Hoping To Rock All Night

I had seen her at various clubs and bars over many months. I didn’t know her name but had gotten to a point where, if I was out, I found myself looking for her. It was difficult to describe, and I was still fairly young, so infatuation was often confused with many hormones and urges. She was five foot three, blond, and had the most perfectly proportioned body I had seen at 18 years old. Her face was beautiful to my young eyes, still not seasoned with the wisdom of years. I had had girlfriends and even lived with a twenty-six-year-old woman by this point. Although I thought I was great at eighteen, the age difference was the undoing of the relationship, and as the years piled on to my back a little weirder with each passing year when I tried to understand what a twenty-six-year-old woman wanted with someone barely old enough to fuck. , the blonde girl that had taken my interest was closer to my age and far better looking.

I had been out for a few hours, and the night was warm. The type of evening where a jacket could be left at home, rather than put on the back of a chair to be forgotten about, as the drunk and petty thieves circled the bars, looking for opportunity and easy pickings to carry on with their festivities. I had met up with several friends earlier that particular evening and much alcohol had been consumed in the various rock bars that we frequented by all of us. One by one, my friends started to make excuses to go home, it was a Tuesday night, and most had to be up early for work or had gotten to a point where their tolerance to alcohol had passed into room spinning territory.

Now myself at the tender age of eighteen, I still had to discover the responsibilities of being reliable and that going to work with a hangover was not an everyday thing adults should aspire to achieve. At eleven PM, the night was still young, and my enthusiasm usually got the better of me. It was a short walk to the club from the bus station, where I had just seen my best friend stumble down the thoroughfare of the bus he had barely made. I walked with a brisk pace, the excitement of possibilities, new friendships, and possibly meeting a PVC-clad girl with backcombed hair all running through my head. It was the nineties, and the club scene was still going strong for goths, punks, and glam rockers. My hometown scene brought them all together at the various clubs and bars as friends that just enjoyed music, dancing, alcohol, and sex.

I arrived at Rebels rock bar over the years. It had been various clubs and had changed hands several times over the years, once owned by Peter Stringfellow before becoming synonymous with the club scene in London. The club was situated at the top of a long flight of stairs. The stairs themselves were infamous, known for many a trouble maker being thrown down them by the club's doormen. At this point, though, I was convinced it was an urban legend until a year or so later when I would experience watching someone being thrown down the stairs of doom. I paid my entry fee upon reaching the hatch at the entry to the club. I went through the doors, instantly having my ears bombarded with the sounds of DJ Les and Metallica. I headed to the bar and was grabbed by my friend Tim. He was ecstatic this particular evening, handing me fifteen pounds in five-pound notes. He purchased a stone monument that I’d found a week earlier. He had wanted it for his bedroom for some reason. He had somehow managed to fasten it over his bed and secure it with various screws and nails. The cross of stone had been discarded by thieves that had more than likely removed it from outside a stonemason shop as it waited for some poor deceased fellow's name to be scribed. I had somehow not been arrested carrying it five miles to a nightclub and left it in the cloakroom. Not wanting to carry it home, I struck a deal with Tim. With the successful mounting of the monument, he’d give me fifteen pounds. The money I had just received guaranteed me staying until closing time, or so I thought. Various friends and conversations came and went over the next hour. In between, I’d be on the dancefloor, headbanging with the crowd. I don’t recall what song was playing when I saw her, but there she was, sat amongst her fellow student friends. She smiled over to me and raised her hand in greeting. Her hair seemed to take on a white luminance. The short black PVC dress hugged her small figure, almost like it was painted on her skin. Her breasts, perfect pale orbs, protruding from the low cut and made more noticeable by the corset she had worn. Her legs were covered with black leggings and knee-high boots.

I waved her over to me, people pushing me around as they threw their heads around “Moshing.”

She leaned into her friend and said something, pointing over to me. Her friend looked up and seemed disinterested, going back to her drink. Then the girl got up and started to walk towards me.

This was my chance to finally speak to her, maybe even ask her out and see where it may lead. She stood in front of me and started to dance. It seemed surreal. After weeks of glances and smiles, she was in my personal space. I could smell her perfume and hairspray, even over the cigarette smoke and dry ice. She put her arms around me, and I leaned down, our lips met, and it was like being hit with electricity through my mouth. I don’t know if it was static or something else like two souls connecting and our energy finally meeting for the first time. The funny thing was, she felt it too, she touched her lip, looking at me with hungry eyes, the connection being made, maybe the drink we had both consumed on our journey to that moment had made us read more into it. The next moment we were consumed, kissing passionately in the middle of the dance floor. I could feel my erection raging in my skin-tight jeans, her body pressing into me. She took my hand and placed it between her legs. My second shock that night. I expected to be feeling the material of her black lycra leggings under her dress, but instead, as I kissed her, my fingers found soft, smooth flesh. My fingers explored further, feeling her damp pussy lips, slipping my finger inside of her, and feeling her breath as it left her mouth into mine. A silent gasp against my lips, the loud thumping tones from the amplifiers becoming a sound in the distance as my heartbeat harder, filling my ears.

She took my hand away, leading me to where they were sat. I continued kissing her. No words were necessary between us, our hands exploring, ignorant of anyone else that might have been watching. She pulled away for a second and said something to her friend. She and her friend stood up, and my mystery lover took my hand once more, leading me outside. The air was refreshing but not cold as we left the front door after navigating the stairs. I was almost too scared to say anything for fear of breaking the spell and ruining the night. We went to the taxi rank near the club. She let go of my hand and followed her friend to the first cab in the line. From where I stood, I couldn’t hear anything but could see, her friend looked unhappy, and several glances had been shot in my direction. After a minute or so, her friend got in the taxi, and it pulled away. Standing alone now, she waited for me to walk the few meters between us and put her arm in mine, stretching up and kissing me. I flagged the next taxi, wondering if she would get in it with me or drive back to where ever she lived. The taxi pulled up, and she opened the door. Climbing into the back seat, I took a deep breath and climbed in beside her.

“Where to?” said the driver. I looked at her, and she smiled, so I gave him my address.

We arrived at my door ten minutes later. Immediately, with nothing being said between us still, she was on me, kissing me ferociously, my hands exploring her body. In the lift going up to the eighth floor, pushing each other against the steel walls of the elevator as we both tried to take control of the other, teasing and touching, our mouths entwined and our tongues exploring. Through my front door, as I had unlocked it, kicking it shut and twisting the key to lock behind me, the pure lust was like an animal instinct. Into the bedroom, tearing at each other's clothes, throwing them to the floor as they were being removed, her boots, everything. Our lips were devouring the body of the other with no victor in sight. She dropped to her knees and grabbed my ass, taking my cock into her mouth. I felt her soft lips caress my swollen cock, her tongue working against the head. I held her shoulders as she kissed and ran her tongue up and down my shaft. The sensations of her mouth, sending tremors through me. I wanted her. I needed to taste her.

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