She walks up the stairs. Her hair high up in a bun and her face half-covered by an oversized scarf. A burgundy coat hides her petite figure. The backpack she carries almost makes her look like a schoolgirl. But she is 27 years old.
The grey staircase looks dull and smells like stale water. Barely any light shines through the windows.
Her cheeks turn red from climbing to the third floor and sweat pearls off her forehead. A smile rushes over her face while she takes out the keys to the door in front of her. She takes a deep breath, shakes her hair loose, and loses her smile. The door cracks open.
Warm light creeps into the hallway. She opens her coat and steps inside. Black walls and a shiny floor greet her. The glass ceiling showers her in daylight.
She leaves her coat in the first room. Then moving to the next where quiet chatter lets her know she is not alone today. Her girlfriends sit around all dressed up sharing their latest experiences. She smiles at them with her bare face. A cup of coffee is all she needs for now. The hot cup in one hand and her backpack in the other, she walks into the dressing room.
She has to transform herself into them. So, she sheds her everyday clothes. Naked in front of the mirror, she pulls out a transparent plastic bag. The peacock colored rubber sticks to the bag. She takes out the shined catsuit and slips in effortlessly.
Once hugged by the tight latex, she begins to feel her confidence. The little schoolgirl was left at the door, now she is coming out to play. Reaching her desired state of mind, she carefully applies her makeup. Silver shimmer on her eyelids and a dark red lip underline her sacrosanctity. Nobody can touch her, inside or out.
The fake eyelashes enhance the femininity she loves to display. She sits down to put on the plateau over-knees, which elevate her to heights greater than most men.
She admires the queen in the mirror. One more thing is missing to bring her out in full. She opens the jewel case holding her most precious prop. The black metal cools her right middle finger. With her eyes closed, she clenches her fist. Delicate spikes of the crown prick her skin. The pain ignites her fire and she steps out of the room to take on what makes her feel alive.
Photo provided by Sasha Nadelyaeva on Unsplash