"Come on, Lana, it'll be fun!" Jamie said excitedly to her roommate.
"Fun?" Lana shot back, stabbing out her cigarette in the ashtray next to the open window. "That's what you said about that ski trip to the Poconos where I broke my arm, the skydiving thing where my parachute almost didn't open, the mountain climbing trip where I fell off that rock and damn near broke my leg, and that trip to New York City to see Phantom where we got mugged, and lost our money, ID, and train tickets home."
"This is just a trip to Pittsburgh to go clubbing." Jamie rolled her eyes. "There's no danger involved. "Come on, Lana! You'll have a good time, and you might even meet somebody." Jamie said excitedly to her roommate.
"Sure." Lana rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Besides, even if we did go, I don't have anything to wear."
"I'll find something for you." Jamie hopped up, and began digging through the large walk-in closet that they shared in their dorm room.
Lana stepped into the closet, glaring at her roommate, and watching her sort through her wardrobe.
"What?" Jamie turned around, mindful of the look on Lana's face.
Lana rolled her eyes, wordlessly gesturing to Jamie's outfit, which consisted of knee high black boots, fishnet stockings, a black micro-mini skirt, and a black and wine colored bustier so low-cut that you could almost see her nipples every time she took a deep breath.
"What?" Jamie asked again, going back to her digging.
"I'm not leaving this room in clothes that make me look like Bambi the wonder slut." She growled, indicating Jamie's outfit with a wave of her hand.
"Which wouldn't matter, because you're such a prude, you don't even own any low cut shirts, or short skirts." Jamie shot back. "I swear, if you weren't on the track team, you wouldn't even wear short shorts.
"Just because I don't want to look like a cheap hooker when I go out does not make me a prude." Lana shot back.
AH-HA! Knew you had it in here somewhere." Jamie emerged holding a long white Victorian-style gown. Pure white, with a decorated overbust corset, long flowing sleeves, and a large hoop skirt. "Put this on, and I'll help you with your make-up.
"You sure?" Lana asked nervously. "I mean, I made that as a Halloween costume last year, and haven't worn it since.
"Trust me," Jamie smiled.
"You sure about this?" Lana asked Jamie nervously, for the tenth time.
"That outfit's perfect. You'll fit right in." Jamie parked the van, dug through her purse for her makeup, and touched up her eyeliner. "Besides, you haven't even been trying to meet anyone since your last breakup with Bill. That was what, six, seven months ago?"
"Eight." Lana rolled her eyes, and lit a cigarette. "I carry 18 credits, and a full athletic scholarship, which means, unlike SOME people, I have to make grades every semester, and I work. There's no time to meet anyone. The hell's that got to do with anything anyway?"
"I'm just sayin'. Find some guy tonight, get laid, release all that tension." Jamie finished with her makeup, and continued to rifle through her purse. "I know I plan to."
"Just what I always dreamed of. A cheap one-nighter with some guy I meet in some club." Lana shot back sarcastically.
"God, you are such a fucking Virgin Mary!" Jamie rolled her eyes.
"Why? Because I don't sleep with every random guy who's even a little bit cute? Because I don't spend an hour deciding which hole I want to be fucked in tonight while I'm getting ready for a date? Because my fantasy is a little tamer than getting fucked by three guys at the same time?" Lana shot back, now starting to get angry at Jamie for her attitude, and for dragging her out here.
"No, it's because you don't sleep with anyone at all. Ever. I know you wouldn't let Bill do anything more than feel you up, and you cut him off every time he tried to get so much as a hand into your pants. We're not in junior high anymore, Lana. That Virgin Mary bullshit isn't cute anymore. If you want to meet a guy, you need to take the ice-pop out of your dry, tight, frigid little cunt, and spread your legs a little."
"Anyway who am I going to meet dressed like this? A Victorian gown with a corset, a hoop skirt you can use as a damn tent, and these long heavy sleeves, all in virgin bridal white? And with this makeup? I mean, I made this for a Halloween party two years ago, which is also the last time I wore it. I have a hard time sitting down in this thing, and I can't even imagine some guy trying to remove it. It was fine when I wanted to look like a dead Victorian bride, but for a club?"
"Trust me, at this place, nobody will look twice. Besides, that's a great outfit for you. It shows off your boobs, hides those skinny little chicken legs of yours, and your long red hair sets everything off perfectly." Jamie grinned confidently, fighting the urge to snap back.
"Well," Lana shot back "if nobody's gonna look twice, how are you gonna get me laid?"
"Just fuckin' trust me. You'll be fine."
"Yeah. Whatever. So what I look like an Irish Banshee, or a bride about to commit suicide by jumping off a cliff into the ocean." Lana shot back.
Jaime wrenched open the van door, and stepped out. "You need a hand there?"
Lana opened the van door, and tried to gently set herself down without getting her skirt caught in the door, or on the car parked next to them. After a few minutes of careful work, she guided the huge skirt between the two vehicles, and they were off to the club.
"This is the place." Jamie said, as Lana watched small groups of heavily made-up of men and women in corsets, fishnet, PVC, leather, cloaks, black T-shirts, skirts, and a large assortment of piercings, and heavy metal jewelry, including spiked bracelets, studded dog collars, and chains approach the door in groups, and wander in.
Jamie opened the door, and Lana was shocked to be greeted by silence. It was a long hallway, lined with carpet, with one man sitting on a stool at the far end.
"You sure this is the place?" Lana asked nervously. "Thought it'd be louder."
"Soundproof hallway." Jaime whispered. "Lot of clubs have 'em in the entrance."
The man at the door, a large man in a black T-shirt and studded collar, with multiple piercings in his ears, nose, and lip, checked their ID's, stamped their hands, and pointed to a door down the hall.
Jamie yanked open the door and, as they made their way down the small flight of stairs, they were greeted by a woman's loud, high, wailing shriek, and when the shrieking stopped, a second of dead silence. Then the drumbeat, guitars and keyboards picked up, and the band on stage launched into another song without so much as a pause for water.
"COME ON, LET'S GET A DRINK, AND HIT THE DANCE FLOOR!" Jamie shouted to Lana over the music.
"OK!" Lana shouted back, and they worked their way to the bar. Jamie, only having to slip and slide through gaps in the crowd, got there quickly, but Lana, who had to be mindful of her massive hoop skirt, which elicited a few stares, and several compliments from people who saw it, and had to shout to be heard by others over the music, took a long time to negotiate the crowd, and work her way to the bar. They ordered their drinks, and Jamie guided Lana to a little table just off the dance floor. They finished their drinks, and decided to head out to the dance floor. Jamie fit in at this club like a natural, Lana thought, watching her friend move through the crowd on the dance floor like she owned it, greeting a random person here or there with a hug, or some variation of a salute, handshake, or gesture, depending on who she saw. Lana, still struggling to move through the crowd with her skirt, was enjoying the music, and for what little she could dance in the corset and skirt, when the crush of people gave her enough room to do so, was having an OK time on the dance floor, and did quite enjoy the several compliments from men, women, and occasionally, a person who was so androgynous looking that she couldn't tell. But after a few songs, she grew tired of bumping into people, and frustrated with the effort of trying to move around the dance floor in her skirt, and tight corset that made it hard to breathe, and slipped off the dance floor, back to the table she was sitting at with Jamie earlier.
She sat down, and surveyed the dance floor, watching the people, and trying in vain to order another drink when a waitress came by. She dug into her purse, eventually coming up with her cigarettes and lighter, lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. She gazed out over the dance floor. Jamie was nowhere in sight. Typical, she thought, taking another drag on her cigarette, in an attempt to calm down.
As her eyes wandered over the crowd, she noticed a guy, or was it a girl, coming off the dance floor, moving through the crowd as smoothly as Jamie did, despite the fact that he was limping heavily, moving as if he was afraid to put much weight on his right leg. He made his way to her table, which happened to be the one closest to the dance floor, and collapsed into the chair across from her. From close up, it was clear, that in spite of the make-up, skirt, and long hair, it was definitely a guy. Normally, she would have said something about his just presuming he could sit down there, but from the serious limp, and the look in his green eyes, he was in a lot of pain, and she wasn't about to make him get up and drag himself to another table. Besides, he was kind of cute. About five feet, eight inches tall, and skinny, with long stringy black hair, white face make-up, wearing a pair of eyeglasses with black frames, heavy black eyeliner, lipstick, and nail polish, wearing a black fishnet shirt which showed off his otherwise bare chest, bound at the wrists and neck with spiked bracelets, a spiked collar, a belt that hung with various rings, metal, and pouches, a floor length black skirt, and a pair of steel toed combat boots.
He wasn't bad looking, and unlike some of the people she saw, didn't have anything in the way of facial piercings or tattoos, and if he did, he certainly didn't look as downright scary as some of the people she had seen that night, but it didn't seem like he had noticed her yet, if he noticed the table was occupied at all. He waved a waitress over, then stretched his leg out, grabbing the knee with both hands, and massaging it as best he could. When she returned with the drink, which she noted was something gold-colored on ice, dug into one of the pouches on his belt, popped out a bottle of Advil, popped a couple in his mouth, drank half the drink down in one shot, slapped it back on the table, shook his head, and looked up.
"Hi!" He leaned over the table to make himself heard. "Mind if I sit here a minute?"
