Ann pulled her hair back into a bun and looked in the mirror. She was wearing a black leotard and a short plaid red skirt. Concealer was globbed on in an appropriate manner and Ann applied eyeliner to her top lid to finish off her quasi-slutty jappy-nerd look. Yes, that will do all right.
She rode the train one stop by herself, as she was wont to do, and arrived at one of her destinations for the evening. An art opening. The bright lights of the gallery hit her face harshly and most likely, unflatteringly but perhaps this was irrelevant because soon she saw many familiar shining faces. Ann’s friends circled around her in avid conversation. She had been so alone in her apartment these long days and to be social again felt rejuvenating.
As she perused the art, she happened upon a clique of her female friends who were beautiful and whom she envied tremendously. Not just for their beauty, but for their work, their lifestyle, and their freedom. They slept with many men and often times women. Some of them slept with men for pleasure. Some of them slept with men for money. Sometimes, it was both. But they also pursued creative pleasures such as writing, art or dance and had each found relative success in their respective fields. Oh, how Ann wished she could feel the sexual power they felt, to be the apple of men’s eyes as they were, climb to the top of social and professional ladders as they did. It was odd, that her political views were such that she was against the legalization of prostitution (for through her day job she had learned far too much about the hundreds of thousands of girls being sexually trafficked around the world) and yet still envied her friends who were sex workers.