Sarah looks simply priceless batting her eyelashes at me as she pulls out a
pair of nipple clamps and hangs them from her pinkies. But next to this stranger, no matter how alluring, she
shivers and feels helpless and alone. Relying on him -- a stranger.
It falls together beautifully.
For those that have never been to an industrial dance club, it is a little
difficult to describe. There is a feeling there that I don’t quite think
there are words for. Perhaps it is an energy, or maybe it’s just that the
bass is so loud it makes your bones vibrate.
At any rate, this is where I feel at home. Very loud, angry, dark.
It’s not a small, crowded little hole in the wall pick-up place. It’s a
large, spacious and cool throbbing place full of energy and people there to
dance.
And it is no secret that I do my stalking there. Not stalking in its most
ominous form, but stalking in that I watch, lurk, seduce, conquer and
overpower A little game that sometimes takes an hour, sometimes takes
several weeks, as the same people tend to attend week after week.
And my prey seems to fit a certain category. Maybe in a past life, I had a
dark lover that consumed me like no other, and I am on an eternal search to
find him. First, it’s the bangs I notice, and his head is usually down
because he’s looking at the floor as he dances. When he lifts his head I
see the reflection of the light off his cheekbones. Thin, feminine. Quite
pretty.
Sometimes, in fact, I have gotten halfway through my stalking before I
realized he was a she. Androgyny runs rampant. Exciting. Passionate. And
besides, women kiss better than men, I have found. Usually.
Then there was the night he was there. I saw him coming down the stairs
because I was standing at the bar having a drink, watching the mirrors,
watching to see if anyone was coming in that I knew.
Oh yes, I knew him.
I turned and he saw me at once, and he was smirking. A knowing smirk. And
he was wearing jeans, a blue shirt, and tennis shoes.
A little goth girl gave him a half look as she pushed toward the stairs,
then did a double take as she disappeared. A mass of dyed black hair and
piercings, I don’t think she’d seen a man of his type in many years.
Perhaps not since high school. One of her teachers.
And I just stood there. I’m not usually dumbfounded, but I was. When he
stopped next to me and stood there, the bartender looked at me, and then at
him. Yes, the bartender was used to seeing me force-feed a helpless little
industrial boy a glass of juice at the bar while my friends held his hands
behind his back, giggling. Silly club games.
He was definitely not used to me standing next to a man nearly twenty years
my senior.
“I thought I’d find you here,” is what he said to me. He was standing,
waiting for a drink, but of course, being ignored. Prep boys and yuppies
were often ignored by the regulars and the workers there. I think the
first impression is that these outsiders are there to look at us like we are
circus freaks in our PVC and genderless gear.
I drank my drink and stared forward. I could smell his cologne. Damn him,
something about just standing next to him did something to me. Maybe it was
the age, maybe it was that I couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was
about him that made me want to…
Confidence.
Even in such an ominous place. I sensed no discomfort from him, he was
leaning on the bar now and talking to the bartender. He was making him
laugh about something. So soon at ease. The very somber bartender was
giggling at something he had said.
His body was very apparent to me. Fit. Very lean, and again assertive. A
swimmer’s build, the subtle traces of his frame shining through. And a
great ass.
Something occurred to me at that moment when we were standing next to each
other and he was sipping his beer. He knew the music.
No, maybe not. I had to watch out of the corner of my eye, but I saw his
hand on the bar, and by the way, he drummed his fingers, I realized he knew
the music. It was a very specific song, with a particularly strange beat.
He had either picked it up immediately or heard it before.
I was about to turn to him to have a conversation, to say something, to stop
the tension that I was feeling (and he was obviously not) when I found
myself at a total loss for words.
He looked at me, expectantly, tipping the bottle again at his lips and never
taking his eyes off mine. That expectant, comfortable gaze.
*Angeldust*
“I need to go dance,” I said, the first words that came to my head when I
heard the song starts. A good long intro.
He tilted his bottle toward the dance floor. “Have at it. I’ll talk to you
later.”
How strange. He was staying. Not a rite of passage. Not a test. In fact,
he turned comfortably away from me and immediately starting chatting with
the girl standing next to him waiting for her drink. I saw her turn, look
up at him, blink at him, and sort of gaze with a look like she didn’t know
where he wandered in from. She wore black lipstick and had dyed
burgundy hair and a nose ring. I had seen her there before; she was
beautiful.
*Angeldust*
I left. Walking sort of hard, and my heart was pounding. The smell of dry
ice was almost comforting. Drugged, delirious. Or was it hunger? I heard
myself hissing, “What the fuck is the matter with you.”
My eyes were closed when I danced, and at some point, I felt a soft, warm
body next to me. I didn’t look, I just responded. Breasts were against
mine, long thin fingers were on my hips. I could smell her scent, and I
needed her close. We kissed, long, sensual, and my hands found their way
happily into her long dark hair.
At some point, she said into my ear, “How are you?”
And I replied, “I’m having a weird night.”
“There’s an older guy at the bar,” she said out of the blue.
“I know. I know him.”
“He’s pretty cute.”
So she agreed. We kissed again for sometime, tongues interwining and
leaving me in a state of content bliss, forgetting for the time being that I
was really distracted, cunt undeniably aching. Strange desires indeed.
*****
Back at the bar, he was missing for a bit, but I spotted him in a corner
talking to two girls. They seemed to be rather taken with him, looking up
at him with schoolgirl gazes like they had some sort of wordless crush.
For the first time, I really felt a hunger I’d thought reserved for boyish
types with big innocent eyes. Innocent he was not. Much older than me,
much more experienced, he had obviously been through much more than I simply
based on the math alone.
Not a traditional attraction, no. More a quest. To conquer all – control,
passion, cockiness – and age. My hands still longed to be in that hair,
even though it was not long locks of dyed black innocence.
Innocent he was not.
*Headhunter*
*****
There comes a point in the night where I sort of lose all touch with
anything other than sweat. It covers my body. PVC tends to soak it all in
and just hold it against you. But it almost keeps you cool, because of the
dampness. It’s like the opposite affect of a wetsuit.
My hair drips though, and I have no choice but to wrap it all up in a rubber
band into a high ponytail, bangs and all, to keep it out of my eyes and
face. Even at the gym, I do not sweat so much.
And there he was. Still at the bar, with a different pair of girls this
time. It had been twenty minutes, maybe thirty. His second beer was nearly
exhausted and he looked at me from across the way and gave me a half nod.
My girlfriend was behind me. She wrapped her hands around my waist from
behind and watched, her chin on my shoulder. “You want that guy, don’t
you?”
“I want to hurt him,” I replied back.
She giggled and kissed my neck. “Lucky guy. Don’t you want to hurt me?”
she asked. Playful, my sweet little girlslave. I had to twitch and giggle
because her kisses tickled me as much as her words.
“You know I want to hurt you,” I spun around and teased her, pinning her
wrists behind her back and forcing a kiss upon her that silenced her.
When we parted I whispered, eyes closed, “We’ll take him together.”
“Mmmmm” she cooed into my ear, and I could tell she was smiling over at him.
Holding her in my arms, I imagined his fate.
Bound. Helpless, perhaps in a situation he had never seen or imagined
before. Blindfolded so we could mock him. All those years of experience
meant nothing.
“It means shit to you,” I’d hiss. “All you know means nothing here.”
Silence.
Fear, maybe. The rise and fall of his chest against the bonds. Those
ankles twisting in the chains as Sarah tests the bonds under my command.
“Gag him.”
She moves like a sweet serpent, her body is entrancing the way it flows.
Everything about her always seems so choreographed because she is nothing
less than elegant.
Struggling.
Oh, it doesn’t even matter anymore. Gloved fingers prying open experienced
lips, the irony is simply staggering.
Maybe the real irony is that while I thought it was strange to take him
because of my youth, the ages of Sarah and I combined were close to his.
“You’ve met your match.” I whisper.
Sarah looks simply priceless batting her eyelashes at me as she pulls out a
pair of nipple clamps and hangs them from her pinkies.
“Don’t get to comfy,” I grin at her, “You’ll be next to him soon.”
Yes, she’s timid about this one. Used to being trussed up and tortured next
to my sweet slave is one thing – as lovers and friends, they can collaborate
and commiserate. But next to this stranger, no matter how alluring, she
shivers and feels helpless and alone. Relying on him — a stranger.
It falls together beautifully.
*****
*In the Night*
I snapped out of my daydream when I heard the song, and in my dazed and wet
state, we went to dance.
My energy had returned. Something about the scenario in my head gave me
energy again, as if the acceptance that he would be mine, like the others,
and I realized then he was no different from the others.
No different at all.
“Can you come home with me tonight,” I asked her as we danced.
She smiled at me and didn’t answer for a long time. Finally. “You and
who?”
My hand found its way under her skirt as I held her close to my body. The
heat was apparent, her panties were damp and warm. “With him.”
We fell into a kiss that felt wonderful. My nipples were getting hard,
pressed against the inside of my pvc dress, and I just wanted out of that
place. It was indeed time.
I took her by the hand and returned to the bar to fetch my prey.
Of course, he was gone.
*****
Leaning against the bar, arms folded, my sweet angel looked at me and tried
giving me schoolgirl grins to cheer me up. Never had timing been so cruel to
me.
My drink arrived on its own, as my presence at the bar tended to get the
bartender to give me my usual without even having to ask. I was done, but I
drank it anyway. “You’re driving,” I told Sarah matter-of-factly as I
downed it.
She had her hands behind her back, head tilted. “O-kay.”
*****
I took her by the hand and we left together, stopping at coat-check to get
my pvc jacket and her long coat. When we emerged from the club the cool air
felt wonderful, and I felt the familiar buzz associated with returning to
reality after a several hour trip.
Reality.
Without command ,the bouncer followed behind us as our weekly walk to my car,
holding her hand as he lurked a few paces behind to see that we met with no
harm.
As I got into my car he waved, turned, and headed back to his place at the
entranceway of the club. Sarah took my keys and slid into the driver’s seat
as I reclined all the way back to sleep on the way home.
I barely noticed what she was doing, a sleeply little blur it was, as she
reached over and pulled club flyers from behind the windshield wiper and
tossed them into my lap where they remained for most of the ride home.
I guess it wasn’t until about half way home, when I woke up after my catnap,
stretching and picking up the pieces, when I found the slip of paper.
Plain white, with black ink. Must have been stuck in between the club
fliers.
His name and phone number.
The simple words: “Tonight. Should you want it.”
“Sarah,” I said, staring at the paper.”
“Yes?”
“Get off the freeway, now.”
