Drums, rhythm, beat. I move with the crowd, dancing, pulsating. I can feel this other heartbeat pound through my entire body, one not born but made of this music, of volume and of feeling. There is a dull ache in my chest as I close my eyes and, for a second, feel again.
"I am here, damn it!" I scream in my head, "and I am so, so alive!" There are so many people, so close, as the lines of intimacy blur – slaves, like us, to the bass. We are drowning in this crowd, but I feel you touch me like a lightening bolt, just the gentle brushing of your fingertips against my lower back where my jeans and my shirt don't meet. Soft, like warm honey, but electric and joyously breathtaking at the same time. My pulse moves lower, settling where your fingers were just moments ago. I ache for you, without even seeing your face. I find myself stepping back toward you, preying this ebbing crowd will push us closer, take choice away and push me into your arms.
I feel you breathing now, lightly on the back of my neck, and I gasp as your hands find my hips and you pull me to you. We move together, like we've been doing it for years, and I barely hold back a moan as I feel your nipples, hard, against my back. I look at your fingers and try to figure you out, this mystery, this wonder, capable of making me feel this way. They are, as I will come to discover, like the rest of you; feminine, warm and gentle, and often driving me to the edge of frenzy.
You plant a soft kiss on the back of my neck and I jerk with the sheer sexual energy of this moment, this woman, this song. I don't know your name, but I can tell you exactly how your fingers drag languidly along my waist and how you pause after every kiss – expecting me to flinch or pull away. I can barely breathe, let alone move away from you. Oh God. Kiss me again, please…I take your hand in mine, finally unable to take this teasing anymore, and drag you round so I can see your face.
Finally, I see you.
I want you to know that even from this moment, the first time I ever really saw you, I thought you were perfect. You have argued with me over this many times, but to me even your imperfections make you perfectly unique. You touched my face then, drawing your finger softly down my jaw line and across my lips as we continued to dance close together, pre-empting what was to come later on. You took control and drew me closer, so I could feel the base permeating from you, rapid and erratic, like a heartbeat aroused. I smelt your long, soft hair and my head swam with the scent of limes and mint and honeysuckle and sweat, and my knees buckled with this growing need; a warmth spreading like ink through water up my thighs and inside of me. That easy smile, those confronting eyes, making me so wet and so ready.
