Golden Gloom - POOR - Part Six

14

Charles

This was like nothing else: to dance with such abandon, to know I wasn’t myself anymore, that I was this wiry kid now, that my inhibitions, already being stripped away by the drink, had hardly been there to begin with.

I was Tommy Bennett, not Charles Hawthorne. I’d really become an entirely different person. I didn’t feel like my normal self at all. Every sensation was telescoped, twisted, made all the more raw by these young man’s senses and desires.

And Barbara – Lorraine – looked horny as fuck, flashing her bare arms to the pulse of the music, hooking her pelvis back and forward, stroking my chest with her fingertips, smirking as she unbuttoned my shirt.

I swatted back her hand, enjoying the pout she made. I loved that flirty girl child shit she did. I undid the next two buttons myself, holding her gaze without a blink, her smile broadening at the sexual inference.

Some fucker jostled me while he was dancing, breaking the moment. I gave him a push back, hard, knocking his balance off enough so that his face knocked into his fat-cow girlfriend. He threw a glare back at me but backed off when he saw the look I gave him.

Lorraine slid her hands snake-fashion under my shirt at my chest, stroking my pecs, slipping her hands up to my neck then sweeping them outwards to push my shirt off my shoulders. We locked lips as the shirt fell to the floor. I kneaded her tits, sucking in a little on the open mouthed snog, drawing some breath out of her. Her eyes flapped open. Mine had never closed. The grins we both cracked into broke the seal of the kiss then we closed in again, ignoring the musical beat. I gripped her buttocks with one hand and shoved the other under her boob tube, popping out a tit right there on the dance floor, squeezing it in bunched fingers; put my lips to it, chewed on the nipple; grabbed her ass again and lifted her so she gave a shriek of surprise that bubbled into a laugh. Her legs went round my waist and I snogged her again, her tit still exposed. But what did it fucking matter? Nobody in the club gave a fuck.

This was frikkin great. It was the best fucking night of my life.

And it was far from over.

We could go anywhere; do anything; and when we were done we could go back to our old lives with no repercussions. I wanted to do it all.

I popped her back on the floor and grabbed Lorraine’s wrist. “Come with me.”

Before she could finish the word “Where?” I yanked her with me, forcing her to hurry to keep her feet. The dance floor was packed but I just rammed my way through, giving one bloke a nasty shove in his back. He was right in my path, the stupid twat. He went down hard but I didn’t slow down to watch. He was in my fucking way; what did he fucking expect was going to happen?

Cunt.

“Where ya takin me?” yelled Lorraine, only just audible over the music.

I stopped when we were clear and turned, gripping her chin in my right hand. “I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you right now.”

She frowned. “I’m not ready to go back to the hotel yet.”

“Not at the hotel.” I gave her a nasty grin and pointed. “In there.”

Two doors stood in the flashing violet light, a female and male figure crudely painted on them.

“In the karsey?”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’ll be dirty!” she whined.

I gave her my seediest leer. “Exactly. It’ll be better that way.”

She covered a chuckle with her smooth little curled fingers, her eyes lighting up. “You’re filthy Tommy!”

“Not yet I fuckin ain’t. Get in there.”

She tottered toward the pair of doors. “Which one? Boys or girls?”

“Boys,” I said. “I ain’t a fucking poofter.”

“Well wot about me?”

I jabbed her in the shoulder, herding her into the door. “You’ll get over it.”

I followed her inside the gents. It was just what I’d wanted. The tourists had left it looking like a shit-hole. We both just stood there, looking at it and for a second I broke out of it, saw myself from my normal perceptions, realised what I was doing; how I was acting.

This wasn’t right. This was counter to every instinct from my proper life.

But it felt so frikkin good. It felt incredible to not give a shit about nothing; to just do what I wanted.

One of the cubicles opened and a bashful-looking nigger came out, staring at Lorraine and then at me.

“What you fuckin lookin at you fuckin coon wankstain? Get the fuck out of here!”

“Yeah you perv,” said Lorraine. “Get lost or my boyfriend’ll fuckin have ya for starin at me tits!”

He hurried out and we laughed, snogging hard again. Then I pulled away, taking her wrist again.

“Where we doin it?” she asked fearfully.

I pointed into the other cubicle. “In there. Come on.”