I’m killing strippers in GTA. They let me. I think they want me to kill them. That’s all they exist for. I stare at them for a bit, I might touch myself. I definitely will.

Whilst I touch myself I wonder if they are modelled on real people. Like If someone stood there and this lucky fucking guy just got to stare at them whilst drawing. In reality he was just staring, but the way their body looked became so ingrained in his mind, he tattooed it on his eyelids. He then clocked into work the next day and was able to recreate them perfectly, down to the ingrown hairs on their bikini lines.

Whilst I touch myself my mind drifts - she does a right hook around the pole. I think of the girl I saw in the supermarket on that one hot day. She wasn’t a stripper, I don’t think. She had a vest and shorts on. She hadn’t shaved her armpits or legs in a few days and I could see black spikes erupting from her skin. She was eating an ice cream in the queue, I wonder if she had paid for it. She didn't look at me once, instead looking at the ice cream, even when it was in her mouth. She was sweaty and smelt a bit.

I don’t actually know if she smelt. I was in the queue and she was at the checkout, but I feel like she did. In a bad way. I like it when girls smell - in a bad way.

The strippers probably smell nice, they’re paid to. I think that’s why I hate them. Covered in bath and body works lotions and oud and glitter mists and hair perfumes and serums and men's deodorant (as that’s always stronger than women’s). I wonder if men like it when strippers smell like mens deodorant. If whilst they have a pair of double D’s shaking in their face, they catch a whiff of Sure Men's 72 hour powder fresh.

One man can smell the stripper, he’s reminded of that one time in February after football coaching. He got stuck in the changing rooms with Seth, who had been his best friend since he was six. That stupid faggot teacher had locked them in by accident because Seth couldn’t find his left boot after he got changed (his mum would fucking kill him which would mean he couldn’t come to the mans house that weekend to have a sleepover). They jumped and yelled for 2 hours. No one came. It was cold and dark. Yet, they found an eternity in that cobweb and sweat soaked room. Seth told him how he had asked out Angela-Leigh that day, she said yes. They both laughed. She was kind of nice to look at and had been in love with Seth since September 2003. Angela-Leigh was known to put out easily but Seth needed a date for the prom and he kinda wanted to graduate without taking his virginity with him. This would ruin her life for a few years but he didn’t mind, it kept him busy. Seth always showered after practice, he got really sweaty. He lathered himself in Sure 72 hour Powder Fresh and Lynx Africa. A few more hours passed. The man can’t really remember how but they kissed. One thing led to another and Seth had his penis deep inside the man's arsehole. They never had their sleepover that weekend.

Since then the man has never been able to be fully aroused. But when he smelt that stripper's armpit as she shook 200cc worth of implants in his face, he nearly cut her throat. He leans forward and whispers ‘Stupid fucking bitch trying to get more money out of me. Fuck this place. You try and come near me again and i’ll fucking cut you.’

I finish softly into a towel and pick the controller back up.

I kill the strippers. I don’t even remember how. I do it most days. They won’t be missed.

Sometimes I wonder how they became strippers. Are they anything else?

I wonder if my mother was a stripper in GTA.

I’d still kill her.

She would dance on the podium, in a red bikini. You can see the caesarean scar just above her bottoms. She moves slowly. A man watches and rearranges himself. I watch them both.

A weird moment of serenity occurs. As the man imagines her without her bikini on, I imagine her fully clothed. This seems more perverse. It doesn’t humanise her, purify her or dignify her. She looks dreadful in all 3 modes. I move my right hand slowly toward her and start walking. She stops dancing, and asks me if I want to go somewhere more private. She doesn’t recognise me. It reminds me of her pulling me aside during the school dance to tell me that I need to stop eating all of the Doritos at the table, because the other kids need to try some and I'll make myself sick. Fucking cunt. As she asks me this, I pull out my gun and shoot her. Her bloodied head now matches the red of her bikini.

I can hear her previous voyeur screaming and yelling at me. Is this my dad? Is this the only way he can see her now, whilst she works? His voice sounds like my dad but it’s been so long I can hardly remember. I think I’ve made his voice up, but it vertebrates nonetheless. As the blood runs down her face and across the sticky floor of the club, I think she looks the most beautiful she has ever looked. Still and serene, wet and cold.

 I’m doing everyone a favour.