From the age of 14 years I’d started to go to what I’d call the more fun parties, good music, alcohol of course, some people I’d know and always some I didn’t. I enjoyed it mostly for the dancing, a place to just let go and not worry about anything and I loved the feeling that dancing gave me, a certain confidence and at the same time being able to be outside of myself. I rarely ever felt so inhibited when dancing; it was for me the most natural thing in the world to do.
There were times also it could make me feel sensual, like people I see on TV, in movies, in photo shoots with all the confidence in the world, knowing how to be in front of others without letting self-consciousness get in the way. It was through music and dancing really that I came to understand more the true meaning of sensuality and my own sexuality, how to move and really understand the motions your body went through and how to respond to them, their waves of warmth, the flow, an all-encompassing rapture that can manifest inside and out. I found it addictive and quite often intensely arousing.
I was now 19, I’d showered, put on my underwear, blue eye shadow and lip-gloss, never too much of any make-up for me, just a touch, smacked my lips and slipped into a purple swallow-patterned skater skirt and purple tank-tee top. Over the top I wore a black baggy jumper then ran a brush through my hair and glanced in in the mirror one last time before braving the world outside. That would do, I decided, close enough for me, after all it’s just a party of the informal kind. Wrapping a red woollen scarf around my neck I added equally-red woollen hat and gloves to my ensemble as it was winter after all. Of course this probably made a mockery of my just-brushed hair but I can sort that out when I get there so, ta daaa I was ready. Stepped into my ankle boots and I was on my way.
Once at the arty I was immediately impressed by the general choice of music, rock and metal, my kind of sounds. I moderately indulged in the plentiful-available drink which probably doesn’t seem very rock-chick, moderately, but being small in stature I also had a constitution to match, small, so I didn’t want to halfway through the night wind up throwing up in the bathroom. That would definitely not be my kind of party.
I was soon, predictably, dancing, and not needing to be drunk to do it I avoided spinning rooms and threatening stomach-churning that I had noticed at least one maybe two others were, guessing they’d overindulged a little too soon into the night. Though happy to be the only one dancing if that’s how it turned out there were others too and it felt better for it, definitely more abandon going on as the evening progressed. Dancing also let me ease my way into places where even though I may know some people I can still take time to feel comfortable and not edgy. Later in the evening a more trance-metal was being filling the rooms and our ears which suited me as no matter what one did to it, it always felt right. I was utterly hypnotised.
My whole body was now in whatever grooves where filling the half-lit corners of the room, my skin flushed as my blood raced and adrenalin pumped, taking great pleasure in the heat and yes, sweat that teased the surface of my skin. With closed eyes I let the ambience and atmosphere take me wherever it did, every beat inspiring me so much I could’ve been the only person there and it wouldn’t have mattered. I was dancing with shadows and that suited me fine.
The music, the sounds, the half-light, all conspired to eventually focus inside me coming to a point, a point between my thighs, inside my hips, rising temperature and oozing warmth. I was sure I couldn’t have been the only one experiencing this as we were fed one addictive rhythm after another like a drug in itself. I became conscious of becoming moist below my waist, under my skirt, inside my knickers, and my lungs needing more air swelling my chest each time as I compensated taking deeper and deeper breaths enticing my nipples to an excited state.
For a moment I felt waves of urgency, to stop dancing but didn’t. What was I afraid of? Nothing, I thought, I’m dancing and this is all that mattered as I let the moment of flight subside and carried on, eyes closed and almost feeding off the other dancers as I imagine they might be feeding off me, each of us driving the other further and further. I smelled their sweat, both girls and boys, another ingredient to the recipe that was evolving as time and the beats moved through the thickening air.
With my legs together I would spin and move my hips side to side, bending my knees then up again with my arms high over my head then down feeling a prickling in my scalp under my hair, the back of my neck. The heat grew rushing around the room its invisible flames flickering over every moving part, every moving body, every one a moving piece of art and altogether even more awesome. The air was filled with headiness that itself insisted on being indulged further: the sensations between my legs growing more overwhelming and impossible to ignore coming from a deep place, a deep desire, a deeper need.
I knew how to bring myself to orgasm without touching myself at all, I had done so many times in other places and right now this was increasingly becoming the deeper need in me, welling up, demanding attention, determined not to let me go until, until, until I succumbed.
The choice, if ever I had any, was out of my hands, in more ways than one.
I imagined myself stripping my shirt from myself in some erotic dancers way mainly because of the urge to be free of my clothing, to let my skin breathe. I didn’t though, despite an almost uncontrollable desire I was still in control, just. My jumper was long-discarded. I wanted to let my hands slip under my skirt, but I didn’t. I held back the tide of total abandon, so I kept my arms moving, high and around and around. I was fighting with myself which only served to increase my need to act out what I was thinking. I surreptitiously ran my arms and hands down my top brushing over my nipples to in some way appease them in the hour of need, the need to be touched, kissed, enjoyed. My hips swayed and my passions struggled to maintain any sense of decorum, all the while trying to let others not notice how aroused I had become.
I run my sweating palms down the side of my skirt but pulled them away as quick to avoid the temptation; the temptation to let them go further by slipping beneath. I was barely on just winning this battle.
The room started to fill with a scent I can only describe as sexual, as sex, and was sure I wasn’t the only one finding myself captured by my own desire to satisfy a yearning. I was absorbed in what felt like something Tantric. Other girls, other boys, my senses heightened in particular smell as I inhaled it all deeply like a habit I wanted to indulge. I did. A smile passed over my moist lips as I knew my own pheromones were now filling this space contributing to this flammable cocktail.
My belly tightened, my thighs ached, my hips held firm in the music. I knew what might happen and couldn’t stop myself even knowing it would. I couldn’t hold back the rush rushing from somewhere deep inside me and an orgasm quietly shook me, flooding me and took me momentarily to another place imagining all kinds of fantastical possibilities as I let it flow unfettered by inhibition, in this crowded room surrounded by so many others perhaps on their own erotic trip. I was gripped beyond stopping it and had to let it run its course and was thankful for the half-lit room at least in which one can conceal a multitude of minor sins.
I tried to hide my convulsion in the dancing and think I managed, but only barely as my hips shuddered and my knees partially buckled and fabric of my knickers moistened against my vulva. I continued for a few more minutes upright until I needed to collapse and try to do it without it being obvious as to why. I don’t know how well I managed this but I found a chair and fell into its embrace, dizzy and disorientated, sated and exhilarated.
Such a thing to do, have an orgasm in public, in front of other people and without them knowing. It was like a bolt of electricity, like tasting something exotic for the first time, even though it wasn’t the first time for me. I knew I couldn’t stop dancing until I had and I knew I inevitably would no matter what and it eventually bore the most satisfying fruit.
I sat slumped in the chair watching others keenly aware of the heat still evident between my thighs and still enjoying the rhythm enchanting embrace and watching to see if anyone else was enjoying what I’d just enjoyed.
(continued in “part favours #2: kiss and tell” ………..)
© Emmaleela 2018