For your eyes only Pablo
I feel a little unsteady on my feet. My eyesight is blurred, the spotlights have turned into stars already, bliss envelopes me and my stomach does a little spontaneous cartwheel with the excitement I can feel ahead of an amazing night's dancing. The bass is pounding relentlessly, the rhythm inside me, the excitement making the skin on my arms tingle. I know from experience about now my eyes will be shining and that little smile that only surfaces when I'm dancing plays on my lips. Unselfconsciously, knowing nobody is watching I close my eyes and just lose myself in the music. Living completely in the moment, in the now. I don't know how long I'm there inside myself, unaware of time passing, only looking at the DJ, sometimes around me. There are no handbags to dance round in here; for me, dancing is a solo activity, a visceral, meditative experience, certainly not a social one.
My mates are nearby, doing their own thing too. For me it's a little bit of quarterly escapism, a selfish bit of me time akin to a spa day or a golf game or an afternoon at the hairdressers; few people in my life understand and I am done explaining it. Two years in I have sounded out the music I like, gigs I want to go to, who I want to be with, the drugs I want and how to find them, when I've had enough, how to get home safely. I feel all set and I certainly don't feel like inviting people in, justifying or promoting my hobby. It's all mine.
I love that I have discovered this private little outlet and it's just for me, nobody else, and I will no longer buy tickets on spec for people hoping they will be up for it nearer the time, when their divorce is final, they've moved house, got over their broken heart, their agoraphobia, their anxiety issues. Fuck that. If they don't get it first time I don't want to know. I spend my life selling, I don't need to sell dance music to people in their 40s. Not now. Not while my hips are swaying and my eyes are closed and that smile is on my face, I don't need anyone. I feel everywhere and nowhere, in the moment and lost in the music. I feel supremely happy, confident, peaceful, I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
But right now I am thirsty. My water is finished so I approach the others and motion to get them a drink. Nods and pats on the shoulder in return and I weave my way to the bar.
It's pretty busy but being little I find a tiny gap between two big broad backs and edge in. Look for one of the many black t shirts pouring drinks, working out which round is nearly finished and whose eye I can catch. The crowd either side of me move away and I rest my elbows, catching sight of myself in the mirror behind the bar. Not bad considering I have been partying for several hours and it's well past 2am, but I could do with tidying myself up a bit. My hands automatically flutter up to my hair. My eyes are shining and my cheeks are glowing. I buy 3 bottles of water, root around in my jeans pocket for my card holder and take a final glance at myself before I go.
And then I freeze. My stomach lurches and I see next to me the one person I hadn't dared imagine would be here tonight, staring at me, smiling in the mirror. I turn my head, looking up and of all things he says, "Hello." Heart thumping, I respond in some way, my voice a whimper, that special smile I seem to reserve only for him now somewhere way beyond my ears, the music somewhere in the background, all the people around me quiet and it's just us, just the two of us, staring at each other. We used to do this. Stare at each other; it was intense, wordless, the way animals communicate, familiar and yet thrillingly unfamiliar, new, exciting. I don't know how long we are standing there. He's wearing a white t shirt, jeans, Adidas trainers, a couple of days' stubble, his ruffled hair blond from the sun. He looks unbelievably lovely and his teeth are very white, his blue eyes crinkling with that big sexy smile. I suspect, well I know, he and I are on the same chemical wavelength, making speech almost unnecessary. I should know. Everything I know about clubbing I learned from him.
And then I freeze. My stomach lurches and I see next to me the one person I hadn't dared imagine would be here tonight, staring at me, smiling in the mirror. I turn my head, looking up and of all things he says, "Hello." Heart thumping, I respond in some way, my voice a whimper, that special smile I seem to reserve only for him now somewhere way beyond my ears, the music somewhere in the background, all the people around me quiet and it's just us, just the two of us, staring at each other. We used to do this. Stare at each other; it was intense, wordless, the way animals communicate, familiar and yet thrillingly unfamiliar, new, exciting. I don't know how long we are standing there. He's wearing a white t shirt, jeans, Adidas trainers, a couple of days' stubble, his ruffled hair blond from the sun. He looks unbelievably lovely and his teeth are very white, his blue eyes crinkling with that big sexy smile. I suspect, well I know, he and I are on the same chemical wavelength, making speech almost unnecessary. I should know. Everything I know about clubbing I learned from him.
He leans forward and says "Come with me," in that deep London baritone, and he takes my hand, interlacing my fingers, something I'd forgotten he did and how much I love it. My stomach clenches. I follow him through a mass of sweaty bodies to a fire escape door. He holds it open for me, leads me up a flight of dark concrete steps, around a corner to another flight, lifts me up so I am one step higher than him, and we are now the almost the same height. He always did that, he's over a foot taller than me after all, and he's strong; he makes me feel weightless. The booming bass is muffled in the background, the light low, we are alone.
He stares at me, breathing heavily, as am I. We smile at each other again. He smoothes my hair away from my forehead. Puts his hands around my face and kisses me softly. He knows I love that; I just melt. I fall towards him, hand on his chest, and I hear little involuntary, happy noises from my own throat that I know he loves. He kisses me harder; I drop the bottles of water, my hands finding their way up his t shirt, into his jeans, kissing his lips, his cheeks, licking his ears, nuzzling his long neck. He smells clean, well looked after, his shampoo and citrusy aftershave mingling and I breathe it in deeply, such a happy familiar smell. His soft chest hair is under my hands again, hard muscles across his chest, cock hard against my groin. My heart is pounding, I feel instantly wet; I have never met anyone that has triggered in me such an immediate and intense physical reaction. I feel powerless over my own body around him.
It's been so long and I have dreamed of this moment for such a long time I feel a torrent of emotions rising and I break away, fat tears rolling down my cheeks, emotion thick in my throat. I am so embarrassed I wipe them away angrily, cross with myself for ruining something as precious as this.
"I'm so sorry," I say with a little sob, my voice a squeak, looking at my feet. "I've missed you so much, I'm really sorry." I take some deep breaths trying to control myself. "This is a bit of a shock."
It's been so long and I have dreamed of this moment for such a long time I feel a torrent of emotions rising and I break away, fat tears rolling down my cheeks, emotion thick in my throat. I am so embarrassed I wipe them away angrily, cross with myself for ruining something as precious as this.
"I'm so sorry," I say with a little sob, my voice a squeak, looking at my feet. "I've missed you so much, I'm really sorry." I take some deep breaths trying to control myself. "This is a bit of a shock."
"You wally," he says softly, wiping my tears and kissing my cheeks. "It's so lovely to see you. I wondered if you'd be here." He paused. "Are you ok Dirtbag?" I look up at him, his expression concerned.
I nodded, a smile coming from nowhere. "You have more control than I do."
"The drugs help," he says with a laugh. I laugh too, it breaks the ice, I put my arms around his neck and he kisses my tears away.
He squeezes me tighter, kissing me harder, hands on my ass, jerking my hips powerfully towards his and I gasp, feeling a sharp sensation of pleasure; his expert hands twist my bra strap off in one smooth movement, my breast falling into the other hand and he plays with my nipples one by one, pulling and squeezing, watching my face and my considerable reaction with half shut eyes that always seem to turn very blue when he looks at me that
intently. I love that look on his face.
Now his hand is in my knickers, his two, then three, fingers deep inside me, my leg up on the balustrade, my head on his shoulder, crying out, it feels so good. He used to do this is the most discreet way in the most public of places, I never knew how he got away with it. But he is one smooth operator. "You're so wet," he says, and I murmur, "That's you that is," and he laughs softly. I look up and kiss him, he pulls at my bottom lip with his teeth, my hands in his hair, the nearness, warmth, scent of his body overwhelming me, while he goes in and out slowly, bringing me a few minutes later to a massive, unexpectedly early climax. "Look at me," he says as it's happening, "Look at me," and I do, we stare again, my arms around his neck, his arms around me tight, I'm crying out, a mountain of emotions racing through me, telling him I love him, that I'm sorry, that I love him again, I can't believe I've seen him, that nobody has ever made me feel like he does.
He squeezes me tighter, kissing me harder, hands on my ass, jerking my hips powerfully towards his and I gasp, feeling a sharp sensation of pleasure; his expert hands twist my bra strap off in one smooth movement, my breast falling into the other hand and he plays with my nipples one by one, pulling and squeezing, watching my face and my considerable reaction with half shut eyes that always seem to turn very blue when he looks at me that
intently. I love that look on his face.
Now his hand is in my knickers, his two, then three, fingers deep inside me, my leg up on the balustrade, my head on his shoulder, crying out, it feels so good. He used to do this is the most discreet way in the most public of places, I never knew how he got away with it. But he is one smooth operator. "You're so wet," he says, and I murmur, "That's you that is," and he laughs softly. I look up and kiss him, he pulls at my bottom lip with his teeth, my hands in his hair, the nearness, warmth, scent of his body overwhelming me, while he goes in and out slowly, bringing me a few minutes later to a massive, unexpectedly early climax. "Look at me," he says as it's happening, "Look at me," and I do, we stare again, my arms around his neck, his arms around me tight, I'm crying out, a mountain of emotions racing through me, telling him I love him, that I'm sorry, that I love him again, I can't believe I've seen him, that nobody has ever made me feel like he does.
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