Chronicles of the Fabricated Love Affair # 3080

ã K Fisher

I was alone in the club. So I spotted the best dancer on the floor, walked straight up to her, and started dancing with her from the back. Our rhythms merged and in one swift gesture, she turned her back to her friends. She was mine. This increased the pressure, the unspoken competition established between internal dancers like ourselves. Looking down, closing our eyes, or looking nowhere at all, we give most of our attention to the way our own bodies move. Narcissistic. We let the music lead our bodies, trusting in the way they will naturally intertwine with each other.

But there were moments when our consciousness began to interrupt, and we made eye contact, first out of the corners of our eyes, sly smiles, then direct long stares. Letting ourselves become aware of the other. I was breathing with tiger breath. We were so close that I could feel the dampness of her skin though my chin grazed her shoulder. Then she’d bend at the knees, dipping low, placing her hands high on the insides of my thighs—exquisitely close.

She rose again with the music, her face near mine, and started kissing my neck. I slowly began to lick her shoulders, then down along her arms, all the sweat from her pores mixing with my saliva. Salty and sweet. We entered this different kind of dancing, and forgot about the pulse of the music, letting our bare souls communicate with each other. I forgot where we were on stage, my tongue was in her mouth and our teeth were smashing together like teenagers. Her tongue was inside mine.

I became aware of people packing the dance floor all around us. Though we were in the center, we had ostracized ourselves in a closed universe. My natural inclination was to rebel. I pulled my mouth away from my partner’s, led our bodies back into the rhythm of the music. But I was distracted. My eyes darted around the room. Then I saw her—the girl I had noticed much earlier in the night, the one who had been tipping dollar bills to the drag queens. She was the toughest, shaved-headed, men’s tank-top wearing dike with sexy blue-green eyes that shattered her exterior. They had sparkled from across the room. Now those dangerous sapphires were dancing next to the stage, practically at our hips. 

I had all but abandoned my dance partner, though our bodies were still moving together in time with the music. As though compelled beyond my control, I started dancing for the Eyes at the edge of the stage, performing for her. Bending forward, I touched my partner behind the knees. I could feel her shiver but I was thinking of Eyes. Flat back, I placed my ass right near where I knew her face to be, Eyes dancing just off the side of the stage. I refused to look at her. I turned around, my backside to my partner now, and doubled over, pushing my ass into my partner’s groin, my fingers brushing the edge of the stage where I knew Eyes was still standing, watching me. But still I wouldn’t look. 

My partner must have felt ignored because she pulled me backwards, away from the edge of the stage. I could tell she didn’t want to dance; she wanted to enter our own world again. But I was only there to perform. Her lips reached out for mine and I returned her kiss absently, the rest of my body begging to be back in the spotlight. She still tasted good but I was full.

Suddenly there was Eyes, keen to my resistance. She was approaching us.

Are you guys together? Was the first thing she said, breaking up the act.

No, I was quick to respond. We just met tonight.

My name’s Candice she told us. She told me.

I had already pulled her into the middle, between my partner and I. We danced against her small body, pressing into her, directing our three bodies into one game. We periodically brushed fingers around the slender waist between us. But it was Eyes I wanted. 

I knew one of the three of us was going to win. And Eyes was more than up for a tease. Hardly one song passed and she made her exit, kissing us both just off the lips.

What was your name again? I asked, stalling.

Candice. Yours?

Alex.

I wouldn’t let her have the final word. So I stole another kiss.