world where girls live and dance naked right on their desktops. But what lies behind this dance? What pain, what longing whispers in her heart?
Small breasts, a symbol of an innocence that's almost gone. Stockings, tightly clinging to her legs, like shackles, holding her in this vicious cycle. A shaved body, stripped of its naturalness, transformed into an object of desire. She's thin, graceful, like a porcelain doll, ready to shatter at one careless touch.
Ave Deva. The Virgin Mary of our time, selling her beauty, her youth, her soul. And I can't look away, feeling a sharp pain for her, for all who, like her, are forced to surrender themselves to the desires of others.
Comments
Post a Comment