Searching

The cold rain of November silently streaks the windows of my small apartment. I roll over in bed, waking from another heated dream of skin and saliva, and blink at the clock. Focusing, I realise it is already past eleven. I jump out of bed, dress hurriedly and stare into the bathroom mirror, applying dark makeup and false eyelashes expertly to my lids while clumsily dangling a cigarette from the red streak of my mouth. I scrutinise my face, it must look perfect.

I trip over discarded clothing as I exit the bathroom into the dimly lit bedroom before taking one last long look in the full-length mirror at myself. I look exactly as I had wished. My long legs wrapped in fishnet stockings, jutting out of their patent-leather platform stiletto heels, the easily recognised ribbon of my garter peeking out from under the short, pleated, plaid skirt that barely covers the white cotton panties underneath. Breasts heaving over the top of the black vinyl corset sparkle with glitter dust, as do my collarbones, arms, and high cheekbones. My waist is cinched down to twenty inches, and a wildly textured black mane explodes behind the short bangs reminescent of the days that Bettie Page ruled the erotic photo magazines. Dark eyes, red lips. Wetness forms in the cotton sheath of the panties as I view myself from all sides. I look good. Surely I will find Him tonight. Please let me find Him tonight.

Pulling on a shiny red raincoat, I step out into the chilly air to hail a cab. The cold air hardens my nipples behind the heavy material that binds them. After a few minutes, my yellow savior pulls up and i scurry in, giving the cabbie the address. The meter clicks on, the car moves forward, and my heart begins to race. We pull up to the underground entrance minutes later. I hand the driver a ten, he nods gratefully. I step into the darkness of the club, pay the entrance fee and hand over the raincoat to the coat check girl.

Smoke wafts around my body as I walk past the bar to find a relatively dark corner to slink back in and survey the scene. It is my first time at one of these fetish clubs. My nervousness is causing the perspiration to accumulate on my palms, and I am suddenly aware of how tight the corset is around my waist. I take a deep breath and straighten my back.

The crowd is gathered in front of the stage as the Mistress of Ceremonies is humiliating some thick-necked hardbody in metallic purple pants and a fishnet muscle shirt on the dance floor. She is swatting him with her riding crop in one hand, and scolding him into the microphone. People around them stand back and laugh or whoop loudly. Lights from above flash in beat to the music. Heavy red gels and strobes send streaks of light across men in leather pants, dykes in suits, and women in tight bondage dresses as they grind and slither to almost unbearably loud industrial techno music. A nearly seven-foot-tall drag queen in pink latex and white feathers catches my eye for a few seconds as I search - for Him.

Unsure that I will succeed in my goal amongst Goths and transvestites, I choose to sit at a table in back. A waitress with a spider webbed see-thru body suit takes the order for my Cosmopolitan.

"Nice outfit you bad little girl," she says with a smile. She's got vampire fangs, and near-perfect breasts with pierced nipples. I return the smile and cast my eyes down to the floor in slight embarrassment. There's a tattoo of a pyramid on her right shoulder as she walks away. I look away from her and back out to the dance floor. Same scene. My eyes scan some more. I lean back in my chair and try to calm down. Negative thoughts that everyone feels when they are afraid of being disappointed flood into my head, 'Maybe I shouldn't have come', 'I really have no idea what I am searching for', 'There is a void in me that needs to be filled by someone special, do I really think I will find Him in a stupid club?', 'Remember, you are only five years away from being thirty, this is an immature fantasy'. I laugh at myself and decide to just forget it, relax, and enjoy the scenery.

The hardbody cries out in pain and the crowd around them applauds. I see there is another girl with a catholic school girl outfit on. Hers is different from mine--much more traditional with the crisp white shirt over small, pert breasts, narrow tie, knee socks, and platform Mary Jane's. Her burgundy hair is in braids tied with blue ribbons. She is tall, lanky almost, with beautifully defined legs that show from under her extremely short pleated navy blue jumper. Her skin is golden against her white knee socks. She dances like a snake with her arms in the air. I get wetter just looking at her, my mind journeying up her skirt.

"Christ, I need to get laid", I tell myself. She keeps looking up to the right set of stairs that curve from the dance floor to the second level of the club, so I inch my chair around to see what is so interesting. That is when I see Him for the first time.

He is looking down on her in his floor-length trench coat. His hair is tied back at the nape of His neck and His face has strong, defined masculine features though he is still young. His stance is strong, legs set wide apart - like a super hero. He holds His head high and His shoulders back. His large, black eyes are piercing, He looks as if on prey at the tall girl.

The Mistress of Ceremonies, taking a break from her post, clunks her way up the stairs in her platform glitter ankle boots. She stops and politely kisses Him from under her day-glo orange wig. They small talk until they both look down on the dancing girl, she then says something else to Him as she descends the staircase and disappears into the crowd. He turns away and heads upstairs. I get up to follow Him, but my drink arrives. I pull out a five dollar bill and hand it to the near-perfect breasts, she smiles widely before kissing my left shoulderblade as she flits off to the next customer.

I look back out and see that the Mistress has engaged a conversation with the lanky girl. He is interested in her - that has to be it. My hopes deflate slightly, since I look nothing like her type - not as tall, yet more defined muscularly, with grapefruit-sized breasts and curvaceous hips - not at all the bony ballerina-type.

They ascend the staircase. Curious, I down my drink and slip through the crowd to follow, forgetting all about what happened to Alice when she saw the white rabbit. Half-pretending to casually look around at a new scene, I manage to keep my eye on them.

Upstairs, is actually quite elegant - a large loft holding crescent-shaped booths with black tables encased in crimson velvet seating. Curtains of the same fabric enclose each space creating a private room when necessary, but only two are closed off so far. I search the area for somewhere inconspicuous to stand and still manage to keep my eyes on the ballerina in His booth. They share niceties, shaking hands and such, then the M.C. leaves them alone. I slink into a barstool at a table overlooking the dance floor so I can casually glance in their direction. She slides next to Him, chatting about nothing much, I gather. He leans back in the booth. How relaxed He looks in this setting, cool, distanced from His surroundings. The seed deep in my groin aches as I watch them. I burn with envy. Suddenly, the girl's demeanor changes. Her head lowers, shoulders straighten, and she simply nods as He does all of the talking.

"What is He saying to her?" I scream inside, frustrated with the surrounding blasts of music. I watch her hands creep up to the tie around her neck and loosen it, dragging the knots apart slowly, and then unbuttoning her blouse with the same amount of enthusiasm. He leans in toward her and strokes her hair. The blouse is parted to reveal her naked breasts, milky, and firm. He kneads them, the nipples cresting into mauve points as He pinches them roughly. He leans back once again as she stands and turns to face Him, sitting on the tabletop, spreading her legs so that her feet straddle His knees. His hands stroke the inside of her thighs, then under the skirt, tugging at the red lace panties underneath. Panicking, she stops them at her knees. At this, He slaps her breast hard, and she slinks back, surrendering. The panties come off, and are stuffed into her mouth. He softens a bit, lifting her skirt while caressing her face and kissing the pain of the slap away as He slowly stands. Her head falls back in ecstasy, and taking her neck in His hand, He guides her back onto the table. She lay there, splayed out in front of anyone who might walk by, totally abandoned, on the brink of orgasm at both the humiliation and His stern attention.

I cross my legs, pressing the folds of my inner wet flesh together in hopes of finding some relief to the excitement of watching them. His hands grope at her pale skin, and she writhes under them. He then forces his fingers inside her and she arches her back like a heart attack victim being resussitated with electric shock. She rocks back and forth on them. Her nipples are hard diamonds, her neck craning, and her open mouth full of the red lace used to stifle her moans. I hear Him calling her names of anger and degradation. This makes her spread her legs even wider, riding the hand faster, faster. She shudders violently and stiffens. I hear her cry out in pleasure while I blink back tears of longing and frustration, still not being able to take my eyes off of the scene. She lay there panting, and it is then that I notice His gaze is upon me. I try to look away, but He holds it. I blush until my face feels red hot, and He smiles an ominous smile at me. Embarrassed, I jump from the stool and fly down the stairs, clawing through the crowded dance floor, out of the humid bar, and into the freezing rain.

I rush into the safety of my apartment, of my solitude. Tears streak my face as I throw myself onto the bed. Why didn't I smile back? Why can't I jump into this unknown world I so desperately long for? Why did He have to see her first? I slowly get up to undress, and then slip into the shower and fall straight into depression. It has been two years since I have had a decent lover, though none of them ever even came close to being what I need. I am the queen of "making love". Ugh. One sensitive guy after another all desperately trying to take the animal nature out of the act itself. Trying instead to turn it into something intelligent, and to me, fucking isn't about intellect once the seduction is over.

No one has ever excited me like Thomas Fry did back in the twelfth grade. I love remembering those days. He was my first experimental lover. We did everything and anything. He showed me how to masterbate, touch a man, suck cock, and he was the one that made me admit to liking things rough. He fucked me on the tailgate of his truck outside of the Senior Prom, tafetta and netting thrown up over my ass, his hand covering my mouth while I screamed my orgasm as he took me from behind, spanking me all the while. He initially didn't want to do it out in the open, in public, but I begged and pleaded in the notes we passed in the hallway, and of course he relented.

I crawl under the smooth sheets that chill my fevered body. I rub my already hardened nipples softly with the palm of my hands in slow, circular motions as I think of the dark man and the schoolgirl back at the club. To be like that, so uninhibited, so out of control like she was, seemed like a dream. I pinch them harder, pulling them into stiff peaks and shooting flashes of pleasure to my groin. “Fuck it.” I think to myself, “Masterbating will make it all go away, at least for now”.

My right hand slides down my firm stomach and over the soft down covering my mound. The outer hair is already soaked with my juices that hadn't yet stopped flowing, regardless of my emotional outburst. I move slowly, sucking in breath as my fingers touch my swollen clit. I could come now, but I want to prolong it as much as possible, feel every sensation. Moving my fingers in circular motions, I pull even harder at buds of flesh on my breasts, making them red and angry. I think of Him slapping them like He did hers. Blood rushes to my labia and my hips work up and down on their own, fucking the invisible cock that is filling me. I hear His voice, giving me commands to betray my will. I give my nipples a rest and instead, take my fingers down to my ass, wet with the oozing honey from my cunt. My fingers gently rub the sensitive hole and it relaxes, sending ebbing vibrations through me. I keep stimulating my clit as I carefully insert one finger into this forbidden zone and an incredible fire rushes over my skin. Guttoral noises escape from my throat and I feel as if things are in slow motion. I want to savour it, to hold back, but I can't, my body has taken over. Then it hits, wave upon wave of flashing electricity through my body. Heat, and then ice radiates from my chest outward. I rock wildly on the matress, crying out louder than I ever have, hoping that somewhere He will hear me.