I decided to take a break from dancing and get some water from the bar. My miniskirt was getting that damp feeling, like 15 minutes after you run into a sprinkler, from all of the sweat. I ran, not stopping for the bar, and when I collided, the water with the little cherry floating in it was waiting for me. I pulled out the cherry and looked down the bar to find a guy giving me the up-and-down, but backed down when he saw me giving him the glance. He didn’t seem like too many of the other guys, a little wiry, and his backing down definitely wasn’t like the uber-assertive guys who hid their rolls of flab under black shadowless shirts five times too big for them. I decided to give him a shot, and walked up to him, hips moving back and forth like a Newton’s cradle.
He was little shy, not letting me in on much info. He said he was doing lots of music work around D.C. in his slightly higher than what I was used to voice, but nothing that was too nasal or annoying. He insisted upon being vague, giving just the name “Person” for me to go by. He was a little mysterious and exotic, but at the same time, incredibly normal, not particularly excelling in much of anything social, obvious from his build and his shyness. Still, it’s better than going back to Jorge on the dance floor.
Once a brief break between the songs came, we started talking. Geez, this guy was smart. It slowly changed into me just sort of listening and replying, “yeah,” to a lot of he was talking about. Normally, I would have said that I had to run to bathroom and pick up another guy, but he was actually really interesting. In the background, two songs elapsed, and I needed to get this “Person” onto the dance floor. I grabbed his arm and led him into the familiar grind.
During the third song, he was still a little uncomfortable, but was getting a little bit more acquainted with my groove. This changed drastically after the third song, when he ravished me in the antiquated sense of the word, taking the lead in this perversion of a waltz. At first, I went along with it like I always do, just sort of pretending I don’t really mind, and at first with this “Person,” I didn’t. I was enjoying him in the fact that he enjoyed me. I felt the same sense of satisfaction from converting a gay man and conquered him in the name of Sheri, but eventually I realized where this was going. In the span of four songs, he changed from a guy just having fun to a guy demanding his fun. He brought me in closer hearing his heaving breath and dirty whispers over my shoulder. His mouth started trying to persuade me to let his pelvis indulge into me, pedantically quoting his odd, ’60s sounding “New Monogamy” theory. He metamorphosized from my cute little pet caterpillar, inching himself nervously towards the dance floor, into some hyperbole of mayfly, searching for sex like he was going to die before night’s end. I finally broke free, and tried to get a grip on this guy and remind him of who he actually was, but I didn’t even know his name.
For two songs, I saw that “Person,” picking and sharing from a platter of women, and I just watched, wondering if he was like that all along and I had just not seen it, or if maybe he’d changed, or even worse, maybe I had changed him. When I couldn’t take any more of his disgusting display of utter confidence that he was Entitled, I ran up to Jorge, telling him I didn’t feel well in hopes we would leave. I didn’t feel well. I needed a bath.