Drop Down Low, Tae
Not posting an official header for this fic, because this is just a trial post. I just want you all's opinion on if I should continue with this. Usually I just post if I want to but..idk...just want to know how you guys feel first.
This is the prologue
I was born with the name Lee Taemin.
The name my mother gave me-the name on my birth certificate- is Lee. Tae. Min. Not a “Jr” in sight. Nothing more, nothing less. Just that.
My name is Lee Taemin, and if you ever spent a while in my neighborhood in Seoul, you’d know I was the best dancer around.
You’d know that, and you would eye me at first, probably in doubt-you’d probably tell me to prove it. But as soon as you saw me break it down, you wouldn’t be able to stop staring. The confident, fluid movement of my body would astound you…and if you thought you were the best dancer ever…well, you would want to erase the self-given title out of your mind completely. You will wither with inadequacy. You will want to be me. You will want that power, that overbearing talent to move every inch of your body like I can-to perfection-and give music its ultimate orgasm. ( You would also know that I would never, EVER be so blunt with words such as “orgasm”)
In essence, you would either admire, hate, or just vaguely know me as “the kid who knows how to move.” The “kid who could give you a run for your money.” Sometimes, the “kid couldn’t stop dancing to save his life.” You want free entertainment? Point to that house on 56th see if I don’t come out there with a jig in my step and a million dollar smile to wow the lot of you.
That kid Tae.
My name is Lee Taemin. I’d always been a self-less, simple character.
My morality hasn’t ever fallen short so much as my funding. Cheap son of a gun. Never too good around crowds unless I was dancing. Could pull any hot noona my way with the skills, but never had the ba-I mean, the guts to do so. Just a regular Joe after the dancing endowment. I also like bananas.
My name is Lee Taemin. I am now 22 years young.
But around in these parts, I’m known as H2-Ahh. Or if you want to be technical, it’s HotHips. Boss just “cleverly” manipulated the scientific name of water to fit mine-tagged “Ahh” on the end to replace the “O” for embellishment, and the “Ahh” must always be emphasized when said vocally, almost like a sensuous sigh. Terrible, but it attracts our customers like bears to a honey jar. And when I’m off the clock, it’s narrowed down to just Hots by the guys. Har-har. Original…really original.
Out in this “fantastic” realm (Los Angeles, disrespectively) I’m known as H2-Ahh. I get reminded all the time that Lee Taemin used to be who I was. That as long as I was member of this low-key business, I’d be known by no other name but H2-Ahh.
My name is H2-Ahh, and I’m still the best dancer around.
You still want entertainment? That won’t be a problem. Just as long as you’re paying for it while 30% of your proceeds go to my boss, you can get your dance. And guess what? Even if it is extra, I could also be turned into the guy of your dreams-just let the agency know which costume I need to strap into. Also let them know how long I will be provided for your pleasure.
My name is H2-Ahh. At every hour possible in the late a.m. I can be surrounded by a crowd of women.
So many for the picking, so much perfume and smoke that intoxicates my senses. Yet I can’t make anything personal with any of them. The thud of the music fills me with passion, and I’m a slave to its rhythmic thudding-I live up to my name. Before I lose myself in that world though, I am immersed in a flood of “magic juice.” Make sure I add a little banana extract to the concoction to take away the bitterness, for old time’s sake; mix the old with the new, ya know?
I’m racking in the cash. My hair and my body? Trimmed, chiseled, and styled to perfection just like my moves. I’m on the slim side, but I see it as an advantage. Unlike the beefy morons who parade around the locker rooms, I can actually get all into the sexy, strenuous dancing our female customers tend to crave. I haven’t joined the “other team (yet, some still snicker) but for now, I’m pretty much concrete-set on being straight, thank you very much. Just because my long, curly hair is silky smooth-unlike theirs-and the designated stylist slaps on some mascara doesn’t mean I’m gay by default. Nor does the fact that I take showers with those Go-Go guys (I’ll explain them later) every night before a gig.
Name’s Hots (unfortunately-how I hate the name), and most times, I’m a heartless bastard.
I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t cry out of homesickness every blue moon. I miss my brother and my parents; I wish I hadn’t decided to go to an expensive college out here and not heed my mother about staying close to kin in Korea. I’m friendly enough on campus. Grades are…getting there. During the light of day, I’m the stone-faced, nonchalant dude whose only ambition is to finish college and get the hell up out of there. It’s not Lee Taemin, nor is it H2-Ahh. Just a bitter third party to say.
Oh, but once I’m in my nocturnal element…you wouldn’t ever guess. As the clothes shed off of my body and the crazed women shove the bills in my direction, I’m H2-Ahh all the way. Husky sweet talk and suggestive demands are who I am. A lip biting animal, a nimble-fingered friend of the button, the zipper, and the lace.
Call me whatever you like, though.
Because it doesn’t matter.
I’m still a stripper.
This is the prologue
I was born with the name Lee Taemin.
The name my mother gave me-the name on my birth certificate- is Lee. Tae. Min. Not a “Jr” in sight. Nothing more, nothing less. Just that.
My name is Lee Taemin, and if you ever spent a while in my neighborhood in Seoul, you’d know I was the best dancer around.
You’d know that, and you would eye me at first, probably in doubt-you’d probably tell me to prove it. But as soon as you saw me break it down, you wouldn’t be able to stop staring. The confident, fluid movement of my body would astound you…and if you thought you were the best dancer ever…well, you would want to erase the self-given title out of your mind completely. You will wither with inadequacy. You will want to be me. You will want that power, that overbearing talent to move every inch of your body like I can-to perfection-and give music its ultimate orgasm. ( You would also know that I would never, EVER be so blunt with words such as “orgasm”)
In essence, you would either admire, hate, or just vaguely know me as “the kid who knows how to move.” The “kid who could give you a run for your money.” Sometimes, the “kid couldn’t stop dancing to save his life.” You want free entertainment? Point to that house on 56th see if I don’t come out there with a jig in my step and a million dollar smile to wow the lot of you.
That kid Tae.
My name is Lee Taemin. I’d always been a self-less, simple character.
My morality hasn’t ever fallen short so much as my funding. Cheap son of a gun. Never too good around crowds unless I was dancing. Could pull any hot noona my way with the skills, but never had the ba-I mean, the guts to do so. Just a regular Joe after the dancing endowment. I also like bananas.
My name is Lee Taemin. I am now 22 years young.
But around in these parts, I’m known as H2-Ahh. Or if you want to be technical, it’s HotHips. Boss just “cleverly” manipulated the scientific name of water to fit mine-tagged “Ahh” on the end to replace the “O” for embellishment, and the “Ahh” must always be emphasized when said vocally, almost like a sensuous sigh. Terrible, but it attracts our customers like bears to a honey jar. And when I’m off the clock, it’s narrowed down to just Hots by the guys. Har-har. Original…really original.
Out in this “fantastic” realm (Los Angeles, disrespectively) I’m known as H2-Ahh. I get reminded all the time that Lee Taemin used to be who I was. That as long as I was member of this low-key business, I’d be known by no other name but H2-Ahh.
My name is H2-Ahh, and I’m still the best dancer around.
You still want entertainment? That won’t be a problem. Just as long as you’re paying for it while 30% of your proceeds go to my boss, you can get your dance. And guess what? Even if it is extra, I could also be turned into the guy of your dreams-just let the agency know which costume I need to strap into. Also let them know how long I will be provided for your pleasure.
My name is H2-Ahh. At every hour possible in the late a.m. I can be surrounded by a crowd of women.
So many for the picking, so much perfume and smoke that intoxicates my senses. Yet I can’t make anything personal with any of them. The thud of the music fills me with passion, and I’m a slave to its rhythmic thudding-I live up to my name. Before I lose myself in that world though, I am immersed in a flood of “magic juice.” Make sure I add a little banana extract to the concoction to take away the bitterness, for old time’s sake; mix the old with the new, ya know?
I’m racking in the cash. My hair and my body? Trimmed, chiseled, and styled to perfection just like my moves. I’m on the slim side, but I see it as an advantage. Unlike the beefy morons who parade around the locker rooms, I can actually get all into the sexy, strenuous dancing our female customers tend to crave. I haven’t joined the “other team (yet, some still snicker) but for now, I’m pretty much concrete-set on being straight, thank you very much. Just because my long, curly hair is silky smooth-unlike theirs-and the designated stylist slaps on some mascara doesn’t mean I’m gay by default. Nor does the fact that I take showers with those Go-Go guys (I’ll explain them later) every night before a gig.
Name’s Hots (unfortunately-how I hate the name), and most times, I’m a heartless bastard.
I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t cry out of homesickness every blue moon. I miss my brother and my parents; I wish I hadn’t decided to go to an expensive college out here and not heed my mother about staying close to kin in Korea. I’m friendly enough on campus. Grades are…getting there. During the light of day, I’m the stone-faced, nonchalant dude whose only ambition is to finish college and get the hell up out of there. It’s not Lee Taemin, nor is it H2-Ahh. Just a bitter third party to say.
Oh, but once I’m in my nocturnal element…you wouldn’t ever guess. As the clothes shed off of my body and the crazed women shove the bills in my direction, I’m H2-Ahh all the way. Husky sweet talk and suggestive demands are who I am. A lip biting animal, a nimble-fingered friend of the button, the zipper, and the lace.
Call me whatever you like, though.
Because it doesn’t matter.
I’m still a stripper.