I’m nervous. Why am I nervous? It’s not like it’s my first time. The Devil knows I could pretty much live in this party. And yet, I can feel my stomach tightening with anxiety.
Fine, I mean, I haven’t been to the last ones, but it was not like it was my choice. The thing is, I’m back in town, it’s summer, and it’s hot as fuck, and I can feel my tights sweating underneath the black leggings. Can we just go in? I really need to take these clothes off. Maybe I am starting to regret the last three shots of vodka, because honestly, I’m heated. Also, I cannot walk a straight line.
After what seems like forever (at least it’s not cold), we’re past the door, in. Fucking finally. I enter the building, go straight to the upstairs coat check. Everyone, outta-my-way. Spent the last two weeks working on this outfit and the world needs to see it. Or better, the party. Which, right now, same difference. As soon as we get in, I am greeted by the feel of naked bodies pushing past against me, and that familiarly strange smell of something (sex? cum? chemicals?) that only exists in Pornceptual. It has been way too long.
The first third of the night passes by in a blur; lots of going up and down, changing dancefloors, stopping by the bar because someone needs a refill, as it always seems to be the case. But then, someone says casually that we should go upstairs because some friends have just arrived and are waiting for us including, well, you.
The information penetrates the fog I’m in, and I can feel it provoking some sort of clenching and my heart beats even faster, and fuck, it makes me feel so stupid. This is not a middle school dance, and I’m not a fourteen year old. This is so unexpected though, and I’m not in the right state of mind to deal with surprises. I have been avoiding thinking about the next time we would actually see each other on purpose, and never in a million years I thought it’d be today.
I don’t even know what’s the big deal. People fuck all the time, and god knows, I do, too. By no means I’m a celibate or new to the game, and it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t like that at all. It was rushed and sloppy, drunk making out session at a club, a clumsy blowjob in a bathroom stall, something we all credited to intoxication, something that I shrugged off as a response to everyone’s questions. Just a drunken hook up. Definitely, not at all an anticlimactic culmination of months of sexual tension and low-key flirtation. Why are you even mentioning it?
I have no reason to think that you’d want more of it. I am overthinking again. I need another drink, I need to go dancing, I need to calm the fuck down.
Intoxication does help. I am at this point that I can’t really shut the fuck up, but the tension makes me a little shy, so I am just trying to dance the excess of energy away. You are there, being the life of the party as usual, laughing the loudest and making a fool of yourself with your stupid dance moves. I’m sweating profusely, it is goddamn hot, and now that I’m starting to filter in, there is a lot of people fucking and I hadn’t noticed before, and fuck: I’m horny too.
I can see this guy on his knees at the edge of the dancefloor, sucking some other dude’s dick out of his hot pink speedos, the muscles of his abdomen clenching a myriad of colorful tattoos. Shit, I’m staring. Okay, okay, music, dancing, that’s good. Actually correct that, the music is great and I don’t have to think about anything else right now.
Distraction works for a while, but then I nearly jump out of my skin when something cold as balls touches my bare, sweaty back. It feels like an electric shock. I jump in place, honestly…