Thursday, January 2, 2014

Take My Breath Away, Part One

The bass thrummed in a steady beat through the smooth walls, making the very stone beneath my back vibrate from the sheer volume pouring from the PA system within the new club. Looking at the long line I was standing in, at the various people swathed in black leather and satin, I fight back a smile as I look for someone to bring home tonight. I haven’t gotten any in days, and the familiar itch was beginning to become bothersome.
The cure, this time, is from the Club of the Damned.

The newest Goth club/rave in all of Chicago, I’ve heard nothing but good things about the strange structure, and the even stranger people inside. It’s opening night it had a church protest, along with three reporters, that tried to crash the party; all were rebuffed by a burly looking man with an arm covered in tribal tattoos. I can see him at the front of the line now, checking peoples identification and letting a select few into the black building through a set of blood red doors, manned by two masked men in red suits.
Looking down at myself, I smile; I’ve gone all out tonight, lacing up an old leather corset with skull motifs to cover my upper body, holding my bountiful assets back with a tightly laced knot. My leather pants and high heeled boots, along with a hooded black cloak, make my vampire girl image perfect. I know this for certain, as I’ve already garnered a few appreciative looks from some scrumptious looking men in the line, as well as a few attractive women.
I shake the thoughts from my head. “No, just men tonight.” I mutter to myself, watching the breath I heave with my sigh fogging in the chilly night air. “I don’t need a repeat of what happened last time I went clubbing…”
“Damn baby doll, you are looking tight to-night!” A smooth voice cuts in, breakiong my train of thought and catching my attention. A tall black man with over a dozen piercings in his ears is standing behind me… and damn is he tall! I actually have to look up at him from beneath my hood to look him in the eyes, and what I see there is a healthy dose of lust coupled with a twinkle of excitement.
Oh boy… not even in the club and I have a man on me. I think as I smile up at him, giving him a salacious wink as I turn around, backing into him as I grab a long, toned arm and pull it around my front.
“Hold me big boy, I’m cold.” I pout, wiggling my derriere into his saggy black jeans for added effect. That catches his attention!
He flinches back when his arm touches my skin. “Damn girl, you ain’t cold! You’re scorching!”
I lean my head back against his chest and bat my eyelashes at him. “I love the compliments, keep ‘em up.”
We make small talk as the line steadily moves forward, the burly doorman sending people either inside or back home. He offers to take me back to his place about three times by the time we reach the front of the line, but I wave him off. I don’t want him that way… he just seems too easy.
I like a little bit of a challenge when I actually go out, you know?
“You two together?” The doorman asks, his simple red tee shirt stretching to the ripping point over his barrel chest.
Before what’s-his-name can answer I push away from him, shaking my head. “No, he was just keeping me warm.”
The man behind me whistles, causing me to turn. “Damn baby girl, that is cold!”
I blow him a kiss before turning back to the doorman, pulling my hood down to allow my raven tresses to tumble out. “So you tell me, am I a good fit for your little club?”
The doorman looks at me impassively, his face hard as stone as he studies me. I just give him a searing smile, cocking my hip as I rest a hand on it. Finally, he gives me a small smirk, before unlinking the red velvet rope in front of me. “Have a good time,” he says with a chuckle.
“Always do!” I chirp, moving past him, close enough to ghost my hand over his toned ass, giving it a light pinch. He jumps a little, but only chuckles as he begins examining the next few people in line.
Walking up to the door, I look at the masked doormen with a raised eyebrow. The devil mask covers his face, complete with curved horns sprouting from his temples. He seems more entranced by my heaving chest than by doing anything else. I break him from his reverie with a snap of my fingers, causing him to look up at me, blue eyes peering out from beneath the mask.
“You going to get the door?” I ask him with a pout.
He just nods slowly, opening the door wide for me, the creaking of wood on metal barely drowned out by the rave music pumping through the black halls inside. I walk in, swinging my hips a bit more than necessary as I descend into the darkness. The door closes behind me, plunging me into a hallway straight from the void, lit barely by red bulbs every ten feet. Large paintings adorn the walls as I move down the hall towards the main attraction, my footfalls silent as I move over shag carpet.
The entrance to the main club itself is blocked only by red scarves hanging over the doorway, which leads to a wide open room, most of which is a dance floor. One wall is dominated by a long ebon bar, devoid of stools but manned by three topless bartenders, their defined muscles glistening with sweat from the heat within the club. The walls have small tables resting along them, where like-minded people gather and share drinks and other party favors. I move past the entryway and make my way through the crowd, slinking along with the pulsating wave of human flesh, adorned with brightly colored glow sticks and large flashing jewelry, all of which moves to the sound of the mix being played over the speakers.
As I move through the crowd, I feel more than a few hands slid over my leather clad form, a pinch here, a caress there; most of them probably think I’m too high to care, or simply can’t find them. The fact of the matter is I really don’t care, seeing as I’m here for pretty much the same reason they are.
Stepping through the other end of the crowd up to the bar, I flag down a bartender and tell him a want a daiquiri. A statuesque tanned man with long black hair and a bear paw tattooed over his left pectoral, he smiles at me and says it’ll be on the house.
“Heh…” I mutter beneath my breath as he steps away to prepare my drink, “I don’t even need to turn on the charm and I get free drinks. Too easy…”
He drops the drink off, along with a napkin with his name and number quickly scribbled out, in front of me before turning to a larger man demanding service. I greedily suck down a few gulps of the frozen strawberry drink, easing the rising heat in my chest. With so many bodies pressed into one small building, the harsh bite of an Illinois winter can hardly make its way in. On the contrary, I can feel beads of sweat forming on my skin and at the nape of my neck as I continue to down my drink.
Setting down the empty glass, I look around the club, looking for someone that might prove to be a bit of fun for once. My eyes pass over a variety of different choices before settling on someone that could possibly be worth it. Sitting across the crowded room, above the den of chaos raging around him, is a thin man reclining against the stone wall, sitting on a stool at a table. His hair is black with a few white streaks, combed back into a wild mane, and his fingernails are painted black, to match the massive dark circles beneath his eyes. A studded lower lip glistens with metal from the distance as he laughs at somebodies joke, lifting a brown bottle of half-finished beer to his lips as he smirks at his friends.
“Hmmm… white meat…” I haven’t had a white boy in a while, and I’m all for equal opportunity. Besides, he has the body of a runner, and I love a man that can keep up with me. Nothing can replace stamina in my books.
I turn to see the long-haired bartender dropping off another daiquiri for me, winking as he catches my eye. I scoop up the drink (and napkin, which I tuck into a pocket on the inside of my cloak) and slowly begin weaving my way through the crowd towards the mysterious light-streaked man and his friends.
Ah… I think as I pad around a couple practically moving into each other’s clothing, this is what I needed! A cold drink and the adrenalin that comes with the hunt for a good piece of mancake!
Breaking free from the gelatinous mass that is the rave, I walk up the steps leading to the carpeted area where the tables are. A venomous glare at a pair of girls sitting at a table next to my target and his friends sends them scattering, allowing me to casually drape myself onto a stool just close enough to hear what they’re talking about.
Sipping my daiquiri, I eye his friends with some suspicion: one of them is a large man with a faux Mohawk and an assortment of facial piercings, wearing a sleeveless shirt bearing a grinning skull on it. To his left is a rat faced man, who leans onto the table, cradling his beer in the crook of his elbow as he listens to the story being told by a Japanese man wearing all black, his thin arms each are bearing the kanji for sorrow and love on his frail biceps.
“…so I tell him no way man, there is no way I am going to pay that much just for pot.” The Japanese man finishes, slapping the table as he earns a laugh from rat-face. “He got mad of course, but I just told him if he didn’t give me a better price I’d find someone else.”
“So what happened?” Rat-face asked after chugging a bit of his beer.
“I finally got him to give me a fair price for a pound of weed,” the Japanese man said proudly, earning a few looks from his friends. Looking defensive, he holds one of his hands up, “yeah, I know that’s a lot, but me and Candi go through it pretty fast.”
“You just like Candi smoking because it makes her horny,” Mohawk chuckles, the other men joining as the Japanese man rubs the back of his head in embarrassment.
“I don’t know what you lot are talking about, but I could use a good blunt right about now,” my target says, his British accent cutting through the music into my heart.
“Really?” I drawl loudly, drawing the groups attention for the first time. “Because I wouldn’t mind a smoke myself, if you happen to be in a sharing mood.”
Rat-face and Mohawk just stare at me for a moment, while the Japanese boy regards me thoughtfully. My British hunk looks me over for a moment, his smile growing a bit wider. He raises an eyebrow at me as he finishes off his beer, setting it back on the table before saying anything.
“And what makes you think I’d share any of my stash with the likes of you?” He says, his voice cocky as could be.
“What if I ask nicely?” I smile at him toothily, making him close his own mouth nervously. Huh… that’s odd. Not a normal reaction, by any means.
He recovers quickly enough, shrugging indifferently as he pushes himself up from his stool. “Alright, since your being so sweet about this… I guess I can share some of my stash with you, but it is back at my flat.”
“Oh my, are you already asking me back to your place? Kind of bold don’t you think?” I whisper to him, just loud enough that only he can hear.
He cracks a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What can I say, I live dangerously. You in?”
“The name is Asia, by the way.” I offer, moving up beside him to loop an arm through his.
“Brad, you can’t be serious? We just got here man!” Rat-face says, looking somewhat surprised at his friend’s decision to leave with me. I give him a withering glare, causing him to look away and go silent.
“Sorry Sam, but I came here tonight looking for a girl just like this one.” Brad says, looking down at me with a smile.
I shake my head before resting it on his bicep. “Oh no babe, no way you came looking for someone like me.”

No comments:

Post a Comment