I just walked into the bass-booming house party. I’ve got on black slacks, loose fitting except for the tight half-circle they make over the back of my well-defined athletic ass. My dark burgundy short-sleeve shirt hangs untucked, two buttons undone, revealing only a few beads of sweat over my chest. It’s hot outside but, even with the ac blasting, hotter inside with all the hard bodies dancing inside packed in the small two story New York duplex. The guys are dressed to their club-going nines, the gals in all colors of spaghetti strap dresses, mini-skirts camisoles, bandeaus and halter tops. It’s a moving sea of sexy, hard bodied teens and twenty-somethings grinding against each other, swaying and completely lost in the pulse of the music. Sweat glistens on necks and wet lips. And I move past them, bodies pressing up against my chest, sweeping past my ass as I see one girl. It’s you. A little more risqué then these other girls, your body screams of sexuality. Your long, sleek gorgeous legs toss about the short pink plaid skirt shirk on your waist as you dance. Your tight pink v-neck top strains to hold in breasts any girl would die for. Then you turn and see me. My dark burgundy sleeves strain under my arms as I subtly stalk toward you.