TARASOVA: Vodka at a concert

My Favorite Musician is performing on stage. He is performing my favorite song which also happens to be your favorite. Not that you’ve told me, but it just has to be. I can see the passion on your face as you chew every word of the lyrics as if they were your favorite food.  What might that be? I wouldn’t have any luck guessing that. Since we got here all we’ve done is drink. You must be an assassin sent from Russia to murder my heart. And Vodka looks like your preferred method of assassination. I have lost count of the number of shots we’ve done.

Now, back to the music. I now believe the guy on stage is an imposter and you are the real artist and the owner of the song. Whatever choreography they are doing on stage just doesn’t work. The real dancing is happening right next to me, downstage.

You are wearing a short linen, off-shoulder free red dress that barely covers you. Your mother gave you all the right ‘meat’ in the right places. And that dress is struggling to keep it all hidden and tucked in. Not that I am complaining. You must be screaming your lungs out but I can barely hear you from all the noise. They set up this place like a rock and roll concert. More speakers than I feel were necessary. But maybe that is the whole point of a music concert. And the crowd is not helping either. For a moment it feels as if I am watching a party scene in a movie, but in silent and in slow motion.

Your beauty can not be debated. Your eyes look like the kind I would choose for my snapchat Avatar if I was a lady. Your eyebrows still sitting perfectly like the Nike logo above your eyes unharmed from all the dancing. Your cheeks look as if they have been puffed up with some red blush. How are you not sweating? Your makeup still looks perfect. Your red lipstick is as perfect as if you’ve not said a word all day, let alone drown yourself in Vodka for the last hour or so.

I must have stood there for what felt like an hour staring at you motionless. Weird, when everyone else was screaming their lungs out and dancing the night away unconcerned about who was watching.

“Hey! Are you okay?” You ask.

“Do not tell me the Vodka has gotten to your legs?”

It takes you two tries to get me to understand what you are saying. And when I finally do. I take a step closer to you. Place my hands on your waist as if earlier rehearsed. Effortlessly join into the rhythm of your hips. You say nothing and I love it.

We look each other straight in the eye as we push the lyrics to our favorite song down each other’s soul. This here is what life is supposed to feel like. In the moment, unworried about what might be going wrong in our lives. Genuinely happy. Drunk and high from all the vodka. With the perfect soundtrack to make sure we think about nothing else.

Looking into your eyes, feels like I have known you for an eternity. But there is still a lot I don’t know about you. Starting with your second name and your favorite food. Yes, I already know your favorite song. But I would want to know more. There is no way we are doing that on the dance floor.

“Hey, what do you say we find somewhere to sit down for a minute?”

You take my hand and lead me to a quiet secluded area of the concert grounds. Must be where they keep the generators. When I said sit down for a minute, I meant somewhere quiet. But this is fine too, I guess.  I take a sit on one of the generators and expect you to do the same. But I guess my lap seems like a more comfortable place for you. Add immediately we start a stare-down contest that doesn’t last long before the only conversation we are having is with our tongues.

Your legs are barely touching the ground. So, the movement of my hands all over your body can be confirmed by the movement of your legs. If you were not in those white sneakers, I would probably have seen your toes twitch. I was looking forward to knowing your second name, but at this moment your name might as well be Tarasova. I don’t care if Putin sent you. Tell him he has a new ally.

And at this moment a trailer of my life flashes in my mind. From my early years as a timid young boy who could hardly talk to girls. To this young man making out with a girl he just met at a concert. I thought about all the little and major things I had struggled with in life. I thought about the rejection I had battled growing up. The struggle to prove myself to society and then the realization that I owed it up to no one to prove myself. That the only person that matters is me. And my mother, the only woman I had loved to death until now.

It is weird how life can uncomplicate itself at the weirdest of moments. Here I was, my hands pants deep into a woman I hardly knew. Thinking of how much I loved the woman that had brought me to this world. Thinking of my future amidst all the high and emotions.

And then all hell broke loose and all the manly aura I had built up went into shambles. All the courage and strength I had gathered over the years deserted me. Tears started trickling down my eyes and suddenly my lips were salty. You must have tasted it before you spoke.

“Hey! Are you okay? Did I do anything wrong?” she asked.

It took me a long minute to respond.

“No no! It is all perfect. And you are doing everything right. You are doing it all too right. These here are tears of Joy and a little bit too much Vodka in the system”

You smiled and I knew all wasn’t lost. My emotions may have been all over the place but at least I still had my charm. You then got off my lap and sat on me with your legs wrapped around my waist. Your dress barely covered your ass that was now bare. Your panties were in my pocket, I don’t even remember how they got there. Or maybe I did. You then went ahead to give me the tightest hug I had ever received in my life. And ‘He’ was feeling every inch of it. So, we decided to do the most logical thing we could have done then.

To be continued…