Last Night of Your Life

She removes her sweet lips away from his. As she does so, he examines those curved plumps of skin, running his pointer finger over them gently. She grins, letting them part. He smiles back, cups her chin in his palm, and brings her face back up to his.

Leslie knew this was only how far she wanted it to go. Usually she would be booking a Motel room with the click of a button, but he was too horny and a horrible kisser.

Not to mention he had cigarette breath.

She licks his bottom lip once more before shoving him away, sending him a heartbreaker's smile. She adjusts her clothing, blows him a kiss, then exits the storage closet.

As she stepped back into the sweaty and adrenaline-pumped club, she fluffed her hair. She had found a semi-attractive victim for the first time in ages, but she had to give him up because he tasted like an ash-tray. A pity, she thought, but necessary. Having to kiss smoke isn't as pleasant as it would seem.

Her bright red skirt was like a color block as she maneuvered her way onto the dance floor, the disco ball reflecting off of it to make her seem almost radiant. She grinned devilishly.

She slid between grinding bodies, pissing off girls and getting the attention of men.

Leslie's dark silky hair glinted as she stopped in the middle of the dance floor, catching hold of a random stranger's arm. He turns to see who had grasped him, eyeing the beauty in front of him. He gulps nervously as she pulls him close to her.

Leslie smiles. He wasn't too ugly. He had soft hair and was easy on the eyes; probably the most attractive man she's seen at Club Demo in the past two weeks. She looked left and right but saw no envied girl, and grins, knowing this man was fresh meat. So she huddles him closer to her body, swaying her hips against his man-part.

Damian didn't know what to do; he felt awkward and out of place.

Leslie notices this and grabs hold of his bony hips in her hands. Using all the strength she had, she moves her arms back and forth to get him dancing. He starts to ease up, following her movements. As he gets into the beat of the heavy song blasting overhead, she smiles, biting her bottom lip in what she hoped was seductive.

The silver hoop in her nose moved up as she smiled, he noticed, a wrinkle in her perfect facade. He's seen this girl here before; she scopes out men to play with, something that disgusts him. But he was captivated by her eyes.

"What's your name?" she yells into his ear, her arms sliding around his skinny neck.

He gulps, fearing that she heard the nervous movement. But she just keeps dancing, so he finally shouts, "Damian. Yours?"

She pretends to have not heard the last part, and huddles closer to him. But he noticed; he noticed the way she flitted the question away, just pushing herself against him, as if the vantage point to look down her blouse would get him to like her.

They continued dancing, Damian half-heartedly, while Leslie grinded against him hard. Finally, when she felt his little Damian spring up, she turns around and smiles seductively.

"Follow me," she grins, her voice a low purr. She starts moving away, her hips swinging.

Her bright red skirt and heels were easy to follow in the dark, pulsing club, almost shining as she led him toward the back. As he wandered behind, he couldn't help but let her heels remind him of the Wizard of Oz, like when she clicks her shoes together that she may go home. If only he could do that with his own shoes now.

She pushes out the back door, letting him trail along. Once the exit swung shut behind them, she pushes him against the wall of the alley, her lips crushing his own.

Leslie's fingers immediately trail over his belt buckle, touching the smooth medal, before slowly unhooking it and sliding it off. His own arms stay limp, which she didn't like, as if he were denying the prize right in front of him. But she pushes it aside as if it were foreplay and keeps his lips moving along with hers, going to the buttons on his shirt.

His senses finally returned to him, and he shoved her away. She flew back, almost falling from the force. She looks over at him, her dark hair hanging in her face. Her used-to-be perfect lipstick was now smudged. "What the hell, dude?" she spits.

"I'm sorry, uh..." He still didn't know her name, so he just continues. "I don't do things like this."

"Well," she speaks sarcastically, as if mocking him, "I don't care about your life story. Just fuck me and get it over with!" She moves to go back toward him but he slides away, closer to the club's back door.

"Why?" he asks, crossing his arms. "I don't know you; that's just unsanitary."

"God," she groans exasperatedly, throwing her arms above her head. "You sound like a fucking ninth grader! Who cares? If I get an STD, that's my own fault. And if you get one from me, well, that's technically mine as well...but still!"

Damian rolls his eyes. "Do you have no respect for yourself? God, you sound like an idiot right now, I hope you know that." He scoffs. "No wonder you've never had a boyfriend."

She narrows her eyes. "Excuse me, Daniel?"

"My name is Damian, thank you very much," he responds sarcastically. "And what I was implying is that you have absolutely no confidence that you just fuck any random guy to make yourself feel good at least for a little awhile until you move on to the next." Damian shakes his head. "God, I bet you live in an apartment."

Leslie's jaw snaps open but she shakes it off. "You have no right judging me! You just met me two seconds ago!" She jabs her finger into his chest, stumbling a little on her heels. "You can't figure me out just by the way I dance!"

"I can figure you out by the way you act."

She stays silent at that, just staring at him with her blank, uncaring stare. He finally rolls his eyes a second time, pulling a Sharpie out of his pocket. "Here," he says, grabbing her arm so she would pay attention. He writes a scribbled number on her palm. "Call this number if you ever feel like quitting this fucked-up life of yours. And come to this address tomorrow if you don't own a phone or are too lazy to pick one up."

She squints down at the two things he had written, a number with a 5 and a 7 in it, and a street name and building she didn't recognize. When she looked up, the club door was swinging as Damian walked back inside.

At that moment, Leslie wished she could click her heels together and go away.