A night at a fetish club

I notice him on the platform one step below me. For once at Kit Kat, the music is good.

He’s short. Not someone who stands out in the crowd, unlike his friend, much more obvious. Tall, built, I’d noticed him immediately hours before, his head looming above the dance floor.

But unlike his taller counterpart, he’s enjoying himself all on his own, dancing to the rhythm, a slight smile on his cute face.

I wonder if he’s gay.

Maybe they’re partners, the two. But they interact again briefly, faces close so they can hear over the music, and there’s no flirtation there, nothing that I can pick up on.

Even if they’re not together, he still might be gay. Depending on the club you are in, in Berlin often it’s more likely than not.

My friend goes off to sit down to roll a joint and I tell him I’m going to stay here. I’m enjoying the music, dancing, but also looking around to see who’s out there.

It is a fetish club after all, and it would be nice to dance with someone. I move one level down on the platform next to the guy. I notice him steal a glance at me and become a bit worried my move down a level next to him was too forward.

He looks again (I think) and this time I look back. We don’t make definitive eye contact but we notice each other is checking the other out. Who is this person next to me? Are they attractive?

I think so, we must both think around the same time, as we inch towards each other, sideways on the platform, still facing the rest of the dance floor and the DJ beyond us and eventually, as if inevitable, the skin of our shoulders grazes one another’s.

Then they touch more intentionally, gliding together to the techno. It’s a bit like contact improv at this point. Our bodies overlap, first he in front a bit and me behind. I’m still not entirely sure he’s not gay, by the easy way he moves and also just how he’s not putting his hands on me or assuming that because I want to dance with him, I want to be groped and taken immediately as fast as possible to the playroom.

No he’s just content to linger where we are, enjoying the subtle skin on skin, the interaction of our bodies together with the music. At some point I move in front of him. He’s wearing tight leather shorts. I’m wearing a shoulder piece, my breasts exposed, fishnet stockings, and corset underwear that clasps together in the front.