Power Play | PJM 🔞

2| Sinful

When I wake up the next morning, my phone is blowing up with messages from the website. However, having early classes forbids me from looking and it's only during lunch time that I finally get a breather and open my messages, hidden around a corner of the locker room.

A guy named RM demands me to call him Daddy while another, Justin Seagull sends me a picture of his dungeon-like bedroom with chains dangling from the ceiling. One named Suga says he will pay me to spend the night with him and let him do whatever he wants with me. For a second, I'm almost tempted to ask what he's willing to pay, then sigh, realizing answering could be the worst possible thing to do.

I had my fun last night creating a profile and swiping, but in the light of day, this just seems like one of those useless attempts to get out of the confinements of my everyday routine. Useless and dangerous, to be precise. This is a big city, and I'm not willing to risk getting kidnapped for a few hours of fun, however liberating they might be.

I'm about to delete my profile and forget about it when Christian Chim texts me.

Christian Chim: You're a dancer

The words glow on my screen and I whip my head around, feeling my heart beating in my throat. I'm almost certain I'll find an old man staring at me from a further alley, but no, I'm completely alone. My fingers tremble when I type back.

Me: How do you know??

Christian Chim: Easy, just the way you point your toes on your picture you can clearly see it. You're a ballerina, right?

My mouth hangs out open. I'm literally sitting in the locker room of my dance school in my leotards and tights. There is no way this guy isn't spying on me through my phone camera or isn't some creep from one of my classes.

Me: Who are you? How do you know me?

My heart hammers against my ribcage as I check my profile picture to see if someone can tell that I'm a dancer just from my posture. The photo was taken a few weeks ago in front of a fountain. I'm smiling, face upturned and shoulders relaxed, one hand leaning over the water like I'm trying to touch it, toes pointed behind me to keep my balance.

I guess you can kind of tell that I'm a dancer... maybe I'm just being paranoid.

Christian Chim: I can tell because I was a dancer too.

I scoff. I spend all my time with dancers, and the ones I know definitely aren't the best company. All of them are body-obsessed narcissists with a God complex. I include myself in that equation, of course; eight hours of dancing a day judged by professors wrecks your mind in curious ways.

Me: What kind of dance?

Christian Chim: Contemporary

Me: I like ballet better, obviously
But contemporary is close second.
Why don't you dance anymore?

Christian Chim: I got injured. Broke my knee.

Me: I'm really sorry.

Christian Chim: It's not your fault I fell.

I stare at his message, not knowing what to answer. As a dancer, getting hurt is probably one of the worst things that can happen to you and I feel weirdly empathetic even though I don't know this guy at all, and he totally might be lying.

Christian Chim: Anyway, what are you doing on this website?

Me: Distracting myself.