It was amateur Thursday at Club Soma when I first met Deirdre. I had come straight to the bar from the radio station. I grabbed one of the high-bar stools that was far from the noise of the night's musical accompaniment, but high enough to see the stage in case a good group stopped by. The fog of tobacco smoke formed a sort of membrane around the day's social activities, filtering the rust colored projections from the stage's lone rotating light. An acoustic duo called La Deseo took the stage after an hour of light conversation. They were dressed in traditional Apache tribal garb, though they were clearly Mexican. After an initial squeak of microphone feedback, the larger of the two announced the outfit, and its reason for being.
"We are La Deseo," said the singer, his eyes becoming huge and white, sprawling wave-like over the crowd. "And we have come to you to express the desire. The desire within." His partner strummed a chord furiously, as if he were about to toss a bull into the fray. "We dress as Apaches because they are a- a spiritual people, a people of desire," He explained. "This first song is called "Seducir la Gitana".
The wine in my glass settled and stained the individual ridges in my cup. I took a sip, and it was as if the room had suddenly become warmer. The song ignited, a galloping, throbbing thing, aching for something just out of reach. The chords were chromatic and bold, seeming to color the smoke a bolder red. On top of that, the place had suddenly become crowded. This group must have had something of a following. People began to push through the front door of the bar in droves, money and handstamps were exchanged and the body heat of this little Arizona bar had raised considerably. I hopped down from the bar stool, deciding to stake out a decent spot in case these people were on to something. I listened. The tempo of the music had changed to a steady march, the Spanish scales pressing awkwardly together, acquainting themselves with each other. Then, a climb began. The chorus had hit and both were shouting feverish, indecipherable Spanish into their mikes, working in a sort of chaotic round, reaching, pushing harder, farther. I nodded along, sipped my wine and surveyed the crowd. They seemed to be enjoying the show at least on the surface, I could see them anticipating the highest high of the high notes, and when it hit, there was an almost audible sigh though the room. Ah- and then, a breathtaking decrescendo, a serene albeit depressed tempo, a sea of Spanish notes mixing in the smoke tangling in my hair, splitting the tides of bitter wine in my glass.
That was when I first saw Deidre. She was a few rows behind, back pressed up against a brick support beam. She seemed small and vague, a faint imprint in the cloudy bar. She was tall and thin, with middle-length black hair tied messily in a bun behind her green-dyed bangs. She had on a little sleeveless shirt that made the C-shaped curves of her breasts one of her few discernible features from across the room.
I turned back around. La Deseo were on another song, now. A third member had materialized behind them, touting a horn. One of them had a hand drum, affecting a tribal sort of beat while the Spanish guitar bounced off its meaty pulse, glossing the tune over with a fertile glow. I turned around again. The girl with the green bangs was drinking a bottle of water, her head still bobbing to the music even when she stopped to take a sip. For some reason, I decided that I had to speak with her. Before I knew it, I had angled myself through the crowd to her side.
"Hey there," I said to her.
"What?" Deidre shouted back. I came closer, nearly pressing my shoulder against hers. I could see her better from this angle. The stripes of green continued across her hair, slanted like a Richter-scale readout. She had a nice face. On the concave dip of her left cheek, a small dimple deviated from all the vanilla-white around it.
"Hey there," I repeated. "Come for the band?" the girl shook her head "no."
"I noticed you up front." she said, her voice as smoky as the room.
"Oh?"
"Yes," She tossed her now empty water bottle into an adjacent trashcan. I stood there for a moment, trying to think of something to say. For what reason had I come over here in the first place?
"I noticed you, too." I said.
"What?" she shouted back. Once again, La Deseo had begun to work itself into another climax, the waves were all rising up, feint hints of Mexican falsetto emerging from the lead singer's strained vocal chords. I leaned in closer to this girl, so close I could smell the vague fragrance of fresh violets; maybe a recent shower.
"I noticed you, too." I said. "You seemed kind of mysterious, like you were coming out of the smoke--"
"What?" she interposed. This time she turned to face me. I wasn't sure if she couldn't hear me or if she didn't understand where I was going with all of this. Her eyes were nearly the same shade of green as the chaotic rivers of dye in her hair. I came in closer, my lips just inches from her ear.
"You looked nice," I said. "Like you just appeared out of the smoke." I hung by her ear for a second. The heat in the bar was heavy. This close to her neck, I could feel her beginning to perspire, I could feel the sweat beads forming. I leaned away from her and waited for a response. She was watching the band again, her attention seemed completely diverted. Had she not heard me again?
"I need to use the restroom." She told me then. I let out a small sigh of heated breath. I shouldn't have come on strongly.
"Alright, alright." I said, pretending to be at once drawn back into the music. She nodded and took a tentative few steps away from me, lingering just out of reach.
"Aren't you coming?" She asked.
I pulled the metal door to the stall shut behind me, its surface etched with a thousand teenager's Fucks and Hells. I began to turn to face Deidre but was then pushed in the chest so my back was pressed against the left wall.
"Have you ever messed around in a bathroom?" she asked me. She was feverish, excited. I could feel her blood pumping. This was going to be great.
"Uhh, no." I managed. She came in close to me, pressing against me. Our mouths met and our tongues were instantly entangled, wrapping around and sliding over each other. She bit my bottom lip and pushed harder into me. I felt my cock grow erect with a series of pangs that were both pleasing and painful, pushing against my jeans, pressing up against the crotch of her skirt.
"Mmm...what's that, baby?" She asked. I was already lost in passion, swooning and full of desire. Everything seemed vertiginous --- the walls, her words, the world around. I buried my head into her neck, biting and sucking on the thin skin, licking behind her ears.
"What's that? What's that pushing up against me, baby?" I had lost control, I was in the throes of a burning lust. My hand clamped down suddenly on her breast. A sigh escaped from her glossed lips.
"What's that, what's that?" she was excited, too, I could tell she didn't know what she was about to do either. "What's that pressing up against my tight cunt, baby? Tell me, oh God, tell me."
I was suddenly nervous. Had someone else come into the bathroom? I could hear the sounds of La Deseo coming dampened through the portico and brick, the plaster of the bathroom and the aluminum of the stall door. Were those footsteps? If a woman caught me in this bathroom, I'd be the one getting a fine. I didn't need another place to add to the list of places I couldn't be.
"I think I hear someone—" I said.
"Shhhh.." she pressed one of my fingers against her lip, and I stopped. She worked her hand between my legs, squeezing my balls almost in examination before working upwards systematically, inch by inch appraising the storming hard-on through my jeans.
"You've got something for me, don't you," she said.
"I'm not sure." I stifled back. Was there someone in the stall next to us? Oh Jesus, she was unzipping my fly and I was groping her breasts. I reached behind and held her ass tightly as she undid the top button.
"Touch me," she said. I touched her. Rather, she touched herself with my hand, grabbing me by the wrist and spreading my fingers out under her skirt, on her thigh. She worked my hand slowly upwards, through the band of her panties, through the faint traces of prickly pubic hair. When I first felt her, she pressed her thighs together, her cunt pulsed there as if we were an electrical reaction to the motion of my fingers, sudden, twitching, quickened. I traced one of my long fingers across her soft folds. She came in close, and I pushed deep into her vulva, warm and wet.
"Mmm..." she cooed. She unveiled my cock from the tangled mesh of my boxers, letting my erection stretch freely into her open hand. We stood there, seemingly locked, my fingers working upwards through those draping, pink folds, right up to the hardened nub of her clit, encircling it to get her wetter, crazier. She was pulling my cock at a steady rhythm, knowingly or unknowingly in beat to La Deseo's now frantic tantrum. I felt pulled into her by violent forces, bade to accept the pleasure as she rubbed my cock and compelled to not only continue to touch her, but to push her forwards--two, now three fingers in her, as deep as they could go.
We realized we were literally frozen when the sudden knock came on the stall door. Our hands were on each other, our tongues tangled and still in our mouths like sleeping serpents.
"Excuse me." It was a man's voice. We tidied up quickly, the zipping of my fly and the swishing sounds of her skirt and top being slid back into place were the only sounds. We pushed open the door at the same time. A half-Mexican club worker stood in front of me, his chest level with my eyes.
"This is a women's bathroom, sir." He pointed out. "What are you doing in here?"
***2***
Outside, the streets were slicked from a recent rain, pooling in asphalt tresses and carrying the reds, greens, and yellows of the traffic lights. After my hasty removal from the club, I tottered on in embarrassed silence, dodging strangers. They all seemed to be looking at me accusingly -- but why? I heard you got caught in the girl's room. Ridiculous. I was halfway down Anthem Drive when I heard footfalls behind me. They started as distant puddle-splashes, the untold clamor of the streets. Then, they dried into sandal-slaps up against the pavement getting faster, ever faster. I turned around.
"You." I said. She was back, almost breathless, though I could tell she was in good shape. She must have run out of the club at the last second, how could she have known which way I had chosen, which of the streets I'd be taking to which borough?
"I'm sorry for getting you kicked out of the club," she said in a half-laugh. "That was... my fault, I'm sorry. I get carried away sometimes, just not usually with--"
"Strangers, I know." I finished. She smiled. We huddled together under the streetlight there for a moment, me leaning up against a mailbox, trying to sort things out in my head. Why had she followed me out here?
