“Ready, everyone?” She threw open the doors and my eyes struggled to adjust to the flashing lights of the space beyond. Entering this underworld, my senses were assaulted. Some faintly-recognisable disco tune was blaring, the lights blinking and turning in time with its rhythm. Everywhere I looked were people: people in fancy dress, people in fetish gear, people in next to nothing.
“Close your mouth, Bella,” Mickey joked, grabbing my hand and creating a path through the crowd. And that was when the smell hit me: a combination of sweat, face-paint and rubber. “Millie’s over by the DJ, see?” I looked over to the DJ’s booth and saw a silver afro waving both arms. Feeling more confident now I knew the direction we were heading, I noticed how many of the revellers were male. Naively, I’d thought a gay bar would be a more equal balance of gay and lesbian but I was wrong. Not that I was complaining as many of the men were gorgeous – and semi-naked. Opting to smile and make the most of the position I found myself in, I greeted Millie with a grin.
“I didn’t know you were coming, as well!”
“You didn’t think I’d miss this, did you? It’s going to be amazing!” She took a drink from one of the people stood with her, some of whom I recognised. “You and Mickey look too cute!”
“Thanks. I didn’t realise they had cats in space.” Millie wore a silver leotard, tights and ears. Even her cat nose and whiskers were silver to match the giant afro she had teased her hair into.
“I’ll take that as a compliment! Fancy a dance?” Without waiting for my reply, she pulled me into a tiny space and started dancing. It had been ages since I last danced and I had forgotten it felt so liberating. With the state of some of the other dancers, there was no way people were going to waste their time looking at me. I let the beat move through my veins until I had tuned out almost everything other than its rhythm.
Other than stopping for a bottle of water, I spent the whole night dancing. Sometimes Mickey joined me, sometimes Millie did, sometimes PVC-clad strangers were my dance partners. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so free. Everyone around me was focused on enjoying each other’s company; I swear I had never seen so much kissing and touching in one place.
It was a room filled with promise. And I loved every moment I spent in that space.
“It’s time to go, honey,” Mickey shouted as he grabbed hold of my hands. I let out a petulant sigh but was wise enough to leave with them.
Emerging from the darkness of the club entrance into the pre-dawn moonlight, I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so happy.
His hands gripped my waist, tugging me to him. My back moulded to the hard plane of his chest and I leant my head against his shoulder. As his hands moved down the curve of my hips, I felt a tingle of electricity jolt through me. Holding me so tight I could feel the denim of his jeans through the gauzy material of my dress, he nudged my head to one side. Raining a line of kisses on my neck, he rendered me incapable of rational thought.
I pushed my hips back into his, desperately trying to increase the contact between us. I felt his tell-tale response which caused a flush of heat to pervade every part of me. I groaned and felt his kisses turn to light nips, his teeth grazing my skin and leaving a millisecond of cool dampness in their wake.
Craving more, I turned in his arms and he pulled me even closer than I was before. His hands were now on my bum, holding me so close I swear I could feel every line, every ridge of him. When I looped my arms around his neck, he picked me up, allowing me to wrap my legs around his waist.
“Hold on,” he muttered into my neck, gripping me tightly as he walked us over to a nearby wall. Leaning back against it, he continued to hold me against him as his mouth searched out mine. His tongue was soon doing battle with mine, his stubble lightly grazing my skin. Now able to feel him pressed between my legs, the front of my dress bunched up at my waist, I needed him to hold me in place or I would have become a molten puddle on the floor. When he started gently thrusting at me, my knickers offered no protection from the friction he created. I heard the wanton moaning coming from my throat in time with the movements of his hips but didn’t care who heard. As the pressure of his mouth and hips increased, I tipped over the edge.
“Jake!” I screamed before everything went black.
The dream wakes me up with a raging hard-on. Maybe I’m a masochist, but I don’t want the dreams to stop. They take away the pain, if only for a few unconscious minutes. I remember every detail: the taste of her skin, the weight of her as I hold her, the feeling of heat between her legs. Home. The only place I want to be, but can’t.