The Life and Times
The music in the club is deafening.
I can't make out any lyrics or melody, at this volume only the rhythm exists. I stand elbow to elbow with young gel-slicked men, all clustered around the outskirts of the dance floor. Each clutches his beer, the only lifeline in this sea of sweaty swaying bodies. Suddenly they seem pathetic, voyeuristic. Why are they standing back, huddling into the dark corners while out there the young women are dancing wildly. The dancefloor, the one place outside a female gym and a lesbian bookstore where the ratio of women to men tips finally in our favour, and these young bucks shy away, one hand in a pocket, the other gripping firmly the glass safety blanket.
I didn't come here to dance, or to hook up, but I can't stand to be grouped in with these popped-collar cockheads any more. I down my drink and lurch towards the dancefloor. I can't dance, it's no secret, but what most men don't understand is you don't need to actually dance when dancing. You just gotta move. Shrug the shoulders, wiggle the hips, it doesn't really matter. The only thing you can't do on a dancefloor is stand still. I've had a lot to drink, so standing still is quite beyond my abilities. I start shuckin' and jivin', eager to remove myself from the bad vibes I felt at the bar. I shuffle in to the centre of the cluster of bodies. Before long a young woman starts dancing with me. This requires a touch more finesse. The only move in my arsenal for mackin' on the dancefloor is the two-hand raise, but damned if i'm not good at it. I raise my fists like im boxing a nine-foot man, and the girl goes in low. We're cutting it up nicely, and she yells something to me. I can't hear a word she's saying, but again, it doesn't matter. All you need to do is smile with your eyes and yell something, anything back. I yell
"You look like you suck a mean dick!"
She shouts something back. I can't make out a single word, but it seems clear she said I could suck a bowling ball through a straw.
She starts grinding into my crotch, and I get a small chub. I want you to ruin me she says.
"I want to shit on your face" I shout back. She smiles. Lets get out of here.
Hours or minutes later we're on the beach, making out. I stop for a breath, and she looks up at me and says something. It's hard to hear her, for some reason her voice is out of sync with her mouth. Pack my skull with sand she says.
"What?" I shake my head to clear the cobwebs. The ocean sounds far too loud. Something is definitely wrong. She looks troubled.
I'm full of poison she says, her forehead creasing. I'll melt your cock. The words are coming from a long way off. I feel something cool in my hand, something solid. It's a rock. Where did it come from?
She has tears in her eyes now. There's treasure inside she says, but i'm wary. The rock is too convenient. Staggering to my feet, I hurl the rock into the ocean. I wander off down the beach, leaving the pitfalls far behind. Salt crusting the skin, dried in the sun she shouts, but it's too late. I've seen behind the curtain. I scold myself for my lapse in awareness, but it's only half-hearted. Mostly I am proud, yet another obstacle successfully avoided.
The sun peaks over the ocean and already i'm laughing. Today will be a good day.
I can't make out any lyrics or melody, at this volume only the rhythm exists. I stand elbow to elbow with young gel-slicked men, all clustered around the outskirts of the dance floor. Each clutches his beer, the only lifeline in this sea of sweaty swaying bodies. Suddenly they seem pathetic, voyeuristic. Why are they standing back, huddling into the dark corners while out there the young women are dancing wildly. The dancefloor, the one place outside a female gym and a lesbian bookstore where the ratio of women to men tips finally in our favour, and these young bucks shy away, one hand in a pocket, the other gripping firmly the glass safety blanket.
I didn't come here to dance, or to hook up, but I can't stand to be grouped in with these popped-collar cockheads any more. I down my drink and lurch towards the dancefloor. I can't dance, it's no secret, but what most men don't understand is you don't need to actually dance when dancing. You just gotta move. Shrug the shoulders, wiggle the hips, it doesn't really matter. The only thing you can't do on a dancefloor is stand still. I've had a lot to drink, so standing still is quite beyond my abilities. I start shuckin' and jivin', eager to remove myself from the bad vibes I felt at the bar. I shuffle in to the centre of the cluster of bodies. Before long a young woman starts dancing with me. This requires a touch more finesse. The only move in my arsenal for mackin' on the dancefloor is the two-hand raise, but damned if i'm not good at it. I raise my fists like im boxing a nine-foot man, and the girl goes in low. We're cutting it up nicely, and she yells something to me. I can't hear a word she's saying, but again, it doesn't matter. All you need to do is smile with your eyes and yell something, anything back. I yell
"You look like you suck a mean dick!"
She shouts something back. I can't make out a single word, but it seems clear she said I could suck a bowling ball through a straw.
She starts grinding into my crotch, and I get a small chub. I want you to ruin me she says.
"I want to shit on your face" I shout back. She smiles. Lets get out of here.
Hours or minutes later we're on the beach, making out. I stop for a breath, and she looks up at me and says something. It's hard to hear her, for some reason her voice is out of sync with her mouth. Pack my skull with sand she says.
"What?" I shake my head to clear the cobwebs. The ocean sounds far too loud. Something is definitely wrong. She looks troubled.
I'm full of poison she says, her forehead creasing. I'll melt your cock. The words are coming from a long way off. I feel something cool in my hand, something solid. It's a rock. Where did it come from?
She has tears in her eyes now. There's treasure inside she says, but i'm wary. The rock is too convenient. Staggering to my feet, I hurl the rock into the ocean. I wander off down the beach, leaving the pitfalls far behind. Salt crusting the skin, dried in the sun she shouts, but it's too late. I've seen behind the curtain. I scold myself for my lapse in awareness, but it's only half-hearted. Mostly I am proud, yet another obstacle successfully avoided.
The sun peaks over the ocean and already i'm laughing. Today will be a good day.
posted by Welshy at 3:58 AM
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