It was a crazy feeling, the music pounding underneath me, skin tingling, head buzzing. All around me rainbows of colors flashed and illuminated a sea of dancing, sweating bodies. I felt deeply in love with them and at peace with the whole world. At that moment it didn’t matter that my best friend, Lana, had found the love of her life and had less time for me. I even forgot that I had broken up with my long-term girlfriend and that I had arrived lonely and more than a little sad. High as a kite I sat on my throbbing throne, eyes closed, and head furiously nodding to the music: oh yeah! All was well in my world.
Then: someone or something touched my neck.
I opened my eyes and there he was. This blond giant. For a second I thought I was hallucinating. I have seen trains arriving through tunnels and sausages falling from the ceiling while I have been less high. I reached out and touched the giant. My hand hit flesh— well, I call it flesh, but it was more of a wall. So I knew I wasn’t hallucinating. I peered into his face. It’s really hard to see something properly when you’re so off your cake. The lines blur. Sometimes you get the eye color wrong. People’s voices sound like they’ve sucked on a helium balloon. And it’s hard to really distinguish features. Everyone’s a friendly blob.
He leaned in and shouted near my ear that the spider tattoos on my neck were some of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. I gulped. The music was so damn loud I must have misheard that. Nobody—and I mean nobody—had ever told me how lovely my tattoos were. Was he trying to be friendly or was he trying to pick me up?
I stared hard at him.
In fact, the giant was really good-looking. He had straight blond hair and he was big, real big. His shoulders and chest were massive and packed with muscles. He should have repelled me. I like soft curves—Megan Fox is my cup of tea—but he didn’t. I watched the curve of his mouth and experienced that first stirring of sexual curiosity for a man. For a man? Never before. He suddenly wrapped his large hands around my waist, lifted me off the speaker and put me on the ground.
‘I said,’ he repeated, ‘I love your tattoos.’
Ha ha. A really good-looking guy was trying to pick me up. More intriguing, he seemed to be as sober as a judge.
‘Are you for real?’ I slurred, squinting all the way up at him. It felt as though he must have been at least seven feet tall. OK, that was an exaggeration, but that night, lighted by the searching strobe lights, he seemed absolutely enormous. Huge. His shadow swallowed me whole.
‘Yeah,’ he grinned.
‘You have really gorgeous teeth. Are you American?’
He widened his smile in acknowledgement of my compliment. ‘No, I’m not American.’
Then I was too high to notice that he was using his East End working class accent. ‘They are diligent about teeth over there,’ I said, merrily unaware of the disguise he had affected.
‘I want to take you home.’
My eyes boggled. ‘Oops!’
‘Is that a yes?’
‘Oops is always a no.’
‘It doesn’t look like no from where I am standing.’
He really would make a handsome toy for some straight girl. He was almost edible… To a straight girl, that is. ‘You’re built for bed and everything, but I’m a dyke, mate, and generally we’re not like gay men. We won’t befriend straight men. In fact, for the most part we tend to be downright hostile to you lot,’ I informed him, smiling benevolently.
‘That’s only because you haven’t been to bed with me yet,’ he stated.
Even though I was so fucking high, I was impressed. That kind of haughty, patronizing confidence is near impossible to carry off successfully. And he managed not to sound like a dick while saying something that old hat.
‘I like pussy. Pussy I can dominate and eat. But a dick? What the hell does one do with one of those things?’ I asked.
‘I’ll show you,’ he purred and ran his fingers along the inside of my bare arm.
I blame the drugs. They made me horny. They made me want things I had never planned on wanting. Before I knew it words I had never dreamed I would utter were pouring out of my mouth.
‘I’ll fuck you, but I’m not sucking your dick or doing anything else gross like that.’
Another flash of teeth. Hawt! There’s no way those are not made in America. ‘No, problem,’ he replied instantly. ‘I’m not too keen on that practice either. Like you, I like pussy.’
When I think back now I’m sure he would have got nowhere without all the other incidentals like I was lonely. I was high. I was drunk. But that night I found him intriguing. I felt the desire for him spread inside me, like a living thing, until it was no longer the music that was throbbing in my veins but the foreign need to feel this man inside me. The thought of being eaten and filled by him was unbelievably exciting. I felt myself become wet. I looked at him hard. Well, as hard as one can under the glow of the tablet.