Sweat, skin, darkness, sinews, and oscillating waists

Don't call me Stella; I never lost my groove.

After venting his occupational frustrations on the internet, our hero D. Kareem speeds along the interstate to Worcester, seeking wild, sweaty, and fun dancing accompanied by resonably priced drinks. A half hour later, with drink in hand, D. Kareem slides onto the tile, surrounded by the trash, the tragic, the average, and the Adonises that compose the gay nightlife of Western Mass.

Perfectly content to dance by himself for a while, D. Kareem finally finishes his drink, more for freedom of movement than freedom from inhibitions. As the common time beat pounds, he syncronizes his limbs' movement with the music. Each syncopation, timbre, and MIDI unit flows through his body. An old man whom everyone seems to know but nobody seems to be hanging out with points at him and dances in his vicinity, congradulating him on especially impressive movements.

As the dance floor becomes more vacant of bodies, D. Kareem makes his movements larger. He seeks more attention, more stares, more eye contact. He pulls out modifications of the crumping featured in the film Rize, but soon, he decides that another drink would be splendid.

As he revieves his change, a dark, full lipped, well built individual in a white shirt approaches the bar. D. Kareem sees that the man is addressing him. They trade a few words before exchanging names. The white-clad gentleman asks for "dance lessons", and walks away. Two songs later, D. Kareem draws him closer with his eyes. Like a pup obeying his master, Tony dances his way over. The two men start to grind, their sweat, skin, darkness, sinews, and oscillating waists approching one. After a couple of songs, the shorter of the two verbalizes that he has been bested, and they seek a more quiet place to talk.

An hour later, D. Kareem closes the door behind him, meeting eyes with his shorter Jamaican-dialected counterpart. The approach to one is continued, yet an obstical slithers up from the depths of conflict. Wrestling ensues, mixed with biting and multiple denials. D. Kareem wonders if he wants to deny his temporary and like-minded partner the ultimate pleasure (a role he has not taken on in almost 2 years). The man formaly clad in white is persistant. D. Kareem almost teases him, but stays with his decision after almost an hour of coaxing of all varieties.

Tony, realizing that his host is serious, starts to collect his clothes. He is fully dressed, but asks yet again. The two resume their approach to the singular. Refusing intercourse, D. Kareem shows his guest the pleasures of outercourse. Towels are distributed, and five mintues later, he is alone.