Tuesday Sublime: It’s All Over

The thing about the people who participate in club culture is it’s like a sort of Summer Camp. It’s always sad when it’s over; you hug your friends and hope you’ll see them next week. I’m standing alone on the platform, waiting for the first train. I’m standing there in my 11 Doctors shirt and zebra boyshorts with my fishnets all ripped to fuck. The grin on my face is frozen like the Cheshire Cat. I shift my bag with my laptop and decks on my left hip; I switch on my iPod. My headphones aloft on my head like the finest tiara. I’m the club princess, the DJ.

I board the train that takes me further from my Wonderland, but closer to my woods. As the music swirls through my head, I squeeze my thighs together. The train melts away from my consciousness and I’m left with the colors the music paints. I’m fully aware what he’s going to do to his Lacie. First, I’ll be made to strip slowly, so as not to damage my fishnets beyond all wearability.  Then, when I’m naked he’ll lead me to a pillow to kneel. Then I’ll have to tell him where my Jean shorts have gone: shamefully with very little pride I’ll admit some girl took them after she licked my pussy while I spun “Where’s Your Head At?” followed hotly with “Where Is My Mind?” He’ll turn his face away and chuckle.

I’ll nuzzle my face against his thigh, and look up adoringly. He’ll smack my face hard, not to punish… but he’ll know I need a good smack to bring out his hungry little Lacie.

I shift in my seat realizing I’m still on the train, my cunt gushing against fishnet. I feel like a positively lovely slut. It’s been building–this near sublime feeling. After all this time it feels unearthly and amazing.

I can’t tell if it’s him or my new vocation, a little bit of both I’m sure. I never would have thought a year ago I would be here: riding a train, practically in my underwear, caring about which songs I can mix. Not for one second. I move my bag over my lap and slip my hand beneath, my fingers touch my aching clit, just enough to relieve some pressure, I remind myself. Just enough, biting my lip. The train stops. I get up, and run through the open doors.

My bag shifts like an errant child, I shift it right back and continue my walk to his house. His neighborhood is positively posh, which makes me feel so trashy and out-of-place. I love it, knowing I’m only going to be used by him. Just thinking about it made me ache even more. His neighbor glares at me as I walk up the steps; I turn to make sure she can see
ass-flesh poking out of a rip.

I knock, and wait patiently. He comes to the door and greets me with a kiss.