Well, I finally did it. My week seven entry (assigned topic: Utopia) got the most votes out of 24 remaining entries over at [Thebren]LJ Idol. It’s a discarded scene from a discarded subplot of a little something I wrote not long ago. Let that be a lesson to you: Never throw anything away.
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Utopia. The place was a psychedelic nightmare: Blinking colored lights flashing out the pounding beat of the drum machines; jagged lasers cutting across the dance floor, in sync with the hiss and whine of synthesizers; and a DJ at the front of the room who thrashed around so freakishly that it made me wonder just what the hell he was on and where I could get some for myself.
Brandon, on the other hand, was in his natural element. The music seemed to fill him, inhabit him, possess him. He was both graceful and funky, like he’d been built to dance. And since it was his birthday, I did my best to put aside my uneasiness for his sake. It wasn’t too difficult, because his enthusiasm was contagious and, more importantly, in such a large crowd it was easy to just blend in. About halfway through the fourth song, I finally started to relax and was actually beginning to enjoy myself.
And that’s when I caught sight of a familiar face: Mandy. She was weaving through the crowd, aimless and vacant; obviously under the influence of something besides the music. She’d stop here and there to give someone a hug or to dance; sometimes alone, but usually with an unsuspecting, but perfectly willing, partner. And, eventually, she made her way over to us.
She pulled on his shirt without a word and forced him to submit to a somewhat intimate embrace. He kept his hands off to the side, well away from her body, and shot me a helpless this-isn’t-my-fault look. I managed to shrug. She was obviously on something, she hadn’t exactly singled him out of the crowd, and he couldn’t help being accosted.
She finally let him go. He had to swallow hard and take a deep breath before he could speak, which made me raise an eyebrow. Then he gestured towards me–without making eye contact–and shouted above the music, “Mandy, I’m here with someone. I’m here with my girlfriend.”
“Yeah, I know.” She turned around and gave me a grin. “Holy shit. Don’t you look hot tonight.”
The only thing I could think of to say to that was, Uh, thanks; but I didn’t get the chance. Because that’s when she let go of him, pulled my face to hers, and kissed me.
It took me a few seconds to even register what was happening, and when I did I couldn’t bring myself to break away. Didn’t even try. Didn’t want to. It was the first time–ever–that I’d been kissed by a woman, and there was so much going on, so much to take in, that it all washed over me one hot, brief wave at a time.
Full, warm, wet, open lips. Slow and soft. Softer hands, so soft, just like petals on my cheek. Flowing silk and breasts, hers pressing and rubbing against mine as she still moved vaguely in time with the music. The strobing lights, throbbing beat and orgasmic howls of a female vocalist made it seem almost surreal, like a hazy, sexy dream that I wished would never end. She slithered her tongue inside my mouth and I tasted the sting of fresh cigarettes. It released a hot fragment of memory, of desire; a whisper of sex and rain, of longing. And so I kissed her back, kissed her forever; needing it, needing her, needing something…had to hold onto it, to keep it with me. But it was already slipping away, leaving me empty…wanting…
She broke away, finally, and whatever it was I was grasping for disappeared with her lips. She smiled, her face flushed and pretty, then ambled mercifully away without a word; left me to stagger in place, dizzy and reeling. Cold. And oddly alone.
R.J. Keller 