As I walk up to the door, my hearts beats harder and almost in time with the music. There are so many people and I don’t know a soul. I walk through...the crowd looking for Tristan. He must be somewhere. Walking from room to room does no good. There are too many people. I spot the drinks tub and pull out a beer. I almost scull the beer hoping that the drink will calm me down. After a few drinks, I’m feeling free and relaxed. I walk over to the dance floor, or what I think is the dance floor. I. Her face was red--straining for climax. She bared her mouth, obviously groaning in frustration as her own fingers thrust harder and deeper. They were not enough. Her head rolled from side to side on the pillow, her long dark hair flying in frustration at the inability to bring herself to climax. Still she tried, her hand beating a wild tattoo against the spread, straining buttocks, her soundless grunts seemingly getting louder and faster with each passing second.Suddenly, from the open bedroom. More

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