I snogged the hottest guy in the club last night. Twice.
The evening started off real slow. I went to pay off my tab, but that place was a little quiet. It was more of a bar setting: just talk. I wanted to dance, so I left after a while, went to the place that's slowly becoming my base.
That was pretty quiet too, but the people were different. It was, well, to put it succinctly, apparently the night of the limp wrists. But to be honest, I can live with that, because I know how to handle those guys.
The place filled up slowly, and more normal looking people started coming in. I hit the beer, can't remember why. Somehow I ended up on the dance floor.
Suddenly our bodies are grinding together to Kylie Minogue's Slow. I had seen him before, one of four very hot, young friends, but now he was alone. Very lean, tight body; diamond studs, my weakness; short brown hair; leather bracelet. I've hit the jackpot. I wasn't real good, because I was in shock he was doing this to me, of al people. But I grabbed him and held him real close. So nice to hold by the hips.
The song ends and I'm turbocharged. He moves off to dance with some girl, but the next song isn't very erotic anyway and I decide to get more beer.
Later, at the edge of the dance floor, I see him again. We must have talked for a bit, but I can't remember a word of it. He gives me the look that melts all ice. I've seen the look before, all the fems seem to master it. So, on cue, I move in and we kiss. I'm willing to bet it was the first make-out in the club that night.
It was controlled, a little chaste, but there were hints of more to follow. A little tongue, but not all out. Real good: the suggestion is often more exciting than the open, all-out grappling.
He moves off to the bathroom and immediately an even younger kid moves in. We get to talk, he's nice-looking with an eyebrow piercing (not my favourite) and a fag hag in tow which is slightly disconcerting. If he wants to make out with her smiling at us, he chose the wrong person.
He tells me he just came out of a relationship of two and half years (internal groan, another rebounder) and is clearly waiting for me to move in. The girl, who's huge by the way, just stands there and smiles like a goof.
But my mind is on Hottie, who could return from the bathroom at any moment. There really was nothing wrong physically with Eyebrow Piercing, but Hottie was my prey and I wasn't looking for a replacement.
I find Hottie at the bar, which is two steps away anyway. This time, we really talk. He's 22 (yeah!), from the next sizeable town due South (Yes! From my province!) and we exchange names, but honestly I forgot his. I move in and we kiss again, again very tender but with a little more tongue. He asks me if I live nearby (hell yes!) and suddenly the logistics of what could happen all race through my mind: cabs, lack of condoms, single bed.
Then his friends return and it is all over. He rejoins them, then ends up dancing very sensually on the stage, facing me. I suspect Hottie has a boyfriend, LOL. But Eyebrow Piercing and Fag Hag are back with a vengeance.
I can't remember the conversation that follows because my eyes and mind are all focused on the stage. To boot, an older Belgian guy decides this is the time to move in and tell me I'm "real good looking" (I'm not, good-looking is mind fucking me on the stage). He's nervous and not doing a good job, and the timing honestly stinks.
Seeing Hottie and friends preparing to leave, I decide to call it a night too and head home at around four. Even the bitch at the counter smiles at me when I leave.
I'm pretty sure he only kissed me last night. This little fact excites me no end.
I think Gay Banker is right about the confidence mirror.