Across the Floor

The DJ looked out on the crowd. Bass thumping, laser lights pulsing in time to the rhythms he alone created. Bodies pulsed and swayed in time to the music. Glow sticks swirled in celestial patterns, merging with the laser lights, bathing the crowd in a surreal glow. The crowd was united tonight. United in the love of the beat and the music, just the way he liked it.

He lifted one side of the headphones to his ear to cue up the next track. Tonight they were riding the same wave. Every vibration was sensual, every movement erotic. The crowd swayed, caught up in the hypnotic sound that was Trance. With each button pressed, each CD selected, each sound-bite looped, he controlled them, carried them to the edge of climax and then pulled them back from the edge of satisfaction. Over and over they would ride the wave until the sun would begin to spread its amber fingertips across the sky. Then they would return to their lairs, exhausted to sleep away the light of day.

This was what he lived for, where he felt most alive. There were no doubts here, everything he did was right. Here he was a god. With each sound wave, he would woo the crowd, drawing them into a world of his own making. He was loved here, accepted with open arms because of the mood he created with the sound. He provided an escape, for himself and for those who moved on the dance floor. Tomorrow would come, but for now there was just the music and the movement.

With the next track cued, he looked up and their eyes met. His woman, nymph or muse for the night, for each night there was one. She would always find him with her eyes and for that night they would be lovers. The music whispering to each other what spoken words would never do, their eyes seducing each other with a promise that would never be fulfilled outside the dance floor. Though they would never touch they would be marked indelibly.

He would love her by the music he chose, for each rhythm would entice her to move and she in that movement would love him in return because he would know she moved just for him. These moments were part of why he would walk away spent, having given so much of himself in the making. These too were the moments that drew him back, intoxicating him with the fulfillment only the music could provide. He craved it, ached for its fulfillment. The music was his and he belonged to it.