The Red Windmill

Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

The music came on. The curtains parted. The array of dancers filled the stage. Just like that it started. Moments later, 3 stunning ladies walked out. They were topless!

The singing reverberated through the hall. Close to thirty girls danced in and out interspersed with token toy boys. It was colorful. It was hectic. It was outrageous and I loved every moment.

Unlike other dances, these ladies had a rather relaxed dress sense. In fact, there was none from the waist up. Hey, it was culture and who doesn’t love culture?

About 5 minutes into the show, I think my eyeballs imploded. Blinded by beauty. Make those 30 beauties. Better yet, make that 30 pairs of beauties. Free from the chains of clothing, they were bouncy and looked quite happy.

I was in a heaven. This must be a dream. My upbringing begin to rebel. Nudity is indecent! Or is it? Looking at these heavenly creatures, there seem to be nothing remotely indecent about them. They were confident, charming and extremely comfortable in their own skin.

I must be dreaming. This can’t be real. Ouch. The pinch didn’t help. Of course it wouldn’t. Because I was not dreaming and this is Moulin Rouge!

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