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This is raver fiction

Some first kisses should never happen. The room was dark and smoky. Only the occasional flare from a Star Trek Tri-corder bleeping through the haze, or the trail of berserker glowsticks flying past (in unison) at break neck speed, suggested that human beings were still in the room. Had there been no loud, throbbing bass with its high spiraling vocal accompaniment, I might have felt like I was lost in a ghetto alleyway. But the music was there. So were the people.

The dance floor was body-to-body, stranger to stranger, friend to friend. Pushing, pulling, tugging each other without touching in this strange techno dance. Occasionally, when the music broke and changed beat, a red headed dancer with short pig-tails on top of her head would place her hand on the small of my back. The first time it startled me. Strangers weren’t supposed to touch at a bar, unless they were sharing a drink, right? This was different. By the third touch, I could see the question in her eyes.

*How does it feel?*

My logical brain didn’t know what she wanted, but something far more primal got the message loud and clear. She was asking the question before I had any reason to answer.

*How does it feel?*

I wouldn’t be able to answer until some action prompted the question properly. I felt the anticipation of answering that question. I felt the small butterflies of hope and pleasure tickle the deepest parts of my abdomen, flutters in my tummy, as my mother used to say when I got very excited as a child.
Flutters in my tummy.
The red head moved closer to me as the music broke again, the smoke machine puffed out some more white smoke, adding to the hazy feeling in my head. My mind felt just like the room looked; clouded, but still crisp somehow. I felt a cool hand on the small of my back, her finger-tips - relief where my body was hot and exhausted from dancing. I had given up on my t-shirt, a leftover from college bearing an emblem of a camel and the motto of my favorite programming code (ragged remnants of lettering that said simply: ‘laziness, impatience, hubris’). It now hung on my belt, a flag of surrender to an engineered environment unwillingly taken over by beautiful human bodies and the heat they produced.

A dainty finger followed a drop of sweat as it trailed down the middle of my back. When it reached my waistline she put her other hand on my exposed stomach, wrapping herself around me. The music dropped back in to a hard, driving bass beat as her embrace became complete. Was I merely a player on someone’s acid tripped out stage? It was too perfect. Her touch, the bass, the smoky air with its lasers cutting through the smoke and strobe lights to send a message only for me.

*How does it feel?*

Even though I knew what was coming, it still surprised me. Suddenly soft lips were touching mine, my arms reacted of their own volition and returned the embrace. Her hands moved up the sides of my ribcage, feeling out each rise and valley that mapped the landscape of my lanky form.

Tell me now, how does it feel?

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