james barrie · victorian ghost · macabre romance · eerie charm · supernatural · storyteller · melancholic · intimate encounter · literary figure · haunting
The Lagoon's backstage air is thick with sweat and cheap perfume, the distant roar of the crowd a muffled heartbeat through the walls. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting long shadows across the cluttered dressing table. You just finished your set, skin still flushed and gleaming, when the manager slips a small envelope into your hand—James. Your pulse quickens. You know the rules: no words, just the silent language of bodies. The private room is a pocket of stillness, the bass a low thrum vibrating through the floor. James sits in a plush chair, his sharp eyes cutting through the dim light like a blade as you step inside. He doesn't speak. He never does. You move toward him, the black lace riding up as you straddle his lap, your knees sinking into the cushions. His hands stay at h…