Hathor

I lift my glass and sit on the handsome man's lap, peeling back my dress to reveal the bare skin of my thigh. I see him blush as I press myself against his chest, whispering my words into the microphone. Around me, the other audience members clap and whistle playfully, enjoying the sight of me shimmying in my alluring outfit under my stage name: Auraq. I stand up and place a foot between his thighs to climb onto the table. With the end of my foot, I push aside a glass, clattering plates and cutlery as I strut among the guests who stare at me with warmth, fascination and even amused grins. But this is just the start of my show, a little appetizer. The melody played by lutes and tambourins quickens and grows louder. By the end of my show, there will be intoxication and jubilation!

I hold out my hand, and Hathor appears by my side to take it. With a little push, I spin her around barefoot on the table. Finishing her graceful twirl in a whirlwind of frills and skirts, she pauses to face me, then gives a small curtsey. I strike the same pose, waiting to see what dance she'll choose. A waltz? The Charleston? A tango? Maybe the rumba? Aha, of course – flamenco. The musicians swap their timpani for cajon drums and their lutes for guitars. I clap my hands to establish the beat that Hathor will dance to. Then as she starts, I stamp my foot, encouraging everyone to join in beating out the rhythm of the flamenco dance. ¡Venga! ¡Eso es! ¡Así se baila! Hathor is carried along by the feverish rhythm of the music. ¡Arsa! ¡Toma que toma! Her feet drum on the ground and transform into hooves. Wonderful! Let the duende wash over you!