BREACH
by xTx


"Dave keeps hugging and kissing me!" I yelled over the music to the person who would care the most but he didn't care. Nobody cared. I didn't care. The college kids didn't care. Dave's wife didn't care. This is an assumption. Every time Dave was done I never looked her in the eyes.
In the crowd that made it okay, he'd come up from behind. Mashed bodies. Pot smoke. Sway. An arm wrap around my gut, a snaked hand into the curve of my waist another pressing my hip who is this and I'd try to twist away. I couldn't turn, his body pressed hard against my back and then, as I'd turn to look, his face kissing, kissing, kissing me beer breath whiskers wet. I bent back. I leaned. I laughed like this is okay how do I get away what do I do here like this is normal.
Squeeze. Release. Repeat.
My neck, wet.
Really?
The music changed into something to bust around to. I ran into the college kids who ran back into me and we fell around, we spun, we busted against each other, played with gravity. I headlocked a girl and we foughtthrew each other against the clearingspace our mosh had made. My legs pressed hard as I braced myself to haul her around, my feet digging holes into the grass. Her fingernails laughed into my skin like I'm gonna get you and her laughter before she punched my side filtered through the song and I laughed back. It was all so pulled tight and verging. I felt the crowd circle watching bracing for impact for shit to get real. It egged me on and I spun her again, dipped her head back and throat punched her an inch from her skin a girlfight. We were a rollaround and an almostfall for a chorus, for a verse, the sweat coming out to melt our pretty and we stopped our arms around each other our mouths our breaths.
The crowd watched Dave watched.
How would this go over when everyone was gone.
He came again from behind again like I wanted it again I didn't look at his wife again only free when he decided he was finished again drunk strength where was mine again again again.
Dave's wife. Her bones defining her shape. Her posture a cane. Hunchbacked. A bean sprout. I thought about Dave's pelvis bruised from knocking against her body all gauntbreakable no softness to sink into. The way Dave's hands, crotch, paid attention to my curves I wondered if he wanted to feel woman parts again: real hips, real ass, real waist, real the way he took them.
The wonder cut short when the kids grabbed me drug me into the tight of the crowd. I just went like a prisoner again, my calling, this night.
Up against the railing, their arms reached for the singer and he reached back both sides willing. When their fingers finally touched: an explosion.