When Time Stood Still

Photo Credit: Pete Harrison

I spent far longer than I intended in getting ready. I wanted everything to be just right. Just so. For tonight, Baby Bear’s fantasy was all but coming true.

I took longer than usual to straighten my hair and getting the layers to lay just so. I took extra care with my makeup and getting my eyes the perfect shades of smoke and seduction. My clothes screamed sex and I somehow convinced myself that wearing six-inch heels was smart — not just sexy.

We arrived at the club — three felines on the prowl. This was a night for the hunt. It was time for me to find my prey. We circled the room, making an entrance. Making our presence known.

Cocktails and alcohol — ice cracking and glasses sweating — dripping with wet. Droplets of water falling on the heat of bodies moving and swaying — grinding — on the dance floor. The succulent bitter mixed with syrupy sweet — sip after sip — bestowing its gift of liquid courage upon all who dared to drink.

I felt brave. Like sex in heels. I felt my confidence rise. I felt power pulsing through my veins as honey dipped and dripped between my thighs. And though I danced and swayed and moved my hips in unison and rhythm — being pushed and pulled with command — I had not found the one I hoped to find.

I was ravenous — my appetite uninspired. Unsatiated. Unsatisfied. The moon and night closed its eyes as the sun hovered over the horizon — threatening to wake and rise. Most of the club had already paired off. It was a night of lust and passion and bass. I decided to find my friends.

I did my best to dance my way through the crowd, turning sideways and spilling my cocktail with each bump of a body. My feet were beginning to scream in protest from the unnatural arch. My calves threatened to turn to jello — falter and fall. I was ready to go home.

I eventually found my friends. One was outside with a man. I couldn’t tell where her face ended and his began. I found the other also engaged in a tryst in the ice room — a room that was literally carved from ice. She seemed to be playing an erotic game of truth or dare with a man and a woman — and I wasn’t going to be the one to interrupt her promise of a ménage à trois.

I made my way to the coat-check to get my things. I could admit my defeat. It would seem I was the only one returning home — starving. I decided to circle the room one last time.

As I was passing a group of men, dressed in sophistication, black and wealth, my eyes locked with another. Time stood still.

The music seemed to disappear and while the music notes took shape and continued to float through the air — I was immersed in silence. People fell away and for the briefest moment, we were the only two people in the room. A woman in a tight red dress and matching gladiator heels approached the man and gently touched his arm. He turned into her but his eyes remained locked to mine — though the spell of cupid had clearly been broken.

Time seemed to move in fast forward as the noise and people closed in and collided all at once. I gave him my best your loss smile and exited the club. It was time to hail a cab and call it a night.

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Mary Rogers Glowczwskie

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛 | 𝙼𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 | 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗