For some reason, i didn't see you when i walked in. You, the boy i've been waiting years for, somehow just blended in with all the meat, denim and crewcuts.
Of course, i had expected tonight to be as disappointing as all the others. All expectations of cruising having long disappeared from my head, i prepared for dancing a ball of sweat around myself and leaving feeling destructive. My makeup was simple and personal, my dress practical, not even bothering with supposedly lucky underwear. If you hadn't been there, it wouldn't have mattered a whit. I would have biked home singing and shrieking "Boyfriend, boyfriend, where are you? I ain't got no money, and i ain't got no boyfriend" over and over, daring cars to hit me and threatening advertisements to myself.
They hired a new bouncer, so having already paid and sensuously thanked everybody's boyfriend at the cash, i was sent back outside to attempt chugging the forty in my backpack. The regular security, she gets folks needing to save money at the bar, but some people just don't, or they need to learn. If it happens again, we'll make him understand, and i'll bring two that we can share. Anyways, i down most of the bottle before i see some squeegee kids and give them the rest. I light a cigarette to take the edge off and stroll back in without bothering to eye the thug at the door. Do you see how i need you? Maybe we can be angry together and it won't have to be all mine.
Out on the dance floor were the banal dudes in camouflage, the leather daddies and the frat boys, so i walked over to the side for a seat by the wall to finish my cigarette and get into the groove. There was fairly predictable house playing, but with a head full of booze it sounded danceable. In a couple of songs, i got up and started rocking and swaying, waiting for the music to take over. My mind was self-conscious and worried that i was just a robot stuck on repeat, but the fear faded to trust so my joints could move freely. Soon, i was into it, picturing myself as a horse, or a unicorn, prancing in a square and pawing at the air. Slowly my mind turned off, and i was left in the peace of movement, quick and constantly changing.
Song after song, i rode the waves with my eyes unfocused, looking ahead to the next hook, break and climax. Peaks in house are the worst, but the initial lead up is wonderful, when it's soft and quiet--just tweaks me all over. My arms were twisting, my hair in my face and me floating on one foot when i feel, then look up and see, your eyes on me. Your smile freezes me, and i almost fall over but for the wall behind me. One of these days, you'll have to tell me how you came across the floor and if i ended up saying anything else besides, "Bien sur," cuz the first thing i remember is my hand sliding from your neck across your chest to that tender hip i never wanted to let go of, and didn't, bearing in mind what Nijinsky wrote, that "the moment is forever." Had we been dancing long, or was it really that first touch which broke the spell? Just whisper the explanation in my ear the next time we dance and i'll thank you with my fingers.
We rocked together, again, for ever, and you released my heart, freeing hope once more. For weeks, everything i've been cooking has had bay leaves in it, so that i could lick them clean and make a wish. Each and every time, my wish has been the same, with minor specifications here and there, but i can't tell you what i wished or the spell will be broken. Suffice it to say, my earlier words of hopelessness were more dramatic than absolutely necessary, but there you have it.
You are magic, boy, and unless i see you again, i'll doubt your reality, though i can still remember your touch, your hip rubbing against mine, and the taste of your neck. It wasn't salty, but tangy, like mango chutney. How do you maintain such a fabulous pH? If you told me, i would believe you, that it is a secret you learned from Willy Wonka. One day, maybe you'll be my Everlasting Gobstopper.
"If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it. Anything you want to, do it. Want to change the world? There's nothing to it."
Your cap was in the way, so i took it and stuck in in my backpocket. You are so good humoured that, to even the scales, you stole my lips and didn't stop kissing to give me air until i stuck it into the waist of your pants, for which you rewarded me with your tongue and then fresh air. Your smile was so terrible and kind that i now suspect you would tie me up if i asked it and do awful things to me over which i'd have no control. But such are fantasies, and i'm writing of memories, remembrances of a dance floor that finally gifted me a boy of kindness and rhythm.
We moved as marionettes attached by elastic, bound to eachother by powers we'll never know. No sooner would your hands raise in ecstasy than they would clamp down on me, pulling me near, to feel your muscles shift and spasm; the music would tell me to lean back, but my hips would grind all the closer.
Did we really even techno-tango for a bit? Were we really so entranced? If i recall correctly, which is possible, we held each a hand together, outstretched, and let the remaining two hands roam freely as our legs entwined and our hungry lips dined on muscle and sweat and skin and bone. At once there were your hair under my hand and your hand on my ass, both soft and exciting.
And so what, then? Did your fairy godmother call you off? Come three, did you turn into a poor frog, cleaning the wolf's child cage? You know, i had no intention of being sexual after such a wonderful time, if that's what made you have to leave.
Or did you understand how i hate speaking, how stone private i am, and know that saying you were going to the bathroom and heading straight out the door instead would be least painful? Are you the same?, a dance romantic? Tell me with a shimmy, with your pelvis against my ass, same place same time.
I don't know what you've been dealt, so this isn't a request or a plea, just an invitation to another chance at bliss. Yes, it's true, there are thousands of these wheatpasted around Montreal and, cough, a few other possible hometowns as well, but no pressure, it's only a work of love.
Take care, dance on, hazel
dansyng@hotmail.com (comments are appreciated) copyleft. all rights reversed.