But not in the way you'd think. Normally (I'm guessing), a guy would talk about being frustrated sexually on a website like this... but I have astroglide, a colorful imagination, and internet porn of every conceivable variety. No, my frustration is of a different nature. I need to dance.
See, it's been since before I moved to the Cleveland area that I've had the opportunity to knock back a few drinks at a club that plays techno until my head gets a little disjointed, and then lose myself in the beat and go totally tribal out on the dance floor. It's not to be seen, it's not to play dress-up or look cool, and it's not to attract partners. I dance like a deranged metal head, and I do so with every ounce of passion that I can muster until stumbling into the nearest seat, rasping hoarsely to catch my breath. On certain levels, it's nearly identical to the release of pure animal, spiritual, energy that thunderous sex in perfect tune with the right lover provides.
Spiritual. That's the word. It's like a Christian epiphany, or a Jewish Mitzvah, to close my eyes and let the beat take control of my body, lights flashing through my eyelids in sync to the music so overwhelmingly loud that it drowns out conscious though, leaving my driven only by pure emotion.
I miss the upstairs dance floor at Dayton's "Masque". It was my church. My temple. My empassioned lover, with whom I used to wrestle as one.
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