The loud music and jostling sweaty crowd did not affect the man at the bar. He sat quietly sipping his dark beer. Although I could see that patrons would occasionally brush by him in their effort to reach for whatever alcoholic concoction they'd order, he seemed to have an invisible bubble surrounding him. He was in this club, existing physically in my reality, yet he was quite evidently detached from it.
At first I thought he was just too drunk to react to the complete chaos around him. But he wasn't swaying slowly, nor did his blinking seem sluggish. When he took a drink or combed his fingers over his head, it was with a slow steady grace. There was no uncoordinated fumbling or delayed reactions. He was just very still.
This very physical quietness was what made me notice him. Everyone else in the club was dancing, laughing, touching, or drinking. Some were doing all at once and trying to carry on a conversation over the vibrating beat. Even the dark corners were writhing with bodies undulating in mock privacy.
Drunk couples of random gender pairs were pretending they were drunk enough not to care that they could be seen, yet they weren't actually fucking in public. I was mildly intrigued by two girls. One was ensnared by her lover's limbs. She was a tree, her lover an ivy plant growing ever upwards on her trunk. Their arms were intermingled. A hand caressed a breast peeking from a bustier, and another held an ass that was encased in black leather. Their free hands rubbed each other toward climax. The scene did affect me slightly. I'd been with women before. It was not the same as being with a man. Women understood the secret grottoes of each other's bodies better than any man ever would, but for me, they could never satisfy the itch only a man could scratch.
But he was not moved by their passionate tryst. He faced the bar, occasionally studying the mirror in front of him. The women were in a small recess in the wall just behind and to the left of him. I know he could see them. Unlike the other men nearby, he wasn't staring at them as if trying to permanently etch their sexual moment into his brain.
This was intriguing. It was like watching one of those special effects where they superimpose an unlikely subject against a green screen background with random action playing on a monitor. He was a scream in a library. Fire in Antarctica. A ship in the desert...a silent man in a San Francisco nightclub on a Saturday night. He just didn't belong.
His jaw was slightly darker than his cheeks; he must not have shaved today. Despite the sweltering atmosphere, he wore a dark leather coat. His face was cast into and out of relief by the frenetic lighting. Once a beautiful woman tapped him on his shoulder, but he barely paid her attention. He answered whatever query she made and she sulked off less than a minute after making contact. Damn. I've never seen a guy shoot a hottie down that fast. I wondered if he was gay. But his eyes flickered back to the two women. Not gay.
I wanted him to notice me. I wanted to know if he made love that slowly and deliberately. I watched his long fingers run up his wet glass and wished he was doing that to my spine. How did I not only get his attention, but keep it? I wasn't any better looking than the woman he'd turned down. I'm not gorgeous, but I have good legs, firm tits and a pretty face. I needed more than looks to get to him.
I observed him for a few more minutes. I could buy him another beer - but wait -- no. He just ordered another. He didn't shout his order as everyone else did. He made eye contact with the bartender, pointed to his glass, held up one finger and mouthed, "please."
Moving only from the elbow to wrist, he pulled his wallet from a breast pocket in his jacket, paid, and returned the wallet to his pocket. He left a considerable tip on the bar.
I pictured him lying quietly beneath me as I rode him at my pace. He would stare up into my eyes, letting me do what I would to him. He'd grasp my hips and flex his fingers slightly to grind me against him, but he would not move an inch otherwise. Would it be a challenge to get him to lose control? To get him to buck against me as he came with a roar? I wanted that challenge. I wanted to match wills in silence and come out the victor, or a very happy loser.
I suddenly realized how to get him to see me. I stopped swaying to the music. I let my arms rest quietly on the bar, and stilled my fingers. I ceased tapping my foot against the bar rail...I was getting closer to his tempo.
Exhaling slowly, I controlled my breathing until I felt the world was careening around me in fast forward. My heartbeat slowed. His eyes flowed over to me, and stopped.
He looked directly at me, into me. I bled all of my lustful thoughts out of my unblinking eyes. I gave no other physical indication that I wanted to fuck his brains out, but he got the point. His lips parted slightly, and his eyes gained a sultry half-lidded look. The bartender opened a mini-fridge and the frosty bulb illuminated my quarry's face. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. His gaze remained steady. Neither one of us smiled. It would have been trite and it would have broken our spell. We were cocooned in our immobile universe.
I languidly slid from the bar stool, and made my way around to where he sat. His eyes were dark and sharp as they pierced mine. My gaze did not alter; all of my thoughts were centered on my body swallowing his. I grasped his hand and pulled him from the stool, I placed his hand on my hip and led the way through the crowd. For a moment, I had to fight my immediate fear that he'd let go and abandon me to this frenzied ocean of humanity. I'd probably drown in it. The mortician would find my lungs filled with saline sweat and the residue of hundreds of colognes and perfumes. He'd leave me behind to sink while he would slowly tread through the bodies around him to return to his solitary isle.
