By Chris Picone, 2018.
She was one with the smoke and the pulsing lights, the warmth of a hundred bodies, and the music that vibrated through her, massaging her heart with every beat. She was jostled left and right as other dancers collided with her, their motion becoming a welcome part of her own. She felt someone join her, felt their warmth envelop her from behind. She pushed herself into the stranger, completing the connection. For some time they danced in unison, the stranger’s movements complimenting her own. Her head felt light as she spun around, throwing her hands around the other dancer’s neck. She shut her eyes as she pulled herself in close, feeling the hardness of their body against the softness of her own. When she couldn’t get any closer, she arched up on her toes, head tilted back, mouth open. His hand was around her waist, squeezing her into him as his hard lips and a hint of stubble brushed her cheek. His mouth closed on her own and her body went limp, melting in his arms. Without warning, his mouth and hand pulled away, leaving her wanting. Another song started.