I am fourteen.
The hard beat of techno music pulses through the air and hits my body with transforming force. Multi-colored lights flash, beams refract in the hovering smoke. The warm summer air clings to my skin, mingles with beads of sweat that drip down my arms, the insides of my legs.
All around me young bodies gyrate to the beat, bumping and pressing into one another. I'm in a dance club. They're easy for a young girl like me to get into. The right smile will get me into any club I choose. This night, however, is teen night. I am safe from the lusty eyes and casual groping that I've become accustomed to. I dress down to avoid it but it still happens with disconcerting frequency.
The music slows. One by one, damp, exhausted bodies filter off of the dance floor. Two by two they return. Depeche Mode is playing Somebody. I like this song and am not ready to leave. I've come to dance. A hand taps my shoulder. I turn. A boy. My age, my height, kinda skinny, gestures to the dance floor.
It is too noisy to speak. I nod. We make our way through the swaying couples and find our spot. The perfect spot. I step into him. He steps into me. Tennis shoes nudge each other. He mouths an apology. I smile and shrug. He wraps his small pale arms around me. We begin.
I don't ask his name. He doesn't ask mine. We're just two bodies in motion. He moves his hand up my back. Casual at first. I don't mind. Then as if some hallucinatory drug has entered my system, my body begins to vibrate with arousal. Like a young buck on the hunt, he senses it. His caresses become more intimate. My body is singing. I am innocent. I have never felt this intensity.
My mind is spinning. Overwhelming, the sensations invade my consciousness. I cannot think. His hand finds it's way up my T-shirt. Young firm breasts yearn for his touch. Nimble fingers. He is unbuttoning my cut-offs. My eyes are open. I am not stopping him. I want him there. I need him there.
Reality suddenly bursts into focus and I remember where I am. I pull his hands away and step back. The loss of sensation is painful. My retreat snaps him out of his trance. I see it in his eyes. Wild astonishment. He felt it too.
I am horrified, terrified, in shock. I turn and flee, pushing my way through the crowd. Images in front of me blur. Stumbling over dancing feet, I chastise myself. How could I have let him? Why did I stop him?
The song changes. Once again the room is transformed. My cohorts corral me back onto the dance floor. Relief eases into my mind, my body. It is over. I can forget IT. Or can I? Swinging my tingling adolescent hips to the pounding rhythm, I search the floor for lover boy. I am ready again.
He has gone, fled the scene of the so-called crime.
I have yet to stop searching.
© Annette Elton
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