He was none too cute
even in the dark,
the flashing indigo and yellow lights showing the hint of  possible redeeming ****** features.
Me thinks he was high,
me knows I was low,
down,
mind stuck in the muck thinking on a silly boy.
He appeared interested in dancing,
and hell, I love to dance
so we did.
I meekly allowed his hands on my waist
they were unintrucive, innocent even, right?
The sensation of man bones on my jeans was exhilerating and unfamiliar
and I felt so inexperienced but willing to learn;
the door to male touches had been opened and I never wanted to remember life before.
My body responded without the instruction of logic,
only feeling,
and I wanted to make him burn.
He, the nameless figure with ******* dragon chest tattoo and nasally voice;
he will not forget this great dancer.
And I did not forget
the one I tried to escape:
the one who would rather dance alone
than with me.