Not Your TyPiCaL Dance...

An excerpt from The Concert Was Over - Jared and Molly meet eyes.

It’s what we’d been waiting for.  Searching for our whole lives.  Random nights with cold strangers just wasn’t doing it anymore.  We needed that ONE person we could COUNT ON for good, sheet grabbing sex.  That “make you feel alive” shit.  It was inevitable we’d find each other.  All that sexual energy.  Ready to burst at any second.  Any time, any place.  

We’d spun a web across the town.  Attracted in meaningless little bugs to prey upon, fucked their brains out and left them to dangle in the night sky, dreaming it could happen again.  Stuck to sit and think about how lucky they were to even have that one shot.  Each person a memory of something that JUST wasn’t good enough.

Then, one night, I came out onto my web to check the status of my collection.  To check the status of the town I had basically raped and pillaged my whole life, at my convenience.  I saw all the same faces; potential “could be’s”, a few “had their shots”.  There was one, “if she plays her cards right” sitting next to a “never in a million years”.  And I continued on in my own mind, slightly afraid, yet excited another night alone would come.  Not worried that I didn’t know how to handle myself, all by, my self.  But still…looking…always looking…

As I glanced across the bar I noticed a strong force.  It was radiating out “Fuck Me” waves just as much as it was taking them in.  Recognizing the energy a bit, I expected to see the same old chick.  She’d be rocking some Adidas and a hoodie, taking advantage of being the only girl in her group that was ‘down for whatever’.  That was ‘independent’, ‘different’ and willing to ‘break the mold’ a bit.

Even those types were not doing it for me.  So I searched on, still feeling the peculiar force within the room.  There was…hmm…well, there’s her (still scanning the room)…oh and, she’s here, but, we all know how that would end up.  But, wait…who the fuck…is this?

When we locked eyes…      That.  Was.  It.  We were fucking.  

The next moments in between the current time and the sex were only there to determine the possible length of the relationship and just how long it would take until her clothes hit the floor.

Not your typical dance.  This ‘bug’, that had un?willingly strolled out onto my web, seemed to think she had a web all her own.  She was licking her lips as if she had just got done mauling a victim moments prior to our eyes locking in lust.

As I mapped out the conquest, I couldn’t help but hear this overwhelming voice in my head that was telling me, “This.  Chick.  Is.  Different.”  At the same moment I wanted to toss her onto the bed and rip her clothes off in a one night, inhibitionless caveman type style of FUCK, I also didn’t want her to feel that way the next day.  I wanted her to fuck me like the slut she was…but then I wanted her to wake up and know she was an angel.  I wanted her wild side for a night and her beautiful soul forever.  

I wanted to smack her ass and call her a whore, while at the same time, show her a mirror and call out JUST HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE WAS.

Not your typical dance at all……