East Van Saturday Night - 4 short stories and a novella

Inside the community center, the warmth accelerated the alcohol coursing through Chris. He felt euphoric.

Mary Fisch had been waiting for him. She smiled and ran her tongue over her teeth leaving traces of lipstick the colour of blood. Chris's body responded, a raging hard-on rising higher and faster than the helium-filled balloons surrounding the entrance to the gym.  She lowered her black-gobbed eyelashes and directed her gaze at his groin. When she saw his need, she threw back her head and laughed.

“She’s so hot you can see the steam rising from her pussy.” Wolf was beside him.

“I’ll catch up with you, Wolf.” Chris closed in on Mary.

Wolfgang slapped him on the back. “If you got to do it standing up, it’s easier banging her from behind.”

“Is there someplace we can go?” Chris asked Mary. Her hand brushed his erection, and he flinched. He was so turned on he thought he might stain his sage green Levi's.

“How about the dance floor?”

“I was thinking a storage room or maybe a dark corridor upstairs.”

Mary grabbed his hand and lead to him to the gym. Her cute little ass was packed in jeans so tight they were impossible to slip a hand down. Chris knew. She headed up close to the stage.

The Nite Train Revue was pounding out Wilson Pickett’s Mustang Sally. Tony Harris had Pickett’s falsetto scream and “Lord have mercy” down pat. Red spotlights and floor lamps illuminate the band on the five-foot-high stage as the vocalist glided across it doing a passable impression of James Brown.

Mary liked to dance “The Dog,” wiggling her ass until Chris was in heat. She smelled like his sister’s hairspray, a spicy perfume, and cigarette smoke. Arms hooked around his neck, she rubbed her crotch against his, her breasts were riding firm and high, pressed against his madras print shirt. Even in the dim light, they were attracting attention. Mary loved it.

Chris saw Liz Crammer standing in the entrance to the gym, backlit by the lights in the hall. He recognized her by the shoulder-length bob, dead straight and curled under. Some guy approached, and she handed her duffle coat to her friend and moved onto the dance floor. She did “The Jerk” subtle and controlled, her sprayed hair like a helmet.

Liz had class. The other girls seemed to defer to her. She was a total “preppy”; plaid skirts, v-neck sweaters, saddle shoes, and the duffle coat. She’d seemed interested in him and he was eager to find out how much.   

“Christian, hello?” Mary saw the source of his distraction. She grabbed his hand and pulled him off the dance floor.

“Hi,” Chris said as he careened past Liz and into the foyer. The alcohol was fully in his system. He was off balance but feeling great, powerful, and exuberant.

“Mary, hey Mary.”

Some guy was calling Mary. “Who’s that?” Chris said.

Mary ignored the summons, moved behind the rope barrier and led him up the stairs to the darkened second floor. She tried doors, but none opened.  They turned the corner and windows face onto the blackness of the park and lake. It was dark and private.

Their teeth crashed together, and she wrapped her leg around his thigh.