"So what do you think?"

    Holy shit...

The skin-tight t-shirt material dress that I was wearing was black and had large slits of exposed skin: one above and one below the swell of my breasts. Itchy fishnets trailed into chunky boots. We used hot pink blush on my pale cheeks and light blue on what little eyelid wasn't consumed by eyeliner. Eighties gone punk.

    Looking at myself in Sam's floor length mirror, I didn't know what to make of it. 

    I lifted my black finger-nailed hand to my sticky, crunchy hair. The hair that I'd freshly brushed straight out of the shower was now a rat's nest on my head, teased and hair sprayed into wild submission. The smell was suffocating.

    Sam, in a similar outfit but in red, stood behind me in the mirror, anxiously awaiting my answer. Staring at me with big, round eyes on a petite frame.

    "So?"

    I turned to face her.

    "Thank you, Sam. If I was a hot guy at a 'Midwestern Emo' show, I'd fuck the shit out of me," I shrugged, grinning like an idiot at my friend.

    "Yay! Ah, I got scared there for a sec," she replied, clapping her hands together.

    I'd never admit it to Sam, but I felt a little silly wearing this outfit out of the house, parading myself around like I was a part of any of this - that I deserved to be a part of this. It felt like a costume.

    Everyone will know that I'm just pretending to be like them...

    The feeling remained as I stepped into the venue, where the bouncer at the door had already looked me sideways, back and forth between my preppy ID photo and my current, edgy but nervous appearance. Sam and Benji vouched for me.

Clear plastic shelves stocked with flavored lubes, patterned butt plugs, and pocket vibrators had been pushed behind the register area, opening up the large scuffed tile floor for the band to set up, and they were. A loose bulb flickered overhead, casting a sudden shadow on the ten or fifteen people who were already there and swaying back and forth to the ambient punk music playing through the store's overhead speakers. It was like a strange dream.

I don't belong here...

"Benji!" A light-skinned guy with a goatee and a blue leather jacket called out from behind the drumset, with Cervix Destruction in its typical scrawl across the head of the bass drum.

The three of us made our way over. He looked at us as he twirled a shredded drumstick between his thin fingers.

"How's it going, Cheeser?"

Cheeser? Really?

    "A little bit of this. A little bit of that. Excited for the show, though! How about you?" Cheeser responded, talking to Benji but looking at me, scanning up my legs and lingering on my hips and boobs. I blushed.

He's buying it! I've gone undercover!

"I'm good! Enjoying the time with friends: Sam, who you've met obviously, and this is June," Benji introduced me to the drummer and I went into factory-reset country-club June mode.

I curtsied.

I actually curtsied.

Luckily, everyone thought that I was joking, and I was able to laugh down a bit of the panicked swell of anxiety from the slip-up. They almost saw right through me.

I'm a fraud.

The laugh-at-June session ended abruptly when Cheeser got a phone call and hurried off.  A couple other band members, one a stocky pale dude in a blue polo and the other a skinny guy with hoop earrings, were messing with some amps and a laptop.

I wonder who the roommate is? Which one of these guys sang that song?

"Have y'all seen Moose?" Benji called out and the guys shook their heads.

    Moose? Cheeser?

    Is the weird name thing an 'alt' thing? Or a small town thing? 

    Either way, it was unusual, and I was relieved that I wasn't overly attracted to any of these guys. Cheeser was pretty cute, with gorgeous eyes and a jawline that could cut diamonds, but he was thinner than what I preferred, and I'd decided already that I'd rather go home alone again than moan that name.  I shuddered at the thought.

I'll find someone in the crowd, instead.

    Benji hung back with the band to help them set up and Sam and I wandered to the bathroom. As we approached, delicious smoke pooled from one of the two half-hinged yellow doors, both marked simply with 'Gender Neutral'. I inhaled hard as we entered the obvious choice.

    "Moose! The guys were looking for you out there," Sam chirped.

    Breath caught in my throat when I realized that I'd have to moan 'Moose' tonight.

    Leaning against a teal bathroom stall door, smoking a joint, was a rock star of a man, simultaneously out of place and right at home in the dimly lit sex-shop bathroom. A patched jean jacket on broad, muscular shoulders and a feminine waist tucked into rolled up black jeans adorned the emo sex god in front of me and I was suddenly very glad to be wearing what I was wearing. He looked like he was enjoying it.

    Ashing his joint into a crumpled plastic water bottle, he bit the corner of his lip and smirked.

    Holy shit! He has dimples!

    Moose looked like if Nate had dimples, was a few inches taller, alternative, and if his features were more severe.

    Perfect.

    "Ladies." He gave a jester-like smile as his dark eyes looked back and forth between us casually, not at all uncomfortable with us knowing that he was eyeing us down. Luckily, he was drop dead gorgeous so it was hot, not creepy. My skin prickled.

"This is June. She's in town for the summer," Sam broke the tense silence, gesturing a flippant hand in my direction, where I was melting onto the floor. Absorbing. I waved with a smirk, relieved that I'd remembered to remove my engagement ring this time.

I'm so getting laid tonight...

He stepped forward and so did I. Sam made a little 'oop' noise before scurrying out of the bathroom, the door creaking shut behind her. Alone, we were in a vacuum. Eyes compressed on eyes.

"Anyone ever told you that look like Stevie Nicks? You're just missin' the scarf." 

My heart dropped to my toes. I knew that voice.

It was also the best compliment I'd ever received (and well-placed considering my moment with one of her songs, the Chain, during my trip). He'd officially earned all of the good things coming his way tonight.

"Anyone ever told you it's rude not to share?" I asked boldly, stalking my clunky black boots in his direction and gesturing to the joint in between his lips. He let out a sarcastic huff before passing it.

Moose watched me silently as I took a hit, his lips hanging open slightly. Glistening and inviting.

I watched a lightbulb go off.

"Wait here," he ordered before he sauntered out of the bathroom. Alone, the hazy hot-box of a room was giving me anxiety.

Am I even allowed to smoke in here? What if he's framing me?

Sam said these were nice guys... I hope that's true.

Before I could get too  paranoid, he was back, grasping a black piece of fabric and handing it to me with his large, veiny hands. Seriously, they were huge.

"For you, Ms. Fleetwood." He spoke softly and I was certain that I was in a dream. It was too perfect; this was too perfect.

And he looks like Nate if he got his eyebrow and septum pierced...

I traded him the joint for the fabric, unfolding it carefully as he watched me, dimples popping. He took a crackling hit, holding it with steady eyes. My cheeks flushed.

"Your scarf, m'lady," he replied, exhaling, and I decided that I'd forgive him saying that - just this once. The moment was too perfect, otherwise.

Moving on, I draped the black cotton rectangle over my shoulders and smiled up at the handsome alternative small town guy who had no idea that I was in costume. My chest glowed in his presence. It wasn't as intense as my moments with Nate, but perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing. It was safer.

    "I love it and her. Thank you," I peeped, looking up at him through my spidery eyelashes. Seducing a man in a sex shop bathroom.

    "Save your thanks for the after party, if you'd like. At Benji and I's," he beamed, wiggling his thick eyebrows at me. His brown curls were pushed off of his face by a patterned bandana and one fell lose, tickling his sturdy jawline on its way down. A faint shadow of budding facial hair had laid claim to the bottom half of his stunning, angular face. It was thrilling to study him up close.

    "I might just take you up on that," I admitted, suppressing a smile.

    "I hope that you do."

    A rhythmic knock on the door let Moose know that he was needed elsewhere and he passed me the remaining quarter of a joint, winking an eyeliner smudged eye before leaving me alone again.

I felt alive, if nothing else.