Author's note: This story involves drinking and recreational drug use.
***
The only thing louder than the bass reverberating in my chest was the pounding of my head. I was drenched in sweat. The stupid-looking mesh shirt I wore shined with my own perspiration and with the alcohol spilled down my chest. In the sea of other sweaty college students, I could barely orient myself. All I knew was the flashing strobe light, the pounding beat, and the feeling of bodies brushing against my own. I felt like a shark that would die if it stopped moving, so I danced like I had never danced in my life.
It was the biggest party of the year, so naturally my friends and I had gone all out. I blew half my paycheck on poppers and molly, and I had long since lost count of the number of drinks I'd had. If someone had asked me how long I'd been dancing I would have absolutely no answer for them, but I knew I felt amazing. People's faces warped around me beneath the strobe lights, but thankfully they were all just as fucked up as I was. We exchanged half-lidded, horny smiles and rubbed against each other for moments before parting ways. This was where I thrived, nameless in a sea of other people just as lost as I was.
I felt a hand on my waist and my body responded with a slow churn of arousal. It was definitely a man's hand. I grabbed onto it and pressed my hips backwards, feeling his crotch grind forwards against me. "Hey baby," the man yelled (though he may as well have whispered it, with all the competing noise) in my ear. A shiver ran down my spine. I responded with a dumb smile, reaching back to feel his hip, his neck, anything I could get my hand on. The slick texture of his skin sent blood instantly to my crotch. His hand traveled up my body, unsticking my shirt from my sweaty stomach. His fingers found my nipple and I twitched under their pressure. I felt myself moan, but couldn't hear it over the music. He ran the palm of his hand over my chest, then firmly pinched my nipple between his fingertips. My legs nearly gave out under me, and I let myself melt further back against his body. My thoughts swam in his smell. His hands traveled the length of my torso, massaging my chest and stomach, pressing only slightly below the waist of my pants before running back over me again.
As the motion of this man's hands sent waves of pleasure through my body, I caught the flash of someone's eyes in the blacklight. He was across the room from me, disappearing sometimes behind the other dancers, but managed to keep his drunken gaze on me. Something about the whites of his eyes looked crazy in the blacklight, but I recognized the glossy look of someone just as fucked up as I was. He had this smile on his face, like somewhere under the intoxication he was watching his favorite show. I smiled back, messy and effortless, before letting myself slip back into the feeling of the man behind me pressing his lips against my neck. Everything was so easy: the way his neck angled to suck on my skin, the way my hips ground against his erection, the taste of sweat on my tongue when I licked my lips and looked again at the man across the room. He was dancing with others, but still managed to catch my eyes.