I don't go to clubs to meet men. I go because the music calls me, because it sings to my soul.
I know I've always been periapt at dancing. I just have to move when I hear that beat, beat, beat. I start with my booty, 'cause I got plenty of junk in the trunk, and I know where to put the focus. I ain't never been no big boob kinda girl. I start out rocking my hips a little bit. My hips are full, woman hips, lay down your worries here and rest, child-bearing hips. They're mesmerizing, like a hypnotist's watch. Then, if the music picks up, I put a little more kick into it, a little snap. And when I hear a song with a little Latin flavor, I let go and really shake it, til it's a shimmering blur of motion.
I really start to feel good once I've had a couple of drinks. Not a couple of beers, because that's low class, but maybe a couple of those pretty little daiquiris. Then, I'll put my hands on my knees and swing my head around, back and forth, get my hair whipping around my face. And if I get going fast enough, it feels like I'm a little girl on the swings again, you know, when you lean your head back as far as you can go, then pull it up again to feel the blood rush to your face, and you feel all dizzy.
I put my hands in the air, wave them back and forth. Add a little bit of shoulders, but not too much, like I said, I ain't no big boob girl. Sometimes I'll close my eyes and just feel the rhythm move through me. Then, I'll look up and see the ball spinning above me, shooting stars all around the room, and I'll think I'm on another planet, in another universe, flying somewhere through space where I don't have to worry about rent being late or the lights being turned off or somebody's tiny little mouth waiting to be fed.
I stay there all night long, embrangled with all those other hot, sweaty, writhing bodies who are just like me, who feel the music just like me. I stay there until the DJ stops, and the lights go up, and I put on my coat and go home.
This week's prompt:
Use one or more of these words in your story (but resist the temptation to look them up first!)
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