The music had been pumping through the sound system all night. Michael Jackson songs from when he was black were a favorite of those whose ears would be ringing for days. Lay a dance track on top of it and people go ape shit, similar to the way they did when Michael Jackson wasn't white.
It had been a long week, so he welcomed this Friday night with open arms and a thirst for the good stuff. He drank his fair share of PBR, chased by a couple of High Life's after the tall boys ran out. Dancing wasn't his thing, but he liked watching. When he was a child he would laugh as his mother shimmied around the living room to the records that Michael Jackson had released when he still appeared to be from this planet. Those were good memories of not only his mother, but the supposed King of Pop.
One of the girls stood out from the rest. She wasn't dancing for anyone's attention. Her movement to the music was for herself. Fuck getting laid. This is where she found orgasmic pleasure.
It wasn't until he had finished up the last of his beer that he noticed her. Most men were drawn to her choice of apparel, but that's not what captivated him, it was her freedom. Standing by the door waiting for the song to end, his eyes could not be averted.
Like a sixth sense she felt someone watching her. She opened her eyes as the music escalated and zeroed in on her singular audience. Blushing because he had been caught, his body stammered, but his sole focus was intrigued, so she did what so many men wanted, put on a show.
Locking in on his eyes, every bend of the knee and swing of the hip became for his pleasure. With his lanky frame, sand paper face and messy hair that appeared to be trying to escape from underneath his mesh hat, he rarely was the adoration of a beautiful woman. "Fuck it!" he thought, he wasn't going to let this pass him by.
With his beams on high and bright he became enveloped for the last two and a half minutes of this fantasy. Subconsciously he named her Billie Jean or BJ or maybe it was just Sally, it didn't fucking matter. She was all he ever wanted in an object, a virgin bride or a cum receptacle, it was all the same to him, a big fucking hole with a pulse.
While his lust grew wilder and more manic, he imagined them alone violating one another, stretching things out and getting bloody. Their fluids running together blending into a shade reminiscent of a rotting orange in a trash can.
When the song concluded their sunken eyes penetrated each other's sockets, like two dykes ass-to-ass with a silicone dildo bridging the gap. He decided to make his move. "Now or never." he muttered under his breath. The floor seemed to be lit with each foot step that he took. Every forward motion shot doses of adrenaline and testosterone through him as if this experience was climactic for his whole body.
As he approached her, he extended his hand knowing that it would probably be the only thing that would be pointing at her tonight. She reached out to him. With their moment coming to a breaking point she briefly paused before making connection. Shrugging his shoulders, his mouth formed a smirked and she sighed.
He handed her a crumpled up dollar bill. She put it in her garter with the rest of the tips that she had made that night and made her way back to the stage.