The thrum of the club's beat rattled through the floor. It pounded on my eardrums and my chest, indistinguishable as music. It only exists as a dull tattoo, the rhythm for debauchery.
The club was called the Brass Chestnut. The name conjured visions of a staid scotch-bar, where men (and rarely a women, as those places so often were), would sit around and pretend they were important. In the Nut, nobody pretends to be important. We were all there for the same reason. Anyone who thought otherwise was in denial.
I went alone. I don't know why—I had been with friends so many times before, but on the night I met her, I had gone alone.
I guess that's pretty fuckin' sad. But nobody who goes to the Nut pretends to be happy either. It's immersion therapy, founded on a principle of submitting to drink, dance, and drugs. I don't judge them. The drugs aren't my thing, but I'm drunk out of my mind and on the floor that night, gyrating along with them to the hell-beat that the DJ conjures.
Where were my friends? I don't know. We had had a fight about something or other. I think it was because my girlfriend and I had just broken up. Some of them seemed to think she was right. They seemed to have taken her side, which is pretty fuckin' dandy, but whatever. They're missing out on all this fun.
The night I met her, the club was packed beyond belief. Clearly the owners didn't give a fuck about the fire code, because people crowded the low balconies that circled the dance floor, threatening to spill over the glass barriers and into the writhing crowd below. Voices and music blended together in the dim light. Flashes of neon broke through the dark with a scream, punctuating the thick air. Fog from a machine or maybe just from hidden joints hung heavy over the audience.
I'm already drunk when I get there, but I still head to the bar. I order a beer, I don't remember what kind. I'm sure I didn't do the thing they do in movies where they just say "one beer" and expect that to work, but who knows? I was blasted.
I drink the beer and grimace. It's warm, clearly just put into the cooler. I put it back on the counter and start yelling with the bartender. It's a woman, who's clearly pissed at me.
She's also hot as fuck. Loose blonde hair frames her face, where almond-shaped brown eyes sing their annoyance. She's wearing a crop-top of some kind, the triangular ones that cover the navel and throat and chest, but little more. Her midriff is toned and tight, and the short black shorts she wears cup her perfectly round ass.
I don't know why I argued with her, in retrospect. That wasn't going to do me any favours. I must have said something inappropriate, because she made a face like she wanted to slap me. Her eyes kept darting to the side, so I assumed a bouncer would be coming soon. I say something else, surely intelligent, then wave goodbye and walk to the floor without a drink, wondering if there was anyone else as hot as her in here.
It was hot and sweaty and the floor was slick with drink and puke and god knows what else. In my element, I pushed my way into the crowd, slipping past muscle-bound players with thick beards and dark sunglasses, past girls with spaced-out eyes and tired, reluctant grins, and past the rest of the kinds of people you see in those places. No matter how different they were, they all had the same eyes. They were all tired, tired of living, tired of waiting, tired of wanting something more and never seeming to get it.
I was too. I was with my kin, my kind. I began to do a loose dance, my arms above my head, my hips moving in poorly-synchronized time to the beat. I begin singing along to the song I think this is, jumping up and down and stepping on peoples' feet and getting pushed around. It's the time of my life, truly.
I bump into a woman and put a hand on her shoulder to apologize. The crowd forms around us and she turns and she smiles and shakes her head and mouths something I can't hear. God, the music is loud. I nod again and smile and retreat into the crowd. Only once I leave do I realize how hot she was. What caught me most was her eyes, round and deep. Something about them stayed with me, even through the noise of the crowd and the banging of the music.
I start pushing my way through the crowd. This isn't that different from regular nights. There's always beautiful women in these places, looking for the same things I do. Bars and nightclubs attract all types, and there's bound to be a few attractive ones in those crowds. It's only statistics. I find a new spot in the crowd and begin to dance again. The music slows, the kind of ebb that seems to suck the life out of a crowd, and I find myself wondering where my ex is and what she's doing. Then the music picks up and that's lost again.
I shake my head. I feel miserable and want another drink and so I move through the crowd again, slipping through the crowd with practised expertise. I'm nearly at the edge of the floor when a hand catches mine.
It's her. The girl from before, in the crowd. This time she doesn't move away, doesn't mouth something. She just looks at me, her gaze intent. Some fire is lit in her eyes and she puts her arm around my neck, drawing herself close to me. Her hips meet mine and my hand hold her in place and we begin to grind in place, her legs ever-so-slightly spread to meet my groin. We pull close and her breath is at me ear and still she does not speak, neither do I. We just move in place, finally matching the rhythm of the music.
I can feel myself growing hard, her tight body pressed against mine. My hands run over her back and find smooth skin, she's wearing a sheer backless dress that cuts short at the mid-thigh. From the warmth I feel on my leg, I can tell she's not wearing any panties.
We begin to move faster, and my dick is almost solid now. I don't care, I'm not embarrassed. She feels so good. She doesn't seem to mind, and we keep moving. The crowd around us doesn't care, they're trapped in their own ecstasies.
Our movements become more visceral. She grinds her pussy down on my cock, and I move my hips in time to catch her clit. We know what each seeks to do. I want to get her off. I want to make her cum on the dance floor. I don't care if people see or not. I pull back and see her face and her eyes are squinted shut, mouth slightly open. I keep moving my hips against her, and she grins and laughs and looks at me again with those fiery eyes. I laugh too, not knowing why.
One of her hands moves from my shoulder, tracing its way down my bicep, down my side. We keep moving, thrusting against one another. Her hand passes over my stomach, catches my belt. I don't even realize what she's doing, I'm too trapped in the moment. It's only once her hand makes its way into my pants and wraps itself around my cock that I understand. By then, it's too late. I look at her with shock and all she does is smile back as she takes my cock out on the dance-floor.
Nobody seems to notice. This isn't the type of place where people pay attention to each other. The crowd continues to throb around me and then she starts moving her hand, stroking me off in the naked air. She pull her body close to mine and lifts my cock so that it's trapped between us. She moves her hips and her hand, jerking me slowly, up and down. She begins to kiss lightly at my neck, at my ear. Her hand moves to the head of my cock, pulling a short gasp from my throat. I don't know if she heard it — how could she have heard it?— but it worked on me all the same.
Her free hand moved from my back to my balls, cradling them while she stroked me. She looked over each shoulder quickly and then spat on my cock. It took on a smooth sheen while she continued to work it. She came close to my ear again, her body holding my cock against me.
For the first time, I was able to make out what she said: "You like it?"
I didn't speak. I nodded.
"Good. You'll like this more."
Confused, I pulled back and saw her hitching up her dress ever-so-slightly. My hands strayed from her hips to her ass, pulling her closer to me. It was round and firm and I squeezed it and she shivered in my arms. My cock was still in her hand, though, and she wasn't done with me yet. She straddled my exposed dick and I felt her slick wet pussy lips glide along the top of my hard member. Excited by this development, I tightened my grip on her ass, pulling her along the full length of my cock. She moans into my ear and pulls me closer. I go willingly, and my cock slips into her.
She's tight, so incredibly tight. Her lips grip me as we writhe on the dance floor, our bodies entwined, shaking to the beat. There is little purchase available with which to move deeper, and so I am buried within her. I'm fucking her on the dance floor, my hands guiding her hips as she fucks me back. She looks in my eyes and captures them with her own, eyes shimmering blue in the glow of the dance lights. I keep fucking her, my cock slithering in and out slowly, deliberately. Nobody has noticed us. Why would they?
Everybody here wishes they were fucking. We're just the two who did—who are.
She begins to shake in my arms. I recognize that she's about to cum and I hold her tighter, letting one arm down so that I can find her clit, to rub and guide her to her climax.
It's buried deep within the soft folds of her pussy lips, its pink head just poking slightly out. I begin to rub her and that's it, she tenses like iron and her lips grab my cock fully and then she begins to come, soft moans coming in short waves against my ear, her hands buried in my hair. It's too much for me, and I begin to lose it too, coming inside her.
As I begin to cum, she recognizes what I'm doing and smiles at me. Then she moves her hips, begins to twerk on my dick. Each bounce of her hips extracts more cum, more than I had thought I had to give.
I slip out of her when I'm finished, my dick slick with pussy juice and our mingled orgasms. I button my pants up and then she shakes her head when I go to leave. I look at her with an inquisitive glance and she takes my hand and guides me away from the dance floor. I hold her hand as she walks us through the crowd. She glides through the moshing people like a ghost and I wonder briefly if perhaps I have slipped into some other dimension, for I follow her and there is no more jostling, no fighting for purchase or space in the crowd.
We come to an island at the edge of the dance floor and she stops for a moment and draws me in and begins to kiss me once more. Her tongue flicks across my lips and into my own, and we pull in deeply to one another. I can feel her breasts pressed against my chess, and I take her ass in my hand and she lets out a slight gasp, short and sweet and I suck into into my mouth and she pulls back and I see her eyes are sparkling in the light. She jerks her head to indicate I should follow.
I follow her again and suddenly we're at the bathroom door. I understand now what she plans and I grin and push the door open and the smell of beer and soap washes over me. This club is progressive and there are no genders assigned to the bathrooms; people can piss and shit and, it seems, fuck, where they may. They understand that these boundaries are artificial and that they only serve as inhibitors in a place where inhibitions are left at the door.
The bathroom has a tiled floor that's slick with water for a sink is stopped up with paper towel and I consider unclogging it then I see my mystery girl's ass wiggling before me and I remember why I'm here and follow her to the stall on the end. As she fiddles with the latch I take her hips in hand and press my groin to her ass and wrap my arm around her chest and pull her close so that I can whisper in her ear:
"I'm going to fuck you right here, right now."
She doesn't speak, she just moans and begins to rub her ass against my cock and I can feel myself growing hard again and suddenly the door to the stall is open and we're inside and we close the door behind us and my hands are already grasping at her short top, at which I am pulling desperately.
