It’s the fact that he was your typical Abercrombie & Fitch douchebag — in her eyes enough of a reason for an upgrade — that hurt the most.
The festival was coming to a close that night with a two hour electronic dance DJ act. We’d been drinking all day and in surprisingly good spirits considering how much the weekend’s show had taxed our bodies. So fuck it, lets do this.
A DJ’s job is to essentially speed up and slow down the rhythm using sound. Read the crowd’s energy and work with it.
The boys and I got into it. I really got into it. Jumped. Swayed. Hands pumping in the air.
But I don’t remember the moment we started dancing together because it felt so organic. I know it was early on in the set because we didn’t stop for most of the show. I matched her rhythm and she found mine. We created rhythm. We took it up and back down, together. I slid my hands over her hipbones and dipped just the tips of my fingers in her pockets.
She was wearing a light shear once piece jumper. Black. The kind that flaps violently in a light wind. God, I love a woman who can wear one with confidence!
I pulled her closer.
She was petite. No taller than five foot three.
I held her body close up against mine.
Soft delicate brown skin. A slim waste. Persian? Long black hair pulled back and held in place with two glow in the dark bobby pins.
We had chemistry.
The difference I find is once a girl reaches out to hold your hand. I find it is in that time when she goes from being wary of you to giving herself to you. She reached back with both hands open facing back waiting for my grasp. This is the moment I always fear. Do I say something or really fuck it up in an attempt to have her ask? I played it off. She tried again a few minutes later. A third time.
“Listen, the thing you have to understand about me is that my right hand is absolutely fucked up because of an accident as a child” I said leaning in to her ear as her dark hair brushed up against my cheek. It was the only time we spoke using words. Our language of choice that night was our bodies.
Without missing a beat she took my less functional arm and lightly kissed the hand. For the first time that night she looked back up at me. A slight smiled played off her lips. She leaned back and rested her body against mine. Her head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around her torso and she let go, letting me hold her. A quiet acceptance of our desires to be wanted.
He was about six feet tall, tanned, muscular and wearing board shorts. No Top. All American.
As we separated for a minute she spotted him directly in front of us and went straight for it. Moved in front and then back up into him. But it didn’t work. He had no rhythm. Couldn’t give a shit. A guy who’s stunningly Vanilla appearance makes him constantly desirable and allows him to dictate. Recognizing her folly she came right back hands outstretched to catch my face and end up on my lips. I stepped aside.
“I don’t even want to know your name” was all I could think to say as I pushed her waist in the direction of her leaving friends. We were both hurt now. We will both remember each other.
True fashion is timeless. The cuts and shapes change with the seasons but the fundamentals stick around. Peep this Ralph Lauren tie I picked up from a thrift store: the fabric is dope and this shit's hand made in Italy. This thing would definitely be outside my price range retail.
I'm a skinny bastard. A tie should always be proportional to your body size and this is why I rock a mean skinny tie. Fat guys, skip this tutorial and just wear it wide.
But enough yakin'. Lets get to work.View the full article →
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