My stories are short; they are not about details that have no meanings. They are my reactions to this world. They are about my sexuality, my hopes and my fears. This started with my story, the shower, and it will end the day that I die.
Moving through the crowd in the darkened room I can feel the energy, the pull of the emotions swirling around the ceilings. Up stairs and past shoulders brushing shoulders, arms and breasts. Hips swaying, chains clinking against metal, this is the part of my week I love the most. Its not the club it's self, it's not the people, it's my right to dance as I see fit, to the music that I enjoy.
These assholes are mostly posers, so few of them actually know what it means to live the lifestyle to be Wild, or Goth; to know metal or true music…
I dance for myself, no other. I dance for the music, I dance for the beat, and I dance for the blood in my veins that burn hotter then the sun on the dessert sand.
Every Saturday night I am here, to dance. None ask to join me; none try to speak when I leave the floor for a break. I've gotten used to being watched but not touched.
There are the twins, the two male friends that stand in this corner with their sleeveless button downs, ties and fedoras. There the slaves with their collars led by their masters. The girlfriends who can't keep their legs shut, the boyfriends who stray and the perverts who just won't look away.
The only lights here are the dance lights, the spot lights and the strobe. You get flashes of color and white light here. A world that disappears behind artificial smoke and darkness; where you don't need to close your eyes to be alone.
Finding a spot on the dance floor, for a moment I just sway, letting the music flow over me, taking control. My hips move, then my arms, my neck and head, my legs, my feet until all of me, every bone, every once of flesh becomes one with the sound and the feel of the beat.
I let my hair out of the bun on the back of my head, running fingers through the dark brown strands, sending my long hair swirling around me. While my right hand swirls in the dance following the movements of my hips, my left slides down my neck, rubs my shoulder and then falls, sliding over breast, ribs and stomach before falling on my thigh.
To dance here, all you need do is imagine you're the hottest thing out here; that all eyes are on you because you're sexy and gorgeous. So many preps come here, because it's different and strange, because they want the thrill of being around the gothic and metal. They stand to the side bobbing from one foot to the other.
As the vocals scream out in pain, I arch my back till the room is upside down and I can feel the singer's anguish vibrating through my spine, ass and legs. When the music hits a cross over I fly forward into a head bang. I feel dizzy with the rush of movement. Light headed though I am I can feel my body burning from the dance, the music.
A face in the darkness, highlighted by flashes of strobe or a colored beam. Watching me. Watching as I turn and bend, circle my hips and chest. I can feel his eyes on me. Feel them burn into me, watching, wanting… wanting what he can't have.
Can he tell? From against the wall can he feel? Can he taste?
My body gyrates to the rhythm, my thumb catches on the chain wrapped around my hips through my belt loops and I bang my head low, crouched to the ground before standing and stretching and screaming with the music.
Can he tell that my body is ready? Can he feel the heat from my skin? Can he taste the wetness between my legs?
New song, my body instantly matches. I tie my hair back out of my way as I move to the new beat. There is no stopping, not until I find my release. I spot my watcher again. He's still standing there watching me. Smiling I turn so it seams that I dance for him. The song is wild, fast and hardcore.
Give me a slow song, make slow sweet love to my body; give me a fast hard song, make me sweat and earn my reach of heaven.
Throwing my body into the rhythm, sliding my flesh through the moment, feeling the fire in my heart slowly spreading through my veins; the icy reach of cold fingers spreading from my core, siding in and out weaving with the licks of fire. Three songs and my body explodes, lost in the stars above the building that I dance in, the city that I live, the planet that I call home. My mind is lost in the cosmos of the notes, the beats, and I wonder slightly to myself,
Could he tell?