Story Title: The Sinners (+19)
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Music blared from musical equipment mounted on the back of the flatbed as it rolled slowly behind a dancing crew dressed in red and white; the men in tight T-shirts and flared trousers and the women in sleeveless tank tops with skimpy skirts.
The women danced and wiggled their waist to a popular tune by a Nigerian musician, whilst the men performed intricate, synchronized acrobatic stunts that elicited stunned gasps and cheers from the audience. In one instant they built a ten-man pyramid, after which the man at the apex, did a back flip with a mid-air twist before landing catlike on his haunches.
Following closely behind the acrobatic bunch were a troupe of full figured women dressed in colorful carnival costumes that left little to the imagination, their bodies swayed to the rhythm of the drums, their waist gyrating sensually as they moved their sweat glistened bodies to the delight of the onlookers, many of whom had cameras trained on them. The lead dancer was the main attraction, a buxom woman, garbed in a bejeweled lemon green bra; that was only managing to keep her massive breast in place, a diamond crusted link ran the length of her cleavage to her navel, where it continued in an arc around her curvy hips to join the crusted helm of her scant bejeweled G-string, around her upper thighs were tied ribbons the same colors of her ensemble. On her head was a crown of feathers also in lemon green, spiked with tall, grey, straight feathers. Her glorious crown continued down both shoulders in a cascade of lemon green, white and grey feathers that flowed to her ankle. Her feet were also clad in diamond crusted stilettos. She moved effortlessly with the grace of a prancing cat, the sun reflecting off of her many jewels and her oiled bronze body, causing her to radiate in the afternoon light; each step deliberate and sensual. A human peacock.
In the distant men draped in riding gears and helmets mounting varying degrees of machines from choppers of all kinds, to power bikes and ATVs made up the rear, the sound of their engines renting the air; the air heavy with the acrid smell of its fume. In the middle of the crew that looked like a biker gang, dirt bikes and power bikes were preforming wheelies, burnout, circle and 12 o’clock, in the space other bikers had created, to the delight of the teeming crowd. They gasped when one of the bikers lost control and fell off his huge beast of a bike; there was a moment of silence when only the idling sound of the many bikes could be heard, then the biker was up on his feet like nothing had happened, he walked casually to where his bike was to survey the damage done to it, when he was sure it had not suffered any significant damage, he was back on it performing even more daring stunts to the delight of the spectators and his fellow bikers.