Discotheque Diabolo (Patreon)

I stumble down the stairs to the men's room, the high BPM trance music quickly getting muffled as I move out of direct line from all the watts of speakers shaking the bodies on the dance floor. The bass still rattles my guts but there is a real sense of moving out of the haze as I descend. Like I can again think my own thoughts and see clearly. What the fuck was I doing? I'm still clearly drunk, but there was something in that smoke on the dance floor that made me lose all inhibitions, perhaps even loosened my grip on what was real. I could swear I had seen things, done things, that were not possible.

The reflection that greets me as I stagger into the men's room makes me freeze. Jacket, shirt, jeans, underwear, all gone. I can dimly remember stripping it all off on the dance floor only to replace it with one of the complimentary harnesses from one of the baskets. I struggle to recall where the clothes went. Did I just drop it on the floor, or was there anywhere I could place them. Fuck! I had to be naked up there in front of everyone at some point. How else could I have gotten into this ludicrous outfit? I can't go home like this. I'd be stopped by the police within a block.

But I would have to walk across that dance floor again to get to the exit.

The small mark at my hip catches my eye in the reflection. My mind flashes back to what I had just experienced upstairs but struggles to make sense of. I kissed a man. His skin was the palest I've ever seen, but glistened in the disco lights like he was oiled up or soaked in sweat. He had a mark on him like this in the very same spot. Well, it must have been on the opposite side. He confidently shuffled up to me through the grinding crowd and gave me a deep kiss on my mouth. In my mouth. Then he stepped forward, right through me and all of me tingled. The mark is on me just where our bodies met. I rub the mark with my finger to no avail. What the fuck is going on. That was all real?