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The air in the club was heavy, filled with sweat and breath and the echoing thuds of the rhythm and blues beat in the background. The DJ was mixing up tracks and causing all the ladies to hit the dance floor, flashes of Valentino and Chanel catching the dim lighting from the ceiling and the strobe lights that shot through the room like bursts of candy. I was high, I know that much, probably popped an ecstasy or two before heading out for the night, and all I could do was touch myself everywhere. My hair was stringy from the dancing and my skirt had hitched up to God knows where, but I just kept moving, just kept dancing, touching. Feeling alive and loose, ready to explode and hot and bothered. My own fingers on my flesh weren't doing the job. I was going insane.
There are flashes of shit in between the moment I spotted him for the first time and the moment I was against a wall, my leg uncomfortably being pushed higher until my body wasn't even on the ground and I was floating on a mix of nausea and arousal. Everywhere this random Japanese man touched me ignited like a gasoline tank with a cigarette, and I was sure the whole club could hear my moans and desperate pleas for air and completion. Fuck me, take me right here and now against this fucking wall. Panties? No, who wore those on a Saturday night, and why are you talking when you should be inside of me? My head hit the wall, my ankles hooked against each other, and at the moment of entrance, I saw him again. Looking right at me, as though I was a main attraction at a zoo and he were inspecting me through a window. There was glass between us for those few moments, but it was just he and I, eye to eye and body to soul and mind to heart, or maybe it was the drugs and I was dreaming up this beautiful boy staring at me across the room. I know we were hidden, in some hall right past the dance area but not near the bathrooms, but it was like a spotlight was on me in all of my fucking glory.
That was the first time I had ever came in my entire life.
That Monday I had a photo shoot that I was deathly nervous about. Some music magazine, a platinum hit sorta deal that's only sold in specific stores in Manhattan, had asked for me for a layout with a few others. It was supposed to be a hot one, with topless men and the occasional nude woman or two and the rest of us in clothes that could double as place mats. I got stuck in one of those dresses where the hem barely covered my ass and the collar dipped down to my navel, a bright turquoise with white and grey stripes that I would have loved if I hadn't been ready to run away. I'm not sexy; There were these white girls with long blond hair and heavy eyelashes and perfect milk skin, and then me, the random chink with the unnaturally gracious backside and pouty lips. Amateur. I was frozen.
But as I was setting up places and holding my cute little white guitar in a manner unfit for playing music, they called out my male counterpart, and the minute I spotted him, my heart leapt into my throat and I nearly dropped everything. Those eyes, glorious blue like the sky or water or ice, framed with those dark eyelashes and that dark hair and those perfect lips carved from marble. The boy from the club. Instant recognition, and then I felt my whole body relax. He had seen me in my most intimate, speed fucking in the back of a club, and yet I didn't feel ashamed with him. I stared, watched him intently as they prepped him and told him where to stand, held my breath when they made his hold me and the head of the guitar, pushed us together and molded our bodies into one fluid shape. I knew then that I had to get to know him, had to at least find out his name, maybe even hit him up for a coffee or a drink or a tumble.
He never said a word the entire shoot, and so I didn't either, but when all was said and done and I was back in my jeans and overly chunky sweater I approached him, timid thrown to the back burner in place of the same predator he had witnessed in the club. "Hey." Called as I approached him, my voice still that awful husk that I wish was sweet like honey but always felt more like smoke to me. He was silent until I was in front of him, blue eyes beating down on me with a chilled indifference that peaked my curiosity more.
"Are you a regular at the fuck-and-go club then, kid?"
What a dick thing to say on the first conversation. In retrospect, I have no idea why I didn't just turn around and leave, call him a dirty name under my breath and forget it. No, instead I grinned a dopey, teenage grin, because I knew then that I was in some sort of lust. An infatuation with the man I didn't know-The asshole behind the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen.
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