The New Culture

They carry on with some form of homoerotic groping on the dance floor, sliding against each other. All lips and tongues and gliding fingers. I sit in the corner snapping my gum. I wonder how hard it would be to slip myself in the middle of that. I wonder how far hands can multiply with the right kind of encouragement. I wonder what the fuck I'm doing here.

I make a decision and I get myself positioned just right, in the middle of this mingling mass of sweating flesh and darting eyes. I watch the crowd ebb and flow like a tide to the DJ's auditory masturbation. The crowd is working itself up; working itself down to the floor. Gyrating hips grind against me. Someone presses against my side and glides away. I let the flow take me over swaying to the thump. The beat. The vibrations welling up from the floor. I just want to be in the middle. I just want bodies welling up against me. I need some skin under my fingers, some hips under my hands and some lips on my neck. I need to be somewhere else.

He comes up behind me slipping his arms around my waist. He moves against me. Presses on with the bodies around us. Sways with me. Watches my hands flutter up and reach behind me. Kisses my palms as I slid my fingers over his cheeks and into his hair. I turn to him. Wrap my arms around my neck and reach my lips up to his ear. "You're an asshole. But you make me feel wanted." He slides his hands up my short skirt, clenching my ass cheeks, pulling me tightly to his chest.

He leans over me. Presses his mouth against my ear and breaths "That's all I ever wanted, little girl. Shut the fuck up and lets dance."