Rave
Artsy type triumphant return to writing stuff
Montreal and the music throbs like the waves against a seabreak and the lights flash like inspiration. I'm swaying in time to the rhythm, moving in sinuous thralls like a snake through the desert. The crowd around me sweats and sways and the energy fills me, thrilling up my spine and warming my belly like liquid electricity. I'm hot, and even the sheerness of the outfit offers no relief. It's like the air is on fire and the sweat is staining my blouse, and running down my back in rivulets.
I don't want to stop dancing but I need to cool down, the song ends and the butterfly wings of pulsing air from the speakers stop buffeting me. I start to make my way towards the ladies room, and that's when I notice her. She was swaying near me in the crowd, but I can't remember what she looks like, just a vague shadow in the ocean of movement. She's behind me as I thread through the crowd, her eyes warm the back of my head like a tropical sun. The crowd responds differently to her while I push through, brush past, tap shoulders, beg excuses and fight the unending tide, the ebb and flow of the revelers, but for her they part like a field of wheat before a gale.
The door is metal and cool to my finger tips and pushing it open sucks the air past my face and I sigh. Her hand, rich mahogany tipped in white grips the door as she enters behind me. The mirror is a grime covered temple where my fellow revelers worship the gods of vanity, painting lips and touching up neon flowers on cheeks. Glitter is liberally applied and the counter looks like a diamond cutters workbench. The line for the stalls is short, no alcohol, but long for the mirror. I just want to splash water on my face and let it run down my neck and between my breasts and feel cool for a moment.
I'm leaning against a stall, the side of my face pressed to the cool steel like a blessing to my flushed skin, and then the heat of her breath is in my ear. The furnace blast of her breath doesn't stop her words from sending chills down my spine "Hey, kitten" and I all but mew for her. Her hand on my hip and I don't know how it got there and all the heat and sweat and noise seems distant, like another life lived in some far place where they do things differently.
I want to turn around and look into her eyes but I want her to keep whispering so I tilt my head. Instead of soft words butterfly lips light on my neck and I sigh even though her lips burn into my flesh like fire. She whispers something else but I can't hear over the music that just started up again, don't care, won't object. I turn and she has my hand, is leading me, pulling me by like a child, and I follow.
The stall is dark and the inside of the wall is just as cool against my back as the outside was against my cheek. I see her for the first time; she's painted to the scene, white blush, white eyeliner, white eye shadow, white lips, so much pure white against her melted chocolate skin, hints of purity like a jest, like a demon in a wimple. I see her eyes so brown they look black just before they close and I manage a smile before her lips press to mine and I'm drinking her in like honey.
Her hands have better manners than her lips they dare not venture beyond my hips, while her mouth draws me in, her tongue draws me out, painting across my lips, parting them invading as my head turns, my mouth opens and we speak silent prayers to one another. Manners quickly fail and her hands have Drake's enthusiasm. I'm panting through my nose as electricity leaps from her fingers to my bottom and thighs and higher. I hear the moans from the stall beside us and the ones from my mouth join in chorus before I even realize the choir.
The fishnets frustrate and a tear and I should be mad but I'm happy to be rid of them, and the panties will follow suit. Her fingers like an arrow find their target and I'm struck to the core, a helpless mark quivering before the shot. My sex is an instrument finely tuned and anxious for the symphony, she's Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, not playing the notes but writing an opus and I'm swaying to new music, new waves like a rising tide and the boats are lifted.
She's kissing my neck and I don't remember when she started but I hope it doesn't stop, and my stomach is tingling and I'm writhing and the pleasure creeps up on me like a jaguar. My eyes close and my lips part and my legs part and my stomach clenches and my moans herald the coming tsunami and it crashes over me, soaking me in pleasure, tossing me about like driftwood and I'm rising up like flotsam. I pant and sigh and mew and burn and for a moment I forgot about the heat.
I kiss down her body until I'm on my knees and the smile on her lips is an encouragement or a command and it doesn't matter which. The white of her lips is blurred with the crimson from mine and her smile is a peppermint candy cane, and her eyes have white tears in the corners and I smile. The heady scent under her skirt is a jungle cat's, full of confidence and the wild. I kiss her again and she sighs, I can hear it in her breath and feel it on her flesh.
I'm not a professional but an enthusiastic hobbyist, and my humble experience serves me well. My fingers coax the petals to unfold like a mystery told by firelight, and I seek the clues with my eager tongue and the game's afoot. She's helpful and calm and contrary and insistent and her fingers in my hair guide and her moans encourage and I kiss the crest of her sex under her tutelage. Her eagerness doubles and her hips sway like they did in the crowd and her dance tells me she's near the gates of paradise so my tongue, moist and insistent seeks the key, and my lips brush her clit and the gates fly open and she screams and for a second the bathroom is quiet and a girl in the next stall giggles and the moment shatters like a pane of glass and I'm back in reality.
The music is still playing and calling me back to a forgotten life on a distant continent and she looks at me and smiles knowingly. We part ways and the crowd at the mirror parts for me and I run the tap, the water clear and cold in my cupped hands and I splash my face and the water spills down my back and over my chest and wets my hair and I sigh, finally quenched. When I rejoin the crowd outside it's like a wave receding to join the ocean and the flow of the music pulls me toward unknown tides.