Time seemed to stand still in the dim, vibrating room.

The static of interference.

Tap. Tap.

"Ahem. What the fuck's up Dolphin Coast?!" Moose's sultry voice growled into the microphone, his dark gaze scanning the modest crowd. When his eyes met mine he smirked, tucking a stray curl behind a sweaty-backed ear. It was getting hot in there - and fast.

I leaned against the glass display counter, filled with various bowls and water pipes, watching from a more my-speed distance. Sam and Benji had migrated closer, just feet behind Cheeser's metallic but scratched drum set. It was a marvel to behold. A make-shift rack encased the drummer, horizontal bars giving way to numerous other percussion instruments that I didn't even recognize and various-sized cymbals. The smallest was the size of a CD.

A cluster of bigger guys with long hair, the 'lumberjack emos' I'd deemed them, stood in front of the rag-tag band, hairy knees bent and hungry. I eyed them nervously.

"This song is called: Monster Cock."

The small crowd went crazy and I blinked, confused.

What did he say?

Cheeser flew into action, clacking his chewed sticks above his head before bass and guitar joined the mix, filling the echoing room and calling the lumberjack emos to action. They began to walk in stalking circles, pushing each other's sweaty shoulders hard whenever they were within arm's reach.  I watched the vortex of man meat.

To my surprise, I was finding the music to be interesting rhythmically and I tapped a booted foot, trying to find the beat and struggling. It was confusing, but vibey.

My enthusiasm faltered when Moose began to sing pitchily, a strange edge/whine to his deep voice. I didn't know what to think.

    Can you send me pictures of you in your un-der-wear?

    I raised an eyebrow.

    You said I need you close dear, tell me why.

A blur of Sam's red dress streaked from her spot with Benji, before literally throwing herself into the sea of pushing and shoving men in front of the stage. Enveloped in hands, palms outstretched.

    I've spent every night since that night sniffing your burn holes.

    Her shrill 'woo' cut through the barrage of sound and I smiled. Her energy was infectious.

    I know I should leave you alone, but you shouldn't lead me along.

She was pushing and shoving them back, laughing. Her maroon hair jerked violently with the movement of her petite body, and I was impressed that she remained on her feet. Their size didn't intimidate her.

I felt a glow of jealousy, but I recognized it, squashing it. I admired her without tearing her down to make myself feel better, a skill I knew I should've already had, but I was still proud of myself for acquiring. It felt good to be happy for someone.

You tell me don't feel what I feel, I can't pretend not to care. 

I returned my attention to the soulful man on stage, his lyrics vulnerable and unfiltered, voice cracking and sweat-glazed eyelids sewn shut as he poured into the microphone. He reached up a veiny hand, lifting his muscular arm into the air as he sang with feeling. I inhaled, filling.

Then I saw the hickey I didn't place. A slap in the face.

    The drama...

    Me and my monster cock will go elsewhere.

My jaw dropped with the beat, a laugh tumbling from my lips as Moose glanced in my direction, shredding guitar. My fishnetted legs were uneasy, trembling with fangirl excitement. I felt alive again, connected. The echo of drums and sneakers squeaking on the scuffed tile floor pounded through my body and I wanted to dance. So I did. I twirled with Moose's scarf, happy and high and alive, and what a pleasure it was to be all three at once. At that moment, I was certain that I was exactly where I should be.

I felt like Stevie Nicks.

The pleasant feeling remained through the end of the show, despite my sizable disappointment at the lack of a certain folk song in the setlist. I guess the change of pace wouldn't've pleased the lumberjack emos, desperate for an excuse to shove each other more violently. To their credit, they never left a man down in the few instances that one fell, pushed too hard or uneasy on their feet. Sam never tumbled but I saw her help someone up more than once. She was incredible.   

We stayed until after the crowd cleared out, helping Lucy Otterland, Sex on the Beach's owner, move her inventory back into place and loading the band's equipment into the back of a lawn care van. My makeup-covered face was slick with sweat by the time Sam and I crawled into her car.

"Hey Sam?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you for sharing that with me. I had a great time." I admitted, slightly bashful. Sam nodded, grinning with droopy eyes and a yawn.

"We don't have to go to the party at Benji's - really. You have work early tomorrow," I assured her, buckling my seatbelt. I'd been feeling a sting of guilt for roping her into the plans, forgetting completely that some people had to wake up and go to jobs. Shame rushed through me in the passenger seat of the dark car.

"Thanks, but I'll be alright. I already asked Benji if I could crash in his room when I got there and you have some business to attend to with a certain someone," she teased, jabbing my ribs with a pointy elbow.

I raised my hands in defense. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. We are not just gunna glaze over you two sharing a bed tonight."

Sam burst into giggles, buckling herself in.

"Oh, but we are!" She insisted.

"Sammm," I whined as I fidgeted with the AC, trying desperately to further cool off my sticky body, my black dress all but soaked through and my eyes burning from the salt. It was a relief that everyone else at the party would be in the same condition. Musky. Raw.

Maybe I'll ask Moose if I can take a shower before we...

"I'll let you know what's going on when I know myself," Sam promised after a brief relative silence, the only sound the hum of Sam's engine and the steady blow of cool air, tickling my nose.

"He really cares about you, Sam," I advised, unsolicited.

"I know."

The party that followed was lively and sloppy, pot smoked inside and beer spilled on the rug, but there wasn't an unhappy face in sight. I felt welcomed, hugged by the community. Comfortable and myself, strangely.

I even found a chance to 'freshen up' in the bathroom. Score!

A few hours later, Moose found me on the spider-webbed back porch, where I was sharing a cigarette with a kind stranger, name given but not retained. So high. The porch light was blood red.

He was the devil on my shoulder, beckoning me inside with a curling finger and Nate's face. I couldn't've resisted if I'd wanted to. I followed in a trance, lifting from the ripped folding chair with a crinkle and politely excusing myself, returning the half-burned cigarette to its rightful owner. My feet moved, sleepwalking on my sore, surely-blistered feet as I followed him to his bedroom.

His spray-painted door clicked closed.

Alone with him in the faintly musty, incense-scented room, where dark psychedelic tapestries and metal posters plastered the high walls, I was again struck with imposter syndrome, but this time when I hoped that he believed that I really was the girl I was portraying myself to be, I hoped I was her too.

I like myself tonight.

Calloused hands found their way onto my flushed cheeks, burning with sweet anticipation. It felt good to have unfamiliar hands back on my skin and I pressed my face into his grip, winking. He smiled sheepishly at me, softly, as if he hadn't just been screaming at a room full of people, and my heart fluttered. Maybe. Either that or indigestion.

"You're beautiful," he hummed at me with red-lined eyes. Distant but gorgeous, deep and dark.

"Show me; don't tell me," I whispered.

Moose didn't kiss me like my other hookups had: he kissed me like he was poisoned and I was the antidote. Hungrily. Desperately. I felt it in my burning chest just as much as I felt it in between my legs, throbbing. I wanted to feel his chapped, cigarette-flavored lips whenever he wanted them.

My head was spinning with confusion and surprise, and a touch of regret, but he felt too good to pull away from. It was the Diet version of my kiss with Nate, but I knew that Moose was healthier for me than Nate was. He had to be.

Pulling away, Moose trailed his massive right hand down my neck and shoulder until he took my hand into his, leading me to his unmade mess of a bed. I tried not to wonder when he last washed the navy sheets.

"Sit," he ordered, releasing my hand and bringing his long, thin fingers to the zipper of his rolled, black jeans. I caught a glimpse of his happy trail when he moved the grey material of his t-shirt out of the way. I blushed. His pants pooled at his feet, exposing the massive bulge in his boxer briefs and his sturdy, tree-trunk thighs.

I sat.

"Good girl," he growled, stepping forward and I wished that he didn't have those damn piercings and I wished that the tip of his nose was more rounded. Then it would be perfect; in the dim lighting, I could almost pretend.

When I pulled away from his kiss, I felt alive, at least.

Looking to his dark eyes for confirmation periodically, I reached up with trembling hands and began an assault of softer and firmer touches along his cloaked shaft and head. I felt the slimy, warm precum beading through the fabric. He groaned. Desperate.

Tender smile and blush aside; even in the darkness, his hooded eyes held little regard for me outside of bodily pleasure. It was comfortable; I embraced it. I wondered if I could love him. 

Probably.

But I shouldn't, so I'll try not to.

Maybe.

Moose stepped back, allowing my fingertips to fall gently from him and he shuddered. Grinning at me, jester-like, he brought his own fingers to the black waistband of his red boxer-briefs. Blood-stained with fluid.

Down they came and the well, 'monster cock' had arrived. It was a sight to behold. I took a mental screenshot, dying to tell Pearl about -

Pearl...

I shook my head, dismissing the poorly timed thought before impulsively standing, lifting the skin-tight dress from my sticky body. I was sick of thinking.

It was all off in a matter of moments, falling from my pale, curvy body, apart from the makeup. The heavy blush and eyeliner remained for now. 

"And you're sure you want this?" Moose asked breathily, gently rubbing the head of his member with a large thumb-pad. His bottom lip glistened.

At least he's a decent guy...

"Sit." Moose ordered, beginning to stroke himself.

I sat.

"Good girl," he whined, pumping harder and eyeing me, bloodshot. I watched, amazed. Sex, Drugs and Rock N' Roll.

"Spread for me, baby. Touch yourself." The words tumbled out, frantic. His cheeks were blood-red, dark in the poorly lit room.

I did as he said, making a significant effort now to keep my focus on the bottom half of the erotic scene playing out before me. His desperate eyes, regardless of where the desperation stemmed, were making me feel things. Pleasure and confusion. Regret. It was too much.

    The pointer and middle fingers of my right hand made a slow, gentle assault on my sensitive, soaked center as I watched Moose open the top drawer of his dresser, pulling out a crinkling foil packet. I moaned.

    Finally.

The vaguely Nate-shaped man ripped the silver packet open with his teeth and I was relieved to have an IUD. I watched him slide the latex sleeve down his swollen cock, and I was feeling slightly unnerved by his excessive size - easily ten or eleven inches.

You've got this.

He carefully lined his thick, encased tip with my entrance before lifting his pupil-heavy eyes to mine, looking for confirmation. I nodded, removing my slippery fingers from my clit and leaning back, spread and waiting. Moose threw his shirt off. It revealed a sparse scattering of red, green, and yellow tattoos in a distinctive style that I couldn't name: a horseshoe, a two-headed snake, and a cowboy. The devil.

"You're so fucking sexy, baby," he growled, placing a large hand on both exposed inner thighs, further spreading. He pressed into me and my walls stretched with a distinctive sting. I breathed through it.

Pressure and rapture.

Discomfort and novelty. 

It was amazing and horrible, and I watched it all through the backs of my eyeballs, moaning in pain or pleasure as Moose thrusted in and out of my sweaty body.

If yesterday was my awakening, then this must be my exorcism.

I cried out in an unknown emotion, screaming "Yes! Yes! Yes!" as his thrusts became increasingly sloppy and desperate, nearing. I moaned in encouragement, my legs trembling in his hot, calloused grip.

"Fuck!" He screamed out, broad tattooed chest collapsing onto my quaking body as I felt the condom fill inside of me, throbbing. A hum stirred in my throat, feigning satisfaction.

I could love him, I think.

We laid together for a while after that, enjoying the feeling of skin until we fell asleep.

Two lost, intoxicated souls seeking solace.